#she might not be what he needs at the moment but she IS important

[kermdoeswriting]

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[afurtivecake]

there is something to be said about how jean's role-model when it comes to exy is thea. in aftg, a character's position on the team says a lot about the kind of person they are. in jean's case, the person whose playing style he gravitated towards is thea, someone who's known for her forceful, violent and unapologetic style of defense. off the court, jean has no power; he doesn't have the right to defend himself, he doesn't have the right to fight back, even though he wants to badly. he has all this anger and fight in him that he has no choice but to smother. only when he's playing exy does he get to stand his ground and hit back as hard as he can. no one embodies his desire for the chance to fight back more than thea. it isn't just that jean looks up to thea for her skill - he is in awe of her. in her, he sees everything he wants to be that was taken away from him the moment he was sold to the moriyamas: strength, determination, the audacity to not give a fuck. choosing to emulate thea's style is how jean has managed to eek out a little bit of autonomy for himself in one small area of his life that isn't self-harm. it's not much but in those moments when he plays exy, he gets to be the kind of person he wishes he could be in his real life.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

back to life. l Joel Miller

Summary: an attempt to return to normality

Warnings: angst, a little bit of smut (+18), lots of bad emotions, tw: depressive episode; Tommy, Maria and Ellie; violence

A/N: it's a hard time for me. but I found a moment to write this. sorry that I'm still stuck in this series, it's comfortable for me

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The next few days were really hard. Joel felt like every cell in his body was hurting him, even though it was you who had been through so much. The wounds were healing, the bruises were fading, but you were quieter and less visible. If it weren't for his willingness for you to take a bath, which Joel thought was the best thing for you, you wouldn't have gotten out of bed at all.

But Joel experienced something else during that time. In addition to fear for you, he encountered incredible human kindness and empathy. The people of Jackson seemed moved by what had happened. Soon, when Joel was on his way to the clinic about his collarbone, an older man who owned a bakery pressed a fresh loaf of bread into his hands and said with a smile that it was for you. 

Mrs. Russo appeared at the door the next evening, bringing with her a few of your favorite dishes. "I guess you don't have the head for cooking now. Take this, she's been enjoying it so much lately!"

Rory and his mother also showed up, and the boy handed Joel a bouquet of the first spring flowers, which he placed next to your bed. The small smile on your lips was worth everything.

Almost every afternoon, Ellie would sit with you, telling you that she absolutely needed help with her homework. Joel thought she was exaggerating and that she certainly didn't have that much to study for, but you were starting to get involved. Evenings were for the two of you, though.

Sometimes Joel would play something on the guitar, feeling your eyes follow his fingers as they struck the strings. He hadn't done it in years, but for you he'd pulled from his memory many of the songs he knew. Or he'd read books aloud. His warm, low voice carried through the bedroom, and you'd listen, clearly soothed by the sound.

Your bubble had to stretch, though, and it happened one evening. Joel came back later than usual, and then he convinced you to go downstairs. He led you out to the terrace and showed you something he had made for you. A wooden bench, very carefully crafted, with ornate armrests and fancy decoration. He had been working on it for a long time.

"It's so beautiful outside. I thought you might like to have your own place." he said, a little worried when he saw the tears in your eyes and your trembling lips. "You can spend time here, bask in the sun, read if you want."

"Nobody has ever done anything just for me." you said quietly.

And before he knew it, you kissed him, so truly. He hadn't felt the real you in a kiss for a long time, and now you were with him. In his strong arms, you were like a fragile creature, but Joel felt happy that you had achieved so much together. He believed that everything would be fine.

From then on, everything slowly began to change. You spent more time outside, and sometimes you went with him to the stables to take care of the horses. After a few days, Tommy and Maria invited you for dinner, and you showed up there too. When the dance was in Jackson, you went together, although you seemed hesitant about it, but Joel managed to talk you into a few slow dances with him.

"I want to take her out of Jackson," Joel stated when he and Tommy met up at the Tipsy Bison for a drink one day, "Just one day. We'll take the easy way out."

Tommy nodded, "It would do her good. Can she handle it?"

"She's tougher than we think. I can see she needs to get outside of those walls, even though she's still scared."

"And you're going to let her?" Tommy shook his head in disbelief, "What did she do to you, bro?"

"I miss her, you know... She's physically there, we sleep in the same bed, we eat together, we live together. But she..."

"I can see it in her eyes. What happened to her changed her... It would change anyone."

Joel took a sip from his glass. He didn't want to tell his brother that you hadn't slept together since then. No, Joel wasn't complaining. Your relationship had never been just about sex. But he still didn't know if he would scare you if he initiated it. You were sensitive and delicate, and although he knew you loved him, you didn't take that step yourself.

That day the weather was beautiful. The spring sun settled in the sky, and the forest and the surrounding area were beautifully green. You walked together, close to each other. 

Joel told you what had changed in the area recently, that the attic in the permanent barn on the other side of Jackson had caved in, or that he had seen a family of foxes sneaking past the camp during a patrol. He spoke as if you had been sick for a week, not completely cut off from life for almost a month.

You felt good, especially since he was next to you, and the care and tenderness towards you emanated from him. You wanted to go back to him, completely, but you weren't sure how to do it. Every day, every attempt, cost you a lot of strength. Guilts of conscience were churning inside you.

"I'm sorry, Joel." You finally said when you stopped at the edge of the forest.

Joel looked at the horizon, trying to see if the area was still safe for you, and turned around, surprised.

"What are you apologizing for, darling?" he asked, taking a step towards you.

You seemed so small to him, as if many things were pressing you to the ground at once, and you were barely able to stay on two legs. You looked at him as if you were about to cry.

"For everything." you finally answered "For having to take care of me. For every day that is so hard for you. I wish things were like they used to be... I don't know if I can. Maybe... Maybe..."

"Don't do that." he interrupted you, approaching you and taking your face in his hands "Stop here. What happened to us, what happened to you, is neither of our fault. But we'll deal with it, right?"

"How? I thought I was strong, but this..." you closed your eyes, and tears flowed from under your eyelashes. Joel patiently wiped them away with his thumbs "I keep wondering... Every shadow, every rustle makes me tremble. I've become nothing but a problem for each of you."

His strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you tightly to his chest. You snuggled into Joel with all your might. His arms were your shelter, the beating of his heart soothed yours. If it weren't for him, you would have fallen to pieces a long time ago.

"You don't even know, silly, how many people care about you and want to help you. They ask about you every day. You're not the problem, but you can't be strong all the time either. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about, because I tried to be. You and Ellie hold me together. Now it's our turn, we won't let you fall apart." He kissed the top of your head and sighed deeply "You don't even know how much I love you..."

It was late when you got back. Your clothes smelled of forest and wind, just like Joel's. You felt tired, but you were also a little lighter, more confident. He saw it in your eyes and promised himself that soon you would go out together again outside Jackson. 

However, Joel was most surprised when he felt your arms wrapped around his waist as he stood in the shower and the streams of hot water washed his body. You clung to his back, so gently as if you were afraid he would push you away. But Joel kissed your hands, and then turned around and looked at you with such love that you had never seen in his eyes. 

So you surrendered to this moment, because you wanted to, because it was him, because you wanted to feel alive again. 

And when you felt his cock moving deep inside you, when his lips caressed your neck, and the cool tiles imprinted on your back - only God knew how much life flowed in you again.

"Sorry, I wouldn't keep you from your work if it wasn't so important."

"Don't worry, the laundry will definitely wait for me." you chuckled as you and Maria headed towards the building that served as the city hall or headquarters in Jackson.

It was already late in the evening, Joel hadn't come home yet, and you were busy with the usual household chores. The following days were somehow easier and you were happy to have your strength back.

You went inside and Maria led you to the back. You noticed a few men in the rooms, who were also taking part in patrols. They seemed strangely tense to you, but Maria quickly drew your attention to herself.

"Listen, this could be an unpleasant experience for you." she said, her hand stroking your arm. "But we have to be sure."

"What do you mean?" you asked, frowning. "Did something happen? Something with Joel or Tommy?"

Maria shook her head, then pushed the door open and nodded for you to enter. It was a dark room and you noticed that the curtains were drawn tightly and the only light came from the lamps placed on the walls. In the middle, three men sat on chairs, they were not residents of Jackson. They seemed strangely familiar to you, but you couldn't...

Someone said your name and you noticed Joel and Tommy standing nearby.

"What's going on?" you asked quietly. "Who is it?"

Tommy cleared his throat. "We've been following them for a few days. We suspect that they attacked you. You, Sam and Anthony. One of them had Sam's private things."

You looked at the men again, now you understood. And they must have recognized you too, because they twitched nervously. Two of them looked away, trying to avoid your eyes, but one of them was staring at you wildly.

"I know that pussy." he muttered, a smile twisting his face covered with thick stubble "I thought you died in the woods. You're a smart bitch."

There was a loud impact, it was Joel who hit the man without thinking. His head tilted back, but after a moment his quiet laughter filled the room.

"Is that your pussy? How was I supposed to know that it already had its owner?"

"Don't you dare talk about it like that!" Joel growled and wanted to hit him again, but Tommy grabbed his arm.

He looked at you carefully. "Is that them?"

"He recognized her!" Joel hissed furiously "That should be enough!"

"I need to know!"

You weren't fully aware of it, as if your body had made the decision itself. Your head twitched in confirmation. That was enough.

"Get her out of here." Tommy ordered.

"Joel! No!" you groaned, but someone's arms grabbed you and forcibly led you out of the room. The door slammed shut with a bang. Even though you didn't see it, you knew what was about to happen.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[annwrites]

punish

⸻ part i: august underground ⸻

| chapter one. |

· pairing: serialkiller!billyhargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: tina, a classmate of yours from hawkins high, is dead. a young woman being found brutally murdered in the woods puts your small town on high alert, even if everyone is trying to convince themselves that it had to have only been an outsider passing through, because things like this don't happen here. you attend the funeral with a grieving nancy, who's distraught over the loss of her friend, and under such grisly circumstances, at that. and while you're reluctant to feed yourself possible faux comfort of it being a one-time horrid occurrence like so many others, you fail to fathom in your imagination who the killer just might be—and that his reign of terror over the town is far from over as the bodies begin to pile up...and that he's soon to set his sickening sights upon you. but it's not your blood he thirsts for. what he has planned...will end with a new face upon milk cartons across the country. one you never would've imagined would grace the 6 o' clock news with the headline reading...'missing', and the question inevitably becomes: will you be found? · tw: dead dove, murder, mutilation of a female body (only discussed, not recounted), stalking, obsession, misogyny, disturbing sexual themes · tags: sapphic themes & interactions (nancy wheeler & reader) · word count: 7.8k · ꒰a/n꒱: the title of this fic comes from ethel cain's song of the same name. likewise, the first part of this series is inspired by ethel cain's song of the same name as well. the work as a whole is inspired by the sharp objects tv series, true detective s1, as well as ethel cain's album perverts.

“Did…did you hear what he did to her body?”

You drape curls over either of your shoulders and ensure your black satin ribbon is positioned exactly-so at the back of your head. 

It’s not that you want to be ‘dolling yourself up’ for such an occasion, but you do think it’s important that you look respectable…out of honor for the deceased. 

You stand and pad over to Nancy, then seat yourself beside her upon her quilted comforter. 

Your eyes meet hers and you shake your head. 

“Is it…” You sigh. 

Of course it’s bad.

Nancy smooths the skirt of her dress nervously. 

“He…shoved a tree branch inside…” She trails off for a moment, then swallows thickly. “Inside her. It…came out of her stomach.”

Your own turns at the vision that’s now been painted within your mind, and your eyes well with tears. “It sounds sick, but I wonder if just being raped would’ve been a kinder fate. If she was alive when he…did that, I mean. I hope she wasn’t.”

You sniffle. “I really hope she wasn’t.”

The car is silent as Nancy’s dad drives everyone to the wake. You merely stare out the window while holding Nancy’s hand.

The two of you are frightened. Things like this…they don’t happen here in Hawkins. Such violence is entirely unheard of. 

You didn’t know Tina well, but Nancy had been friends with her.

She’s, in truth, been rather quiet about it all. Which you understand. There’s something about the discussion of horrific things that makes it feel like if you dare speak too much about it, that you’ll be next. That tragedy is contagious. 

But Nancy’s silence stems, instead, from grief. You think that it’s because it isn’t real for her yet: that Tina is dead. 

You’d questioned her about whether she truly wanted to come today; had assured her that if she wanted to wait—only wanted to visit Tina’s grave once she was laid to rest—that that would be completely understandable. But she’d insisted. Had stated that she needs to see her, so as to believe that it’s true: that she’s dead, gone…lost, and, by extension, confirmed your suspicions.

So, you’re coming along with her to say goodbye while you truly hope within your heart that Tina has found peace. And that whoever did such an evil, vile thing to her is soon caught, and is made to feel even a fraction of the fear and pain that she did in those terrifying final moments. 

They say they look like they’re sleeping.

She doesn’t look like that to you. 

No one sleeps so perfectly. 

Some people may sleep on their backs, but not with their hands clasped so-exactly over their…stomach. And not while dressed in their Sunday best. But you suppose such attire is required, so as to hide the violation beneath. 

Their hair isn’t smooth and parted so evenly over their shoulders. 

Women don’t go to bed with faces full of makeup. 

And people don’t sleep inside coffins in parlors that reek of lilies and gardenias, surrounded by countless people wearing suits and dresses as they cry over the loss of the one who’s been put on display for everyone else’s sake. For their comfort.

What a strange arrangement funerals are. 

One dies, and then is made into a spectacle for everyone else’s viewing pleasure. For everyone else to speak of and study while all one can do is lie there…unspeaking, unmoving, unseeing.

Funerals really do seem far more about the audience, and far less about the reason such an audience has been convened to begin with. 

You think you want to be cremated when your time comes. You should probably tell someone that, or write it down somewhere where your final wishes will be easy to find. 

And you should probably do so soon. 

Which isn’t to say that this isn’t going to turn out to be a one-off…occurrence, even if that sounds, somehow, crass to think. But if it isn’t…if there’s someone in town that now has a thirst for hunting young women, then it doesn’t hurt to think ahead. 

You begin to slowly look around then, wondering if he’s here. 

Some seem to think that maybe it was just an outsider passing through town. But you wonder if that’s not just a pleasant lie they’re feeding themselves to give themselves a false sense of security. So that they can play pretend that everything is okay. That they’re safe. That whoever it was got what they needed to out of their system, and all will soon return to normal.

They might as well just say it: they already want to forget. Want to turn a blind eye, and pretend like Tina wasn’t murdered in cold blood, then defiled during a fit of black rage afterward.

Nancy turns to you with tears slipping down her cheeks and your heart shatters at the sight. She opens her mouth to speak, then promptly shuts it before whimpering in pain. 

“Do…do you want something to drink, maybe?” you offer, unsure of what else to say.

She nods silently and you give her a small, forced smile before stepping away and heading toward the back of the room to a table that’s laden with various refreshments.

“She was a slut, yet we’re expected to sit here and listen while the preacher and her parents drone on and on for the next hour about how sweet and fuckin’ innocent she was?”

You blanch, and nearly drop the cup of ice water you’ve just filled for Nancy.

“Dude, that’s… I mean, the two of you went out, right? This is her funeral, Billy, so—” the young man speaking in reply seems at a loss for words at the cruel remarks which just spewed forth from Billy Hargrove’s lips so easily.

How can he talk about her like that? Of course it’s true that death doesn’t erase the terrible deeds one has committed, but in no way do you think that going out with boys and maybe messing around with them in the backs of their cars is that. As if he’s some pious little saint himself. He himself certainly garnered a reputation around Hawkins High, and not long after first gracing its halls, which, without quarrel, serves as indefensible proof otherwise.

What a fucking hypocrite.

You should say something.

But you don’t want to cause a scene.

Because, what if instead of getting him to shut up, it only serves to rile him up further, and he then loudly proclaims similar sentiments for all to hear? And then that is how today will be remembered.

You lightly shake your head while doing your utmost to tamper down your pounding heart that’s ready to fly into fight mode, and pour yourself a plastic cup of lemonade before returning to Nancy with drinks in-hand.

Billy watches as you step away, wholly oblivious to his dark gaze that’s now settled upon you. It has been for some time now, in truth. But one as innocent and naïve as yourself would never have a clue as to his infatuation. It’s one of many things he likes about you: your purity.

Sometimes he thinks it might be love...what he feels. 

Billy leans back against the edge of the archway which separates the foyer from the parlor and takes a sip of his spiked Coke before licking his lips and tipping the lip of his cup toward you as you take a seat beside Nancy Wheeler. “That’s the girl you get down on one knee and make a life for. Who you bust your ass to make happy and feel safe.”

He glances to Tina’s casket and sneers. “Not every set of lips is worth so much goddamn effort.” 

You remain still and silent throughout Tina's funeral service while Nancy cries quietly beside you.

You honestly feel like you might be sick, because none of this seems real.

Tina had been in the library where you work no more than a couple of weeks ago, checking out a new romance novel. And now...now here her lifeless corpse lies before you.

You keep expecting her to open her eyes, sit up, smile, and exclaim that the joke is over; you all played along beautifully, and everything is okay once again—you may all returned to your regularly scheduled programming now.

You don't want this to be real. Don't want this to be the new reality that Hawkins will be forced to live under the mourning veil of until a resolution comes to fruition, one way or another.

You don't know which theory you prefer, in truth: it being a mere passerby, meaning the threat has come to a finish just as quickly as it began, or that it's someone here, perhaps in this very room. At least that way, the perpetrator can be caught and brought to justice. Rather, so that Tina's family, as well as her memory can obtain as much.

Prison would be too kind a fate for him, whomever he may be.

They should bring back public hangings, you muse to yourself as you twine your fingers between Nancy's to give her a sense of grounding and steadiness as the pastor's speech draws to a close.

Billy leans back against his Camaro as he retrieves a lighter from his pocket, then sets the cigarette, which is perched between his lips, ablaze.

He watches as you tread quietly behind Nancy from across the parking lot, and as he focuses upon your angelic face—it resembles that of a pretty little porcelain doll; so fragile and easy to break—he takes note that you've been crying. Not at quite the same volume as your friend, clearly, but you have.

It makes you seem impossibly more beautiful, though. Hauntingly so.

He then ponders what your tears might taste like.

He groans and quickly palms himself over his pants at the thought of drinking them down—licking them clean from your supple, untouched skin—as you slide along his length while whimpering beneath him. From fear, overstimulation, or just the overwhelming feeling of being absolutely loved and devoured by him, he's not sure. In truth, any would do. Preferably all—simultaneously.

You have no idea how good he could be to you. For you.

You can't fathom the things he'd do just to make you happy. To keep you safe.

All he wants is a chance to show you.

He knows that in time, when things are just right, he will.

The languid summer air is sweltering today.

You shift uncomfortably atop the metal folding chair you're seated upon, then lift one of your legs so as to drape it over your opposite one, but know you won't be any more comfortable that way—your thighs will merely stick together; slippery with sweat they are—so you instead settle for once again crossing your legs at the ankles and folding your hands politely in your lap as you try desperately to focus on the pastor before you as he reads a passage from the Bible. The book of Psalms, you think, but aren't sure. The humidity settles over you like a heavy, suffocating blanket, causing your lids to droop and your senses to numb.

A sweat-soaked tendril of hair sticks to the back of your neck while a drop of perspiration slides downward, between your shoulder blades.

This isn't the right weather to be dressed all in black in, you think.

And then you lightly shake your head and force yourself to snap out of it.

Who thinks like that at a burial of all places? About choice of wardrobe?

Selfish, you think, mentally chastising yourself.

Eventually, the pastor, similarly to at the funeral home, steps aside, leaving an open opportunity for anyone who might like to give a few kind parting words to the gathered crowd, in honor of the deceased, a chance to do so.

Nancy shifts infinitesimally beside you, and you glance to her, only to find her already looking at you.

Her eyes flit between yours, almost like she's asking for some sort of silent permission or blessing—no, it's encouragement which she's wanting—so as to stand and say whatever it is which is within her heart.

You settle a hand atop her knee and give it a gentle squeeze while forcing a small, pained smile to your lips.

She swallows thickly, blinks, then nods just once before standing and making her way to the head of Tina's casket on uncertain limbs.

She reaches into her pocket and retrieves—with trembling hands—a crumpled piece of paper, which she proceeds to slowly unfold.

"We knew each other since we were six. And you were taken from us at eighteen. Twelve years we had to grow together and learn as friends. But a life shouldn't be quashed down to simple arithmetic—to mere numbers and decimals. To—"

Her lip quivers, but she quickly swallows it down, continuing on. "To dates carved into stone; from a specified start, to an unimaginable end. No, such dates don't show us the in-between. Words can try: daughter, sister, friend. But still it isn't enough. Plenty of us know it can never be. So, you live on through us instead. That's the phrase, isn't it? 'Survived by'. And you are: survived by everyone here. In our mind's eyes, our memories, our hearts, and our souls. We carry you with us, even as we lay your body down here to rest."

She lets out a quiet sob while rolling up the worn paper between her hands before clutching it tightly between them. "We love you, Tina. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

She makes her way back over to you, and nearly falls into her chair as her legs give out beneath her.

Her mom takes her into her arms as she begins to cry all the harder—as black tears streak down her cheeks, painting her face in a gesture of remembrance for the dead.

You silently mill about as Nancy and her mom, Karen, give heartfelt, tearful condolences to Tina’s family.

A cool breeze washes over your heated skin and you ease your neck back, watching as Spanish moss flits gently in the wind above you. The corner of your mouth tugs downwards into a frown at the sight of the ashen branch it hangs upon—all life now leached from it. It’s strange to consider: that a tall, sturdy, and strong oak tree is oh-so-slowly being drained of life by something so willowy and inconsequential.

There’s a term for Spanish moss, kudzu, and the like. Invasive species. An unwelcome outsider—or, in the case of kudzu, welcome, until it wasn’t; until it became too unruly to handle, and was thus left to swallow up every area it crawls its way across, completely uncared for—but too much of a parasite for any one person to know how to properly, or, rather, permanently, eradicate.

You suppose it serves as a reminder of how inconsequential you all truly are: people; humans. The house always wins. Nature, that is. It will one day reclaim all.

Maybe it’s supposed to be that way.

Time is a flat circle which envelopes and encapsulates everything. There is nothing here which hasn’t always been and won’t always be.

Perhaps one should take comfort at such a thought.

You glance around, wondering where your headstone will one day rest while attempting to envision your own burial and who might be amongst the crowd come to watch you become part of the earthen soil.

"You made a very beautiful speech, sweetheart," Nancy's mom states quietly from the front of the car.

"Thanks," she replies, barely above a whisper.

Her mom glances to the rearview mirror and catches your eye. "How're you doing, Y/N? You thirsty?"

She rummages in her oversized purse for a moment before retrieving a lukewarm water bottle for you from within, which she proceeds to hand back to you over her shoulder.

You take it from her and hold it tightly between your hands. "Thank you. And I'm...okay." You pause. "I guess. I don't know. I think...we're just—"

"Scared," Nancy interjects.

You nod.

The two of you grow silent again for a moment and you listen as the AC struggles to crank out cool air to combat the extreme summer heat which means to fight its way into the limited space of the car’s cabin.

“I know I’m not your old man,” Nancy’s dad starts, and you smile slightly, already sure you know where this is going to lead. “But I still consider you one of my own since our house has always stood as a sort of second home for you. I just want you and Nancy both to be safe. To mind the town curfew and always be looking over your shoulders. Alright?”

You glance to Nancy and she shakes her head with a grin. “Yes, dad.”

His eyes shift toward the rearview mirror and you give him a smile. “Yes, Mr. Wheeler.”

Nancy slides your hand into her lap. “You’re still…staying over tonight, right?”

You nod while giving her a small, playful nudge. “No, I just brought a bag over this morning because I’m slowly moving in.”

She snorts. “I’ll trade your parents Mike to get you all to myself.”

Her mom shakes her head. “Nancy…”

She glances to the back of her head with a sheepish look upon her face. “Just kidding.”

Nancy flops back onto her bed, then rolls her head to the side, watching as you peel yourself out of the black dress that clings to your sweaty skin, eager to be rid of it.

You try not to picture embalming fluid seeping out of Tina’s pores then, only for it to soak into the satin pillow which rests beneath her head from inside her locked coffin, staining it…what color is embalming fluid, anyway? For some reason, you imagine it as being blue. You wonder if that’s accurate.

You gently shake your head, sending the thought fleeing.

“What’s wrong?”

You glance to Nancy, letting your dress pool around your feet before stepping to the side. You then pick it up from the floor to toss in her hamper before going to shower. “Nothing. Just…today, I guess. I think I feel strange about being there.”

She sits up and her brows bow in confusion. “Why?”

You shift on uncertain feet and shrug. “I wasn’t close with her like you were. We were acquaintances, but barely, at that.  I guess I just feel like it wasn’t my place to attend today, maybe.”

She stands and pads over to you, then slips her hands into both of yours. “You were there as a sign of respect.”

Her eyes flit downward and you watch as her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. Or perhaps it’s just the blush she’s wearing, causing the illusion of her pale skin warming. Her gaze meets yours once again. “I would’ve fallen apart without you today.”

She wraps her arms around your neck. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers, nuzzling against you.

You hug her back. “Me too.”

You take a step back and grip each of her forearms. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

She nods while stepping toward you once more, and she presses a firm kiss to your cheek. “I know.”

You’re currently leaned back against the foot of Nancy’s bed, amusing yourself with a hundred piece puzzle on the floor while she flits through glossy magazines atop her bed—her legs swaying back and forth behind her while Flashdance plays quietly on her box TV across the room that’s set atop her dresser.

All of a sudden, your view is blocked by the page of a magazine being hovered in front of your face.

“She’s really pretty,” Nancy states while hanging her head off the edge of the bed.

“Uh huh.”

She sighs irritably. “You’re not even looking.”

“I’m trying to figure out where this piece goes.”

She shoves the magazine further into your face until it blurs.

You groan before snatching it out of her grip.

“Hey!”

You lean your head back and blink at her. “I thought you wanted me to look at it.”

She merely raises a brow in response.

You glance to the page and take a moment to study a picture of Molly Ringwald. “She was good in Sixteen Candles,” you remark before tossing the object behind you.

Nancy then playfully rests her chin atop your head and you bite back a smirk. “You don’t think she’s pretty?”

You press the puzzle piece into place. “She is.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

You laugh quietly. “Someone’s in a better mood.”

She rolls onto her back. “Do you think that’s bad? To feel happy for even a second while Tina is…” She trails off.

You turn around while resting one of your arms atop the mattress. “No. Of course not. She’s…gone, Nancy. And forcing yourself to be miserable in some twisted attempt to ‘honor her memory’ won’t change that. Don’t punish yourself.”

“I know.”

There’s a knock at Nancy’s door then and both your heads turn in that direction.

“Yeah?” Nancy calls, expecting it to be her mom checking on the two of you.

You’re both surprised when the door swings open, however.

“Am I interrupting girls’ night?” Steve asks while hanging in the doorway.

Nancy sits up then and perches herself on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

He shuts the door behind him before coming to seat himself next to her. “Thought I’d stop by and tell you in-person.”

You turn around and gaze up at the two of them, and Steve gives you a gentle smile, which you return.

“Tell us what?” Nancy insists, now on-edge.

“There’s going to be this…memorial-type-thing in the woods tonight. For Tina.”

“The woods—” you start, before Nancy interrupts, speaking your very thoughts aloud.

“The ones where Tina was murdered ? Not those woods,” she says incredulously.

Steve turns more toward her while sliding one of his knees atop her bed and resting his hand against the small of her back. “I think it’s just people trying to change how they remember that place. Throwing it back in his face—what he did there.”

Nancy looks to you with tears shimmering in her eyes, so you stand and seat yourself next to her.

“No one who shows up there tonight will be going to honor Tina. They’re going to throw a bonfire—a party—in the woods so they can get drunk. Right on top of where she was…” She sniffles.

Steve’s eyes flit to yours and then back away so quickly you almost doubt it happened.

“I’m sure that’s why some will be there tonight. But I just thought that, for you, maybe it could serve as some small form of…closure.”

“We’re all under curfew,” you remind him.

He shrugs. “It’s not like anybody our age is going to be adhering to it. Not tonight, anyway.”

Nancy speaks up then. “My parents would never let me out of the house, even if I wanted to go. You know that. So I don’t understand why you’re even bothering with—”

He looks at her bedroom window on the other side of the room, which is shrouded in billowy white curtains. “Could just do like I used to in high school when I wanted to come see you.”

He looks at her once more. “But if you’d rather stay here, I understand.”

Nancy wipes a tear from her cheek and you feel mildly irritated with Steve at the sight of her renewed emotional distress. Before he showed up, the two of you had been having a pleasant evening—she’d finally been in higher spirits for the first time in days. And now… Now she’s mournful again.

“Do you want me to go?” Steve asks her quietly.

Nancy turns fully toward you. “What do you think we should do? Should we go? I don’t know if I can take seeing that: people tossing beer bottles and trash all over where she—she was… And just laughing and pretending like everything is fine, and—”

She begins to sob then and throws herself against you.

Steve shifts awkwardly atop the bed, then clears his throat. “Maybe I should go…”

“No,” Nancy whimpers. “Can you both just hold me, please?”

Steve sidles closer and envelopes her back with his chest.

Nancy lies her head upon your shoulder and you each hold her as she cries, just like she asked.

“Ow!”

“Shh, just go slow and we’ll be fine,” you insist while silently closing Nancy’s window until it’s open only a crack.

You turn back around and watch with a pounding heart—terrified that the two of you are about to be caught any moment now, that her parent’s bedroom light will flicker to life and you’ll be busted and banned from their house, even if the two of you are technically adults now—as Nancy climbs down the trellis on the side of the house.

Once she’s reached the ground, she and Steve both stare up at you as they beckon you down to them.

“This is so stupid,” you mumble silently to yourself before following along behind your friend, praying that you won’t come to regret this when the two of you wind up in handcuffs for disobeying town curfew.

Your head lulls to the side and you watch as street lights and storefronts flit quickly by the car window.

You hope there’s not a deputy cruiser just waiting around a bend in the road up ahead somewhere.

The three of you may not be underage anymore, but you’re sure that won’t much matter since you and Nancy are barely even nineteen. You glance to Steve then and immediately grow cold all over.

No one knows who it is yet.

Steve hadn’t been lying about this supposed gathering in the woods, right?

No.

He isn’t like that. He’d never hurt Nancy. Would never hurt a fly, you’re sure. But that’s what makes it all the more plausible, isn’t it: that no one would ever suspect someone like him. Someone so kind and straight-laced and…well, he’s just your regular golden boy, isn’t he?

Is this how things will be from now on? You suspecting every single man you pass on the street and in store aisles? Doubting any sense of safety or trust you once felt toward any given person because of the terrible unknown that now lies over everyone’s heads in this town?

You stare at the back of Nancy’s headrest, wondering if she’s now thinking the same thing. If it’s come to her yet: the terrible possibility that the two of you could be next—tonight.

You feel sick.

“How did you find out about this…gathering?” you ask worriedly.

Steve clears his throat. “Tommy told me about it this afternoon.”

You nod. “Who do you think it is?”

You stare at the rearview mirror, expecting him to look at you. Rather, you wait for there to be a tell. Some jerk of a muscle or sudden movement which will confirm your suspicions. You pray he does no such thing. Pray that you’re entirely wrong.

Steve shrugs. “I wish I knew. That anyone did so this can all be over. I mean, I have no idea who the hell would’ve wanted to hurt Tina to begin with. Especially like that.”

He flips his right blinker on. “Just makes me sick.”

You and Nancy stay close to Steve as you all draw nearer to the bonfire.

Nancy’d been right about that much.

You’d, luckily, been wrong. About Steve, that is. You hope so, at least.

Nancy loops one of her arms around yours and you rest a reassuring hand against it.

“Either of you guys want anything to drink?” Steve asks while tucking a curl behind Nancy’s ear.

“Water,” you reply.

“And a Coke,” Nancy adds.

He nods and makes his way over to a cooler while you lead Nancy over to a fallen log for the two of you to seat yourselves upon.

“This feels…” Nancy trails off and shakes her head. “I just keep thinking—wondering, rather—if he’s here. I’d give anything right now to be able to read minds—find him out.”

Her eyes meet yours. “Maybe I’d shove a broken beer bottle shard in his neck.”

She’s never been the angry, violent type, but you figure she’s entitled to being as much now.

“He deserves that and worse,” you say.

Steve returns with your drinks then.

An older girl with a teased strawberry-blonde ponytail takes a standing position before the fire—flames licking at the sky above her frizzy head of hair—and she raises the amber bottle in her hand high above her to gather everyone’s attention.

You watch as beer sloshes from the open neck before she lowers the drink to her side again. “So, we all came here tonight for Tina. To give a big middle finger to the sick fuck who did this to her.”

She clears her throat, and pauses, like she’s trying to remember—or figure out—what she’s meant to next say. “So, uh, I’ll just open the floor to anyone who might want to say a few parting words to her, or tell stories to keep her memory alive.”

The young woman steps away, swaying lightly on her feet, leaving an opening for someone to then take her place.

Nancy shakes her head gently beside you. “A drunk to kick us off. Great.”

You turn slightly toward her. “Do you want to start everyone off? You don’t have to, since you spoke at her burial. I mean, you don’t have to anyway…”

She gently shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it. It should be someone who knew her. And who isn’t already under the influence.”

You and Steve stay seated as Nancy takes the vacated spot of the drunk girl.

Nancy clears her throat, then glances nervously to you and Steve before starting.

Sick fuck she’d called him.

She has no idea.

And the drunken cunt better watch it, or she’ll be next.

He shrugs slightly to only himself, knowing she wouldn’t be. Tina might’ve only been the beginning and the end, in truth. He’s just…not sure yet. There’d been something about it—the intimacy of being the only one present in her final moments; all that she could see, or hear, or feel—it’d been unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Something which had transcended this plane—empty and superficial it usually seems.

Or so he’d thought.

But to discover something more—something not typically seen by the naked eye—had taken ungovernable rage to achieve. Though, it had been calculated. Planned. At least in theory. But once they were there—just the two of them—in these very woods…it’d been a far heavier experience than he’d thought to prepare himself for.

The feeling he discovered… It was intoxicating. An absolute release and escape from the torment he’s been forced to endure and tolerate because he has no other recourse but to. Having absolute dominion over another and their bodily autonomy—over a woman—he’d be remiss to pretend at it having no sort of hold over him now.

But he’s sure that there must be another way to fill that void—to go about reaching that pinnacle again. One which doesn’t require that sort of repeated, bloody sacrifice.

It’s not that he sees human life as being sacred. He doesn’t. Not anymore. Not that he’s sure he ever did. But rather that he’s new at this and still yet unsure of himself. He can’t get cocky. Can’t allow it to swallow him whole. He needs to be cautious going forward. More cautious, that is.

He must take things in stride.

His vision flits to Nancy’s waifish form as he barely listens to the meaningless, mournful words leaving her lips.

He’s supposed to feel guilt. That’s what a normal person would be experiencing by now.

But he doesn’t. Not in the least. After all, she was the first to shed blood. To drive the knife of betrayal straight through him, leaving it forever lodged within his black, tarred soul. He was merely repaying the fact.

You feel tired. The warmth from the fire is gradually causing your body to relax and your mind to go hazy.

It’s been a long day.

You’d hoped to be in bed by now, but you know that you can always just sleep in tomorrow instead, if need-be.

You glance around, waiting for Nancy and Steve to return. He’d taken her somewhere nearby to relieve herself after finishing off her bottle of Coke once people’s condolences were through being paid. You don’t like being alone here, even if you’re surrounded by people.

You look so pretty tonight. What, with your skin all awash in a fiery glow and your heavy lids drooping sleepily over innocent eyes. You’re damn-near irresistable. Hell, you always are.

He likes how you don’t know it. That you wouldn’t have the first idea of how to use your body to your benefit against lesser men—lesser than him, that is.

He hasn’t always been so versed in salacious feminine wiles, but he’s learned. It’d taken quite some time to, but he inevitably did. And now—now he knows what he needs, as opposed to what he’d once thought he wanted.

He’s not pleased that you’re here tonight, however. You should know better. This isn’t you: a rule-breaker. Mischievous. But he knows who to blame for it: your presence in a place you ought not to be at to begin with.

Billy can tell that even now—even after earning himself a diploma and attending a nearby college—that little Pretty Boy Harrington still hasn’t wised up. He thinks…what? That if some psycho comes out of the woods, armed with God-knows-what, he’ll be able to protect you and Nancy both? He has no idea what he’s up against. None of them fucking do.

Billy smirks at the knowledge, and then he stands.

“This seat taken?” questions a baritone timbre to your right.

Slowly, you lift your head to gaze up at none other than Billy Hargrove. Your eyes trail downward from his smooth, tanned face, which is framed by golden-brown curls, to a sculpted chest advertised by a partially unbuttoned shirt, and then to blue jeans which cling to his muscled legs. You then proceed to follow his index finger—the rest of his hand is wrapped tightly around a bottle of beer—to the bit of empty wood next to you.

You glance across the way to where Nancy and Steve now stand chatting amongst themselves, then back to him, and you shake your head. “No.”

In truth, you have half-a-mind to tell him to piss off after the things you heard him saying at Tina’s funeral earlier in the morning.

You refrain, however.

It’s just like you to always keep your mouth shut when you have something to say.

You tell yourself you’re merely picking and choosing your battles. As if you’ve ever fought any to begin with…

He gives you a gentle smile, then seats himself next to you. Close enough that his thigh is now pressed up against your own. And fuck, if that isn’t enough to set his blood on fire.

He takes a drink, then tips the neck of the bottle toward you with a quizzical brow.

Unbeknownest to you, it’s a test. One which you promptly pass.

“No, thank you,” you reply while shaking your head, then lifting a water bottle for him to see.

He finds himself pleased with your response. “I didn’t know that you and Tina were close.”

You glance to Nancy across the way again before staring at the fire ahead once more. “She and Nancy were.”

He clicks his tongue. “I see. So you’re here for moral support, then?”

You nod.

He nudges you gently, forcing you to look at him.

“That’s sweet of you. The two of you’ve always been good friends, haven’t you?”

You nod yet again. “Since we were in kindergarten.” You look at him. “So all our lives.”

He studies you for a moment. “You looked really pretty—at the funeral.” He slides a feather-light hand down your back, not wanting to frighten you away like the skittish little fawn you are.

He knows it will take a patient, dexterous hand to reel you in and groom you properly—particularly for his own selfish wants and needs. That it will have to be a gradual process, even if he wants you all to himself now. Not later.

You shift beneath his gaze and he promptly removes his hand.

The two of you remain quiet for a moment, while Billy considers.

“You want to take a walk?”

Your head jerks back in Billy’s direction, sure that he can’t be serious. “No. I’m okay. Thanks, though…”

His eyes narrow slightly and he cocks his head softly to the side. “Why not?”

Your brows furrow. “Because it’s dark. And I mean…look where we are. The stretch of woods we’re in.”

He stands then and extends a hand toward you. “C’mon. You’ll be with me. I can keep you safe. Promise.”

He grins and gives you a wink that’s meant to make him seem charming. But the sight of his canines glinting against the firelight instills a different sort of sensation within you.

“I’m okay, Billy, really.”

His features shift. It’s so small a difference that you’re not sure you even trust your eyes—what you just saw. Perhaps it’s just the flickering fire playing tricks on you. Perhaps you’re just tired. Perhaps…

“There’s just something I want to show you. I think you’ll really like it.”

He’s always known you to be more amiable and submissive. He fights against his own bubbling displeasure at your disagreement.

His temper, at time goes on, is seemingly becoming harder and harder to keep a lid on.

You look to Nancy and fill with relief when you see she and Steve coming your way.

And then is when you stand, and he smiles, thinking he finally has you.

Until he’s promptly disappointed.

You keep your eyes trained on him, watching as his smile disappears at the company of your friends coming to join you. Encroaching on what should be his.

He’s so fucking sick of everyone and everything getting in his way.

Tina is only the beginning.

“Hey,” Nancy calls softly, coming to stand by your side. “You ready to head out?”

Billy steps closer to you. “I can take her home.”

All eyes come to focus upon him.

“If she wants to stay awhile longer, I mean,” he tacks on while shifting on his booted feet.

Nancy pulls you closer to her. “She’s staying at my house tonight. The next few, actually. So we’re headed to the same place. That’s nice of you to offer, though.”

Billy’s jaw flexes, but briefly. And then he relents. “You all enjoy your night, then. And be safe.”

He turns and circles the fire, gazing across the way into the deep, dark woods, feeling a familiar itch which he needs to tend to. Tonight. One of…self-gratification.

There’s few ways left for him to self-soothe now. Masturbation being chief among them. He’ll have visions of you to keep him company as he sees to his carnal needs this evening, at least.

He so anticipates when you will be the one physically helping him along, knowing exactly what he needs and how to give it to him by him only needing to give you a specific look, or a mere gesture.

He’ll train you so well. His perfect, innocent girl. He can hardly wait.

“What did Billy want?” Nancy asks with a sour tone while pushing bubbles around the bathtub.

You’d taken yet another shower yourself once the two of you snuck back into the house for the night—albeit a brisk one—wishing to wash the smell of woodsy smoke and mosquito bites from your body so you’d be clean when the two of you finally laid down to sleep. You’d both gone in through the front door, however, since the house was all dark when you got back, meaning everyone else had already gone to bed for the evening. No reason to risk breaking your necks climbing back up the side of the house and through a window again.

You rest your forearm along the side of the tub and shrug slightly. “He kept…asking me to go into the woods with him. He said he wanted to show me something.”

She sits up straighter then. “He what?” she asks, now thoroughly alarmed.

Your eyes flit to hers and she lies each of her warm, wet palms atop your forearm while proceeding to grip it securely. “Show you what?” she questions.

“We didn’t get that far. I told him no, and then you and Steve came over and we left. It’s just the way he was acting…the look on his face.” You lean back and shake your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there because of the heat of the day, or exhaustion. Or maybe he’d just had too much to drink.”

She pulls the stopper from the drain and the tub begins to gurgle. “He’s never been one to keep it in his pants. Even today he was just looking to make another notch in his belt, I’m sure. I never understood what Tina saw in him.”

You fleetingly consider making her privvy to what you overheard Billy say about the girl in question at her own funeral, but decide against it. Nancy’s been through enough today.

You stand and hand Nancy a towel as she emerges from the tub, which she promptly wraps around her naked form.

“But you’d never be into someone like him,” she states while taking a smell step toward you.

You snort quietly. “He’s nice to look at, but, no, I very much doubt that.”

Nancy smiles. “Good.”

She’s most-certainly frightened.

Not that you blame her.

You know because, before turning in for the night, she set out an old star projector you haven’t seen since the two of you were ten or eleven years old.

You watch idly as various planets and solar systems make their way across the ceiling, stretching, then folding back in on themselves before circling around again and again.

Everything always comes full-circle.

You feel Nancy shift onto her side, and her hand comes to rest atop the crown of your shoulder. “I think I might take some flowers over to her grave tomorrow.”

You turn onto your side then as well to face her. “I’m sure Tina would like that.”

Nancy’s eyes flit between your own. “I always feel better when you’re here.”

You smile sleepily. “I’m glad.”

She glances away for a moment, and her expression changes to one that makes it seem as if she’s lost in thought. And then she returns her eyes to yours. “You never did answer me earlier.”

Your brows furrow. “Hm?”

“About if you think I’m pretty.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I doubt that you need me to tell you that you are, Nance.”

“But do you think I am?” she asks softly while moving closer.

“Y-yes, of course I do. Why?”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, and then she does something entirely unexpected.

Nancy pulls herself flush against your body and proceeds to press her lips against your own.

The moment lasts for only that—a moment—before you pull away in shock. “Nancy, what’re y—”

“I’m sorry,” she immediately supplies while her eyes well with tears. “I just thought… That maybe you felt…”

She sniffles. “Please don’t be mad.”

You remain silent—your mind entirely blank.

You silently curse yourself for the sudden loss of words on your part. Because she’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“It’s just…you’re with Steve. That’d be like—no, it would be—cheating.”

She nods slowly. “I know. I’m not…doing it to be unfaithful to him. I just… I’ve wanted to. For a long time. Especially today. Have you never wanted to…?”

“I’m…not sure. I don’t know.”

You suddenly feel doubtful toward yourself. Have you ever wanted to? Do you want to?

It doesn’t matter what the answer is. You won’t be inserting yourself into their relationship like this. You’re not that kind of person: a homewrecker, for lack of a better term.

She gingerly tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “He doesn’t have to know, Y/N.”

You stare back at her in disbelief. This isn’t the Nancy that you know. She’d never cheat. Steve has done nothing to deserve this.

“Nancy—”

“Just for tonight, please. Couldn’t we try?”

Try?, you want to say. Try what?

“Nancy, we’re both exhausted. You’ve been through a lot today. The past week, really. Let’s just go to sleep, okay? I’m not mad. I promise. Maybe I do feel…something. But you’re spoken for, like I said. And I don’t…” You shake your head. “Even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t want to risk ruining our friendship over something that could never last anyway.”

She winces.

And you fill with guilt.

“I think you know what I mean. No one would ever accept something like that. Not here. Not in a small town like Hawkins.”

Her chin wobbles. “I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.”

You take one of her hands in yours. “It’s okay. I’m flattered, I think, if nothing else.”

She flushes. “Guess you know about my crush now…”

You begin to see recent moments spent with her in an entirely different light then. Like when you’d undressed after the funeral and she’d blushed at the nearly-naked sight of you. Or all the times she held your hand today. Or how she’d seemed even the least bit jealous about Billy having spoken to you this evening.

“Guess so,” you reply in a mere whisper.

The two of you grow quiet again momentarily.

“Could…you hold me?” she asks, while also preparing for rejection.

You give her a soft, reassuring smile. “Course.”

She wraps herself around you then while resting her head between your breasts. “Thanks.”

You close your eyes, ignoring your hammering heart, worried that she can hear it. “Welcome.”

It’s late.

And he shouldn’t be here.

Usually, when he wants to check up on you, he does so outside your house.

But you’re with her tonight.

So, here he sits across the street, staring up at Nancy Wheeler’s bedroom window instead.

He finds sleep difficult to find unless he’s looked in on you for the night. He’s made quite the habit of it for weeks on-end now. He’s just doing it to ensure that his darling girl is safe, that’s all.

Even if the only thing anyone in this town has to be afraid of now—most of all—is him. Especially a sweet young thing like yourself.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispers against the humid night air before turning his Camaro over and driving himself back home, ready to begin planning his next step.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon

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SONG : TAKE YOU DOWN - SZA

SORRY BABE BUT YOUR READING IS LONGER 😭

PILE 2 

SONG : BABY - REMA

6 swords (reverse), judgement (reverse) 8 wands, King pentacles (reverse) 

This is the friend of your older brother. He’s writing a paragraph as a text while he's drunk… which he will never send. He may engage in dangerous behavior because he's behind the wheel texting it but he's not driving … just sitting there. Like he took a moment away from the party to catch some fresh air.  

There's so much sexual frustration and tension in his body is incredible. 

There's a clicking of keys… which is important. Is like his pondering if he should leave or spend the night over like it was planned. I don't think he will actually drive … should he leave, he would tag along with other boys to an actual party. Is like your brother has a lot on his mind regarding another girl from uni … you will not know. You will just be shocked he came back from campus earlier. Even your mom, like her heart might stop. Lol she is so sure for a moment that your brother got kicked out, your brother may have problems accepting answering to more important people ever since he’s a child. Like he’s not annoying or rude, he may come like that but he actually has good reasons to act up. He may be a crash out, but it's always been justified. Lol the bffs are going through it with women … they both seem to deal with it the same way … running away. They may actually act like fucking twin brothers at times. 

What the actually fuck ? I though I actually dealt with my fucking heart. I aint even lie, this past years I try to take my fucking distance with you. I mean I am trying to stay alive and keep my balls. Do you know what would happen to me if your brother could read my brain ? Especially with the past I have, fuck what past … I am too emotionally available with females … he’s not wrong keeping me away from you . I mean … I may not be worth you but can your homeboy dream ? I did not know you have to ask permission to think ? Why do I have to ask permission to use my own brain while you take possession of my thoughts 24/7 like you are paying the bills in this bitch. Your brother told me, we were going to surprise you today. I know he’s was running away, I am always going to have bro back but fuck why do I have to fucked in the process ? You were in your bed, your long hair braided, legs hanging, wearing your short booty shorts, white tee dancing to some pop girl music (his snorting). Dancing like a maniac (explosion of laughter). The scream that came out of you is deserving of an Oscar but the way I had to keep my composure  when you jumped in my arms after hugging your bro was something. Fuck I miss having my hands around you, I miss caring for you, I miss your face, your scent and even your weird habits. Than you came downstair cooking something for me and the bros because your mom was caught up in a meeting and we can’t fucking cook to safe ourselves. Again I had to keep my composure, while your body was moving lazily to the music in your headphones. Keep my eyes on the game, keep my focus on the conversation, keep my attention on the character on the screen. When all I wanted to do was peeking at you. Than like you wanted to torture me … you put the plates a front of us with smile before running back upstairs to your bedroom. All I could think about for the rest of the evening, while drinking was do I claim a need to the bathroom so I can stare at you through the door … FUCK when did I become a such creep ? 

That man grew up in a house where spanking, physical abuse was the way to discipline. 

You often grow up, watching him with purple eyes, you thought maybe he had a temper he was hiding you because he's always calm whenever he deals with you, your family, fuck almost everybody, yet…

For some y’all actually know him since childhood and he always had bruises on him, so you never question it. When  you were younger you even though he had a purple birth scar. This shows the frequency and the normality of the assault he endured for your kid brain to normalize it. 

For some of you, that are fucking shock about that text … to confirm is him … go ask him about his family, childhood or parents, that will be your confirmation that's the pile for you. 

For the one too shocked to believe it, remember that energy is ever changing but if you keep up living the way you do, you will in fact finish your life with  the bff of your older brother. To unclaimed, change something … To claim … no need is already yours (I just saw someone giggling … LOL) 

This collective y’all are really shocked he will actually be interested in you because he treats you like a little sis… from my humble tarot reader opinion … he is too protective and soft for it not to be romance. The intensity in which he holds your gaze is too much to just be platonic 

I just heard : ‘’But nah girl…’’. BABE IF YOU DON'T WANT IT, CHOOSE SOMETHING ELSE. 

The card also shows that he is terrified to show care, empathy and love. You guys have no idea how stoic he is whenever he is interacting with his environment. The fact that he he check on you, the fact that you can call him when you need help (availability), the fact that he reply quickly (you don't how many people he leaves on deliver … ), the fact that he goes out of his way to always bring your fav snack, the fact that he always make sure nobody is annoying you at work, school or even calm your brother down when his become too smart with you . Or the FUCKING fact that he actually smile at (even though is fucking small), the fact that he don't mind hugging you. He's only that soft for you, there's not a single girl he fuck, been a relationship with or even flirt with in which he was this attentive and kind. 

He’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. 

VIBES: Crush, brother bff, secrecy, secret admire and one sided romance 

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PILE 3

SONG: JONI - SZA FT Don Toliver

POV is your past self and future self. Is like a small note. Maybe you guys use the note in your phone like a diary. 

The Chérie D’Amour coming from PILE 2, this is your POV from the situation in PILE 2. Also your brother doesn't know you are out there living an all year hot girl summer and have a whole roster. They only see you as your innocent self. Funny enough (my own  observation), now I understand how hard it is for you to believe what I wrote because you are the same. The dude plays mister nonchalant, while you play Miss Innocent. Both of you have a facade that does not exist with each other. Like you guys actually have an intimate bond with each other. You allow yourself to be soft with him and he allows himself to accept it.

PAST: 9swords, 9 wands (reverse) 

 You are on the bus. A week after a crazy night where u spend the night at your one night or maybe sneaky link. You just have an epiphany 

Honestly … I want more. Is it crazy to say. I want someone to hold me close while playing in my hair. I want someone to look at me like I am the star of their life, like maybe if they look away I may vanish. I want to be the banter of their existence. I want to be the reason for their every breath. I want to go on vacation with the one that loves me. The one that will spend hours, hours and his money just to see a smile on my face. Someone ready to die to hear me laugh. Someone who is just like Jack, will let me, Rose stay on the door  because he prefers a cold death than letting me feel the pain of Atlantic water. Someone will pick me up bridal style after I call him because I am too drunk with my homegirl and can't make my way home. I want someone to comfort me when the tears are rolling down  my cheeks, I want someone to drop anything when my voice has a subtle shake and I want someone to be my safe haven. I want someone who will enjoy spending time with me even when all we do is sit in silence in a quiet room. I want to slow dance in the living room while the dinner is cooking. (Bitter laugh) What the fuck for ? Even if the one came I will destroy it the same way I destroy the marriage of my parents. Maybe all I actually need is a break from having sex. I am tired of getting disappointed , I am tired of sexting, I am tired of the 2 am booty call, I am tired of being easy, I am tired of hair pulling, the spitting, the fucking, the aftercare, the uber, the walk of shame and the fucking hole that's keep growing deeper every time I come home to an empty house after giving my all to another looser because I can’t seem to attract he right one and I am too lonely to refuse anyone.

I am tired of feeling lonely . 

Future : Knight swords, Hermit 

I am hearing : ‘’ Omg he hears me ! Omg he knows my name’’ 

This one is a note but the intention behind it is almost like a prayer.

Please don't take him. Let him love me. Let him stay in my life. (Your eyes are burning with tears, none fell, you are holding on for dear life. You are sitting in your bedroom). I will do anything you ask. Don't let him resent. Let him love me forever. Don't let life take his warmth away from  me. I love every part of him, I love his tattoo, I love his grumpy attitude, I love the way he holds on to my hand. The way he always longs for some physical contact with me otherwise he loses his mind (bitter laugh, oh no… babe you broke … the tears are flowing slowly). I love the way he trust me with his Lego collection, with his car tools and on his bike. I love the way he let me in, my pretty boy, my very pretty boy, he don't deserve all that (Fuck … I finally got the vibe … he may have been in altercation or just an argument with his family which trigger him extremely which made him take its distance. Like you know he's in a dark place but he refuses to let you see him like that (aww now my heart is breaking … y’all going to make a cold ass bitch emotional, now he’s asking me if you are crying. He hates when you cry and it would put him in so much pain to know he is the reason for it). Usually he is transparent and you have amazing communication. That why you are ugly sobbing because it must be very bad, if he is taking his distance). He always comfort me when my periods hurt, when my mom say mean things to me, when school is too hard or life become to overwhelming. Even when I am trying to ignore him, he drop everything for me. I don't know what else to say … you must let him love me. Who else is going to look at me with so much love, caress me with so much passion, make love to me, worship my body with kisses, tell me how much he loves me and how hard is going to work so I never regret choosing him. 

Technically it's stop here …because you are sending him a voice note but since I love y’all let me add it here. I apologize because it might be too messy to read. 

Hiccup, hiccup, (his name), breathing trying to keep it in, breaking down in  tears, talking while having hiccups :  just so you know I love you. Please don't leave me behind, pretty boy. You remember what I told you … you ain't have to feel ashamed for what you did. Baby please come to me, we can work it all. Let me comfort you. 

Breakdown again:  Fuck I am stress. You better comeback (weak attempt to a bossy tone). Please (pleading tone). 

VIBES : Forbidden romance, one bed proximity, touch her and I will kill you, I want and see only her, I don't deserve her, she's too good for me, he's the only one that truly loves me and know me, we should not be doing this but can't seem to stay away from each other.

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PILE 4 

SONG : STAY - Adanna Duru FT Leven Kali

POV YOUR FS. 

I actually shuffled some cards but y’all nasty step dad came through. He's a fucking pervert Chérie d’Amour and I am so sorry you had to deal with this looser in your childhood. I am fucking sorry your mama did not protect you more. 

Your husband DONT PLAY WHEN  IT COMES TO YOU. 

Is a text after the first night spent together. 

Hey beautiful,

I know we just hang up and you probably sleeping rn. Fuck sure is 3 am in the morning but I cant get enough of you. I hate the fact that I can't dream because sleep is keeping me away from you. I want to spend every one of my seconds on earth dedicated to you. Texting you, calling you and hearing you. I am so obsessed with you girl … so you know we are lock in, lock in. There's nobody but us. I don't care if you're mad or tired of me, we are going to work this out. I see the bigger picture with you baby. That not the only picture I have of you… I love kissing you. When your lips lay on top of  mine, my eyes I can't help but close, pushing into a transit state of pure bliss. I love having sex with you, your moans are like  music to me. You have such a beautiful voice, I know I always compliment you about it. I guess you awakened a new kink in me babygirl.I  can recognize your voice, touch and scent in a room full of strangers because my soul knows you. My fav habits of yours when it comes to loving me … is the way you kiss my forehead, my eyes, my cheek and my lips in one setting just to make me smile. I love staring into your pretty face. That’s probably why I stare that much at my phone when u aint around. And she gets even prettier when I am thrusting in and out of your tight pussy. I love when you baby me, even though I am 6’4 (maybe taller) and 3x your weight. I love being the small spoon. I love being your good boy. I love finding safety in your arms. I aint joking girl … I am going nowhere. I LOVE IT HERE. 

VIBES: Commitment, marriage, long lasting romance, wedding day, husband and wife and growing old together 

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[overthinkit-underscore]

THE NARRATOR - You close your eyes, and for a moment, it feels like you're a part of the whole world, and the whole world is a part of you.

this might be the only time in all of Slay the Princess that the Long Quiet isn't likened to "Nothing at all." and it comes from the Narrator, during Apotheosis, when the Long Quiet has already picked up the Pristine Blade. it's simultaneously a pep talk and corrosive manipulation from a delusional man to a sapient entity he only views as the blade they're holding- it's conditional belief, conditional support, conditional love.

(Explore) "I chose to make Her a princess? Why couldn't I have made things easier on myself and picked something small or weak like an ant or a slice of bread?"

THE NARRATOR - Are you asking me to spend my last moments psychoanalyzing you? Sigh. Whatever you viewed her as needed to map on some level to what she was. You couldn't just pick something arbitrary and beneath you. I don't know why you settled on a princess, specifically, but clearly a princess is what you wanted. Maybe she needed to be beautiful. Important. Above you, but on a level you could still approach. A herald of things to come. I don't know. Gods are supposed to be beyond comprehension. I really shouldn't try and anthropomorphize you like this.

That final line is part of why the Narrator treats the Long Quiet so horribly and coldly throughout the game. He fundamentally only sees It and Shifty as the abstract concepts They are. He sees Quiet as a tool, a living weapon He forged for one sole purpose: to slay the Princess. He sees Himself (and all mortal, "real" living beings) as "more important" than It. That's partial narcissism and partial dehumanization on His part.

(Explore) "If you made us, then I want you to know this has been torture."

THE NARRATOR - The inevitability of death is torture. I would gladly put two infinite beings through what you've been through to spare infinite lives from oblivion.

He treats The Long Quiet "poorly" for the same reason you'd be upset at, say, a pesticide for inviting a biblical-scale locust storm to your house, or a car for deciding to take you to Mordor instead of the library down the street. ...It's just in this case, both the pesticide and the locust storm are fully sapient, if eldritch, beings capable of suffering.

and that's why moments like His Echoes have in Happily Ever After are so gut-wrenching,

- I'm happy, I promise! We're both so, so happy here, you don't have to be upset! THE NARRATOR - This is… awful. [...] THE NARRATOR - This is the end for me, but not for you. I hope this was worth it. Genuinely, I do.

because He feels empathy, here. He recognizes their sapience and what the cost of his dream truly is. He's regretting what He's done to put them both through this, but ultimately, no amount of primer for Mr. Amnesiac will ever let Him see this way ever again. one reality among trillions where we He was "delusional" --- one reality among trillions where He cared.

TLQ technically has daddy issues if you think about it

[baby-blue-skyy]

Too Sweet // R. Grimes (TWD) Part 3

Third part of: Too Sweet

Hi everyone! I hope you all are enjoying this little series. I have gotten a little more familiar with the layout, so I feel like I got the hang of it now lol. Part 4 will be posted soon, I am still finishing it up! Thank you all so much for the support.

Warning: age gap, hints of abuse, alcohol use

Summary: After arriving in Alexandria, Rick is still on high alert, uncertainty about the people who live within the walls of his new, unfamiliar home. But one person has caught his attention.

•••

Deanna’s party was a cacophony of voices and clinking glasses, a press of bodies so tight that the air itself seemed thick, heavy with a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and the faint scent of freshly cut flowers that had been placed in vases throughout the house. The walls, once pristine, were now decorated with the warmth of mingling people—locals and outsiders alike, all attempting to recreate a sense of normalcy in a world that had long forgotten it.

Rick had brought Carl and Judith with him, hoping that amidst the chaos, there could be something close to normal for them. They deserved a chance to feel safe, to feel the illusion of peace, if only for a moment. Carl, ever the vigilant protector, stuck close to his father, while Judith, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension, gurgled with a soft laugh, her innocent smile lighting up the room in ways no one else could.

Rick’s eyes swept over the crowd, taking in the faces, trying to gauge their intentions, to measure them against the harshness of the world he knew. His group—his people—were scattered throughout the room, attempting to blend in, to mingle with the Alexandrians, desperate to get a feel for them, to discern who could be trusted and who might just get them killed.

But Rick’s attention kept drifting. His chest felt tight, constricted by a pressure that was not physical but internal. Carol had disappeared, slipping away from the social hum of the party with practiced ease, her movements a silent warning to Rick. She was headed to the infirmary, and as much as he trusted her, as much as he knew the importance of securing their position, a flicker of unease began to gnaw at him. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of danger, any prying eyes that might have noticed her absence.

He breathed deeply, trying to calm the erratic thud of his heart. He had to focus. He couldn’t afford to lose track of his surroundings. And yet, despite the overwhelming need to remain vigilant, his mind betrayed him. It pulled him toward something else.

Her.

Rick cursed himself inwardly. Pathetic. That’s what he was. His gaze moved through the crowd with a desperation that he could not contain, his eyes scanning every face, every body, searching, hoping—hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

She wasn’t here.

His heart sank as the realization hit him like a cold gust of wind. She wasn’t in the crowd, didn’t appear in any corner or by any window. The part of him that had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame was left unfulfilled, that small hope now slipping away like water through his fingers.

But there was someone else.

Rick’s eyes narrowed. Josh. The obnoxious, overconfident man who had somehow wormed his way into their lives. The sight of him standing in the corner, nursing a bottle of beer with a look of utter detachment, made Rick’s skin crawl. The contrast was glaring. Josh was a man who always had to be the center of attention, the life of every room he entered, yet here he was, abandoned in the sea of guests, his presence somehow more pronounced in his isolation.

The thought struck Rick like a hard jab to the gut. Josh doesn’t like those kinds of things. Daisy’s voice echoed in his mind, as clear as if she were standing right next to him. And yet, here he was, standing by himself, pretending to enjoy the party in a way that seemed too deliberate, too calculated.

Something felt wrong.

Rick’s eyes lingered on Josh, watching him as he sipped his beer, his laughter forced, his words louder than they needed to be. There was something about the way he moved—something offbeat, almost like he was trying to draw attention, yet at the same time trying to seem indifferent to the whole affair. He looked like a man trying to prove something, to convince the world—and maybe himself—that he was fine, that he fit in. But Rick wasn’t fooled.

Rick’s fingers tightened around the glass he was holding. The room seemed to constrict around him, the noise, the laughter, the chatter becoming a background hum that only seemed to make the pressure in his chest worse.

Get a grip, Rick told himself, his mind shouting to regain control. She’s none of your business. The words echoed in his head like a mantra, a reminder to steer his thoughts away from the distraction that Daisy had become. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, to steady his pulse, there was an undeniable weight to the air between him and her, a tether he couldn’t cut.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. His fingers tightening around his glass—Jessie’s words falling short in his ear.

As the evening stretched into the night, the crowd slowly began to thin out. Families made their way home, ready to crawl into their beds and sleep, as the party began to lose its energy. The soft chatter and clinking glasses died down to murmurs, and the air seemed to cool with the passing of time.

Rick clutched Judith’s small, sleeping form in his arms as he and Carl made their way out of the house, heading home. The street was quieter now, the soft echo of their boots the only sound accompanying them.

Rick couldn’t help it. His eyes drifted toward her house.

It was dark. No light flickered from the windows, indicating that she, too, had gone to sleep for the night. It felt odd, somehow. Rick wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he had been thinking about her all night, unable to shake the strange feeling she gave him.

The peaceful silence of the neighborhood was interrupted by the sudden sound of glass breaking, sharp and jarring in the stillness of the night. Rick’s gaze snapped toward the noise, landing on the figure of Josh, stumbling drunkenly down the street, a broken liquor bottle lying at his feet.

Rick sighed, a little frustrated, but more than that, exhausted.

Carl looked over at Rick, his eyes focused on the messy, intoxicated figure. “Dad…” Carl started, his voice low.

Rick hesitated, the guilt tugging at him for a moment. He didn’t want to deal with this. But he knew he had to. Not for Josh’s sake, but because the man was a danger to himself, stumbling around like this.

“Take Judith,” Rick said, shifting the sleeping child into Carl’s arms. “Let me help get him off the street.”

Carl nodded, adjusting Judith’s weight. He followed Rick’s lead, looking at the man with concern.

Rick turned back toward Josh, who was swaying like a tree in the wind. His instincts kicked in. He moved swiftly, grabbed Josh’s arm, and began steering him down the street, toward her house.

“No one talks to me, man,” Josh muttered, his words thick with alcohol. “They jus’… they jus’ avoid me. You know?” He hiccupped, his eyes unfocused. “But they all t-talk to Daisy…”

Rick’s jaw tightened at the mention of Daisy. They climbed the steps together, Josh’s feet dragging with each movement, barely able to keep himself upright. Rick knocked on the door, his knuckles tapping gently, though his mind felt anything but calm.

“They all… all like her,” Josh spat, his breath heavy with the stench of liquor. “She’s got… that… that way about her. Everyone likes Daisy. But me? Nah, they just… they jus’ ignore me… ‘less I’m with her.”

Rick’s blood boiled at the words, the resentment in Josh’s voice striking a raw nerve. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to hold himself together as Josh continued, clearly unaware of the effect his words were having.

“Daisy…” Josh went on, his words slurring more and more as he stumbled along, “…she’s-“ his word died short, ricks word cutting through sharply.

“Enough,” Rick growled, his voice tight with restraint. “That’s enough.”

The minutes stretched out as he waited, and for some reason, Rick felt a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t explain. Why was he nervous? His jaw tightened, and he glanced at the drunken man beside him.

The silence was broken by the soft creak of stairs inside. Then, the door swung open, and there she was.

The moonlight spilled down, casting a soft, ethereal glow over Daisy’s features, highlighting the exhaustion in her eyes. She looked tired, disheveled even, but still… breathtaking. She stood there in loose joggers and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair messy and falling into her face.

Rick’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t look away. Even like this, with her sleep-heavy eyes and messy appearance, she still made his heart race.

“Rick?” Her voice was tired, but there was a soft surprise in it that made his pulse quicken.

She blinked, and her gaze flickered to Josh, the anger or frustration—something unreadable—flashed in her eyes before it disappeared behind a mask of calm.

“What’s going on?”

Rick cleared his throat, struggling to keep his voice steady. “He’s had too much to drink. I’m just… I’m just getting him home.”

“Oh god,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair, her frustration evident on her tired features. “If you can bring him in, he can sleep on the couch.”

Rick nodded wordlessly, stepping into the house and helping Josh inside. The moment he did, the familiar scent of vanilla, maybe mixed with something else, wrapped around him. It was oddly comforting, and it sent a strange chill up his spine.

Rick lowered Josh onto the couch, the man barely conscious, before turning to leave. As he made his way back toward the door, he heard Daisy’s footsteps behind him.

She was close now, too close. Rick felt his muscles tense as she neared him, her proximity disorienting. He stepped out into the cool night air, feeling the weight of her presence lingering in the space between them.

Daisy gave him a soft, tired smile. “Thank you,” she said, her voice gentle, almost like a whisper.

Rick swallowed hard, the words caught in his throat. “Didn’t see you at the party,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The moonlight highlighted the sharpness of her features, her lips, her eyes. Rick couldn’t help but notice the faint bruise on her bottom lip. His eyes lingered there for a moment too long, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Her smile had dropped slightly. “I got busy,” she breathed out, running a hand through her hair. “Time got away from me.”

Rick nodded, though he didn’t quite believe her. There was something in her voice that didn’t sit right. But he didn’t press. Instead, he found himself backing up, stepping away from her, but not quite wanting to leave.

Daisy shifted on her feet, crossing her arms over her chest, her gaze dropping to the ground before returning to him. “He doesn’t normally drink like this,” she said, her voice quiet, like she was trying to make sense of it herself. “He… he’s been under a lot of pressure lately.”

Rick barely heard her. His eyes kept drifting back to her lip. The way her words didn’t quite add up. The way she avoided his gaze when she spoke.

Before he could stop himself, the question tumbled out. “What happened to your lip?” His finger pointed toward her injury—his head tilting to the side. His words felt heavy, like he already knew the answer.

Daisy stiffened for a moment, the mask of calm cracking slightly. But then she relaxed, the tension draining from her body as she leaned against the doorframe. A soft laugh bubbled from her lips. “Toddlers,” she said with a shake of her head. “They’re rough.”

Rick’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. She was a damn good liar. He could see that now, and something in him churned uncomfortably at the thought.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, he just looked around the porch, feeling the cool air of the summer night wash over him as he took a deep breath.

He was prepared to leave, but there she was, standing right before him with those wide eyes.

Daisy stepped closer, her movements slow and graceful, almost as if she was aware of the tension in the air. Rick’s breath caught in his throat, shifting on his feet—meeting her gaze just as she came to a stop in front of him. Her eyes were warm, tired, but soft. The moonlight brushed against her features, and she looked nothing short of stunning. Even in that moment, so simple and raw, she managed to stir something in the pit of his belly.

Without a word, Daisy reached up, and before Rick could even process what was happening, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It was innocent—nothing more than a polite thank you for his help, but Rick felt the touch like a spark, a current that traveled through his skin and down to his very core. It was brief, too quick to be anything more, but it was enough to leave him reeling, disoriented, and desperate for something that wasn’t going to come.

Rick’s pulse thudded in his chest, his body tense, his mind spinning in a blur of emotions. He didn’t know why this innocent gesture was hitting him so hard. It was just a kiss on the cheek. That was all.

But the way her lips had touched his skin—the softness of it, the warmth that lingered—made everything inside him ache in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He wanted more. He wanted to pull her close, kiss her, feel her hands in his. But he knew he couldn’t. Not like this.

Daisy stepped back, smiling softly at him. “Goodnight, Rick,” she said, her voice gentle, as if nothing at all had changed. It was casual. Simple. Sweet.

But Rick couldn’t breathe. He stood there for a moment, his hand instinctively going to his cheek, as if trying to keep her touch with him, as if it was something he could hold onto. The warmth she left behind was intoxicating, and he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t want to.

Daisy turned away, retreating back into her home with a final glance over her shoulder, leaving Rick standing in the darkness, a wreck of conflicting emotions. The night felt warmer now, the air heavier.

He stood frozen, still feeling the soft press of her lips on his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and a dull ache settled in his chest that he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just a kiss—it wasn’t just that.

It was her.

And for a brief, painful moment, Rick let himself imagine what it would feel like to be with her—really with her, not in the way he had with anyone else in this world.

But he wasn’t sure if it was something he could ever have, and he hated himself for even letting his thoughts drift that way. He took a shaky breath, then finally turned and walked away, unable to stop the feeling of her touch, the memory of her kiss, from following him through the night.

[vaquerobuckaroo]

Arthur Takes Off His Hat for Mary

When Arthur meets Mary for the first time in a while, he takes off his hat. I think it's very significant because he's still outdoors and doesn't need to do that. He could just tip his hat in greeting. From what I've seen of Southern hat etiquette, it's common to take off the hat only when you're inside a house. But he takes it off when in front of her. And when they're still outdoors.

Maybe I'm thinking too deeply into it but I think it really shows how much love and respect he has for Mary despite it all. This thought might be mismatched but I remember seeing a video about hat etiquette which explained this: your hat is a representation of your work and when you take it off in front of a woman, your work is not important in that moment, but she is (paraphrase).

Now I'm not American and neither do I have in-depth knowledge of Southern manners and etiquette so forgive me if this is wrong!!

[anthurak]

A thought: But what if Winter were to sacrifice her independence to bring Penny back?

Like, she joined the Atlesian Military to get away from her family, and so it's pretty clear that her ability to live without them is something she values quite a bit.

But now that she's started to reconnect with them, imagine if the cost for Penny to win again was Winter sacrificing enough of her Aura that she'd never be able to live independently again?

Yeah, I can kinda see that. Though I also have to question how 'sacrificing enough of her aura' directly equates to 'never being able to live independently again'. Like are you suggesting a situation similar to Pietro's where sacrificing that much of her aura leaves Winter physically disabled in some capacity?

Because if that's the case, I do feel like Winter isn't the most interesting character to explore that idea with, rather it would be WAY more interesting to see this explored with Jaune.

Not necessarily in that Jaune might become specifically disabled himself, but more that in order to bring Penny back, Jaune sacrifices the very strong aura reserves that allow him to be a strong, frontline fighter. Which would be kind of the perfect conclusion to his story of learning that the 'strong hero guy' archetype he thought he wanted to be at the start of the show ISN'T what he really wants/is meant to be. Essentially a 'sacrificing an important thing I've nonetheless realized I don't actually need' sort of moment.

Not to mention that, going back to Winter, I feel like it's pretty likely that 'big self sacrifices' are something that Winter might be dangerously drawn to in the coming Volumes and will have to be talked out of by her friends and family. Very much a 'learning to value yourself' arc.

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

[lisbonsteresa]

they make me so

[hauntingblue]

NAMI HAS TAKEN ACTION!!! LETSGOOOOO

[orchideae]

Uncle Tian. The importance that is Uncle Tian. ... With a "cameo" of Yelan in the second half, exactly at 1:00, which is incredibly so very important if you really want to get a proper glimpse into her 'professionally'.

[adler-obsessed]

god. Vivienne really is just. that character. She is taken to the circle so young she does not remember what her parents even looked like and someone had to tell her. She wouldn’t even know if they were telling the truth. She is ruthless, the terror and nightmare of the Orlesian court. She almost weeps when you find the Tranquil skulls in Redcliffe. She hates drop waists. She is harrowed younger than any other mage in living memory. She teaches Bull the steps to the dance of the six candles. He likens her to a Qunari dreadnought that has half the enemies on the ground before he’s even reached the front line. Her accent’s not Orlesian. No Free Marcher can tell where she is from either. Is her original voice another part of herself she cut off? She enchanted a duke within one meeting and they scandalised even Orlesian society. She was good friends with his wife. They possibly fucked too. No can control her. She’s been owned since the moment she was first brought to the Circle. She belongs to no people. There are a dozen leashes around her neck claiming otherwise. She makes fun of an elven god for setting his coattails on fire.  She is on the verge of banishing Cole back to the Fade all the time. She can’t help but grow to care for him at the end despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise. She hates herself for it. She thinks caring makes you weak. During the first conversation you have with her unmasked as a Trevelyan, she begs to know if you also cared about her childhood friend, Lydia. She tries to import illegal fur into Skyhold. Did she kill everything soft within her soul herself or did the Chantry sisters do it for her? She is impossible to prank. Some might say she’s even better than Sera at pranking. She was pulled into the game by the time she was nineteen. She’d faced worse things since she could first remember her dreams. Life has never been fair. One merely needs to be hard enough to survive. The blade at her neck when she lay on the floor of the harrowing chamber was no different from the hunger in her belly as child, a necessary pain that only drove her forward. Maker, was there ever any chance that she did not see cruelty as simply another word for life? Is there any version of her that does not end up surrounded by moral filth? 

[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♡

[carnalcrows]

BABYSITTER - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x male reader

synopsis: When a broke college student takes a babysitting gig, he signs up for snack time and bedtime stories—but ends up with bloodstains, cryptic employers, and an unsettling crush on the kid’s disturbingly hot dad.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, blackmailing, blood, anal, breeding, creampie, missionary, mating press, dubcon, mentions of kidnapping, too much plot

word count: 5.2k (good lord)

It was a typical Wednesday afternoon when you found yourself perched in the corner of the campus café, a half-empty cup of cold coffee sweating onto the table beside your laptop. Bills, tuition, and the general weight of adulthood had a way of pressing down on your shoulders, leaving you in a constant state of mild panic. You scrolled through job listings with the desperation of someone clinging to a lifeboat.  

Barista? You had already been rejected twice due to your “lack of experience.”  

Retail? They wanted you available on weekends, which wasn’t feasible with your study schedule.  

Dog walker? Allergic to fur.  

The list grew more depressing as the minutes ticked by, until one particular post caught your attention:  

"Babysitter needed. Flexible hours. Payment upon services rendered. Serious applicants only."  

There was no company name, no attached image of a smiling family, not even a hint about the age of the child you’d be babysitting. The simplicity of it screamed sketchy, but the promise of payment dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick. 

“Desperate times,” you muttered, clicking on the post.  

The application form was equally bare-bones, asking only for your name, availability, and a short paragraph about why you wanted the job. You quickly typed something generic about being responsible and good with kids, then hit send without much hope.  

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.  

"You’re hired. Start tomorrow at 3 PM. Address: [Redacted]."  

You stared at the screen, bewildered. No interview? No background check? Either this was the world’s most desperate parent, or you were walking into a scam. A friend texted you moments later, asking if you’d found a job yet, and you decided to leave out the details when you replied, 

"Yep, starting tomorrow."  

The afternoon sun was scorching as you made your way up the steps of the quaint suburban house. The place had a sort of storybook charm—a neat lawn, pastel shutters, and a small porch swing swaying lazily in the breeze. If it weren’t for the suspiciously vague job listing you’d answered, you might have thought you were walking into a feel-good rom-com instead of a potentially shady situation.  

You knocked on the door and waited. Seconds ticked by. You shifted awkwardly, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting hidden cameras. But just as you were about to knock again, the door flew open with surprising force, revealing a little girl standing barely taller than the doorknob.  

“Hi!” she exclaimed, her voice so cheerful it nearly gave you whiplash. “Are you the babysitter?”  

“Uh… yeah,” you replied, startled by the sheer intensity of her enthusiasm. “That’s me.”  

“I’m Su-an,” she said proudly, puffing out her chest. “Come in! I was just having a meeting with my council!”  

Before you could even ask what she meant, she grabbed your hand and tugged you inside. The house was warm and cozy, if a little cluttered, with toys scattered across the floor and crayon drawings taped haphazardly on the walls.  

---

“This is Mr. Snuggles,” Su-an announced, holding up a ragged teddy bear with one ear chewed off. “He’s the president of my council.”  

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding solemnly. “And what does the council do?”  

“Important stuff,” she said, narrowing her eyes like she was letting you in on a state secret. “Like deciding who gets cookies after dinner. Also, they voted to make you the assistant.”  

You blinked. “I don’t remember running for office.”  

“Well, you didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “But Mr. Snuggles said you looked like you’d be good at it.”  

Before you could protest, she shoved the bear into your hands and pointed to a tiny table covered in a chaotic mix of crayons, plastic teacups, and a single half-eaten cookie.  

“Sit,” she ordered. “The council meeting is starting!”  

---

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a whirlwind of nonsensical games and increasingly bizarre “council decisions.” At one point, you were ordered to wear a paper crown (which barely fit) and were dubbed the “Official Snack Prince.” Your royal duties included distributing Goldfish crackers and ensuring everyone—stuffed animals included—got an equal share.  

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” Su-an said, eyeing you critically as you handed Sir Fluffington his crackers. “Better than my last babysitter.”  

“Oh?” you asked, curious. “What happened to them?”  

“They couldn’t handle the council,” she said gravely.  

---

After the meeting adjourned, Su-an decided it was time to “train” you in the art of hide-and-seek. You played along, even though she kept hiding in the same spot: under the dining table, her giggles giving her away every single time.  

“Found you again!” you said, crouching down to peer under the table.  

She gasped, genuinely shocked. “How are you so good at this?!”  

“It’s a gift,” you deadpanned, earning another round of giggles.  

---

When hide-and-seek got old, she declared it was “dance party time.” She dragged you to the living room, where she plugged in her favorite playlist on an ancient speaker. The first song was a pop hit you vaguely recognized, and before you could even protest, she was already twirling around like a whirlwind.  

“Come on!” she yelled over the music.  

“I don’t dance,” you started, but she shot you a look so devastatingly adorable that you had no choice but to join in.  

What followed was ten minutes of the most ridiculous dancing of your life. Su-an moved like she was powered by pure chaos, flailing her arms and jumping around, while you attempted something resembling the robot. She laughed so hard she tripped over her own feet, and you had to catch her before she face-planted into the couch.  

---

As the day wore on, you found yourself genuinely enjoying her company. She was smart, funny, and had the kind of boundless energy that made you wonder if kids ran on caffeine instead of juice boxes.  

By the time bedtime rolled around, you were exhausted. Getting her into pajamas was an ordeal—she insisted she couldn’t sleep without her “lucky socks,” which turned out to be mismatched and buried at the bottom of her toy chest. When you finally tucked her in, she stared up at you with wide, sleepy eyes.  

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked, clutching Mr. Snuggles to her chest.  

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be here.”  

“Promise?”  

“Promise.”  

---

As you made your way back downstairs, you felt a surprising sense of accomplishment. Babysitting wasn’t what you’d imagined yourself doing, but something about Su-an’s infectious energy and genuine joy made it worth it.  

You tidied up the living room, stepping over plastic dinosaurs and rogue crayons, and couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. If every day was going to be like this, maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all.  

---

And so, your days with Su-an became a routine. Every afternoon, she greeted you at the door like an excited puppy, launching into a new scheme or game. One day, she decided you were a dragon and she was a brave knight. The next, you were her art teacher, helping her draw increasingly absurd animals like “dog-o-sauruses” and “cat-icorns.”  

One particularly memorable day, she tried to teach you how to braid her hair. It did not go well.  

“Why are there so many strands?!” you groaned, your fingers tangled in her hair.  

“It’s easy!” she said, giggling. “You just go over, under, over, under!”  

“You sound like a cryptic math teacher,” you muttered, earning another round of giggles.  

---

The days passed in a blur of laughter and chaos, and soon, you found yourself looking forward to your afternoons with Su-an. She made you forget about your stress, your bills, and your endless to-do list.  

Still, a question lingered in the back of your mind: where was her dad during all of this? But for now, you were content to let the mystery be. After all, it was hard to worry about much when you had a six-year-old demanding you be her “Royal Snack Advisor.”

It was one of those rare evenings when the air felt just right—not too cold, not too warm, with a soft breeze that carried the faint smell of grass and distant barbecues. Su-an had begged to go to the park after dinner, and you’d caved, eager to get some fresh air and give her a chance to burn off her endless energy.

“Push me higher!” Su-an squealed as she swung back and forth, her legs pumping excitedly. You stood behind her, laughing as you gave the swing a gentle push.

“Higher, huh? What are you trying to do, touch the clouds?”

“Maybe!” she shouted, giggling as the swing reached its peak.

The park wasn’t crowded—just a few other families and joggers scattered around. It was peaceful, the kind of evening where you could almost forget the strange tension that sometimes hung around the house, the questions you tried not to ask about her father’s late-night comings and goings.

But the peace didn’t last.

As you helped Su-an off the swing and she dragged you toward the monkey bars, a commotion near the edge of the park caught your attention. At first, you thought it was just a group of people arguing—a not-uncommon sight in the city. But then you saw him.

Your heart stopped.

There, in the dim light of a flickering street lamp, was a man—the man. His tall frame was unmistakable, even in the shadows. He stood over a small group of disheveled, huddled figures, who you quickly realized were homeless people. A plastic bag lay torn at his feet, loaves of bread spilled across the ground.

He wasn’t just standing there. He was stepping on the bread.

Your breath caught as you watched him stomp down with deliberate, almost mechanical force, grinding the food into the dirt. The homeless group stared in silence, some in shock, others looking away as if too defeated to protest.

“Isn’t that Daddy?”

The innocent question cut through the haze of disbelief like a knife. You snapped your head down to look at Su-an, her wide eyes fixed on the scene with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s not.”

“But—”

Before she could finish, you crouched down and gently placed your hands over her eyes. “Let’s go, Su-an. We’re leaving.”

“Why can’t I look? What’s wrong?” she whined, squirming in your grasp.

“Because it’s not safe,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you picked her up and started walking away, her protests muffled against your shoulder.

Your mind raced as you carried her toward the car. What had you just witnessed? That couldn’t have been him—could it? But the silhouette, the way he carried himself—it was all too familiar.

You buckled Su-an into her car seat, doing your best to distract her with promises of ice cream and cartoons when you got home. But even as she babbled happily about her favorite flavors, your hands trembled on the steering wheel.

By the time you got back to the house and put Su-an to bed, your heart was still pounding. You paced the living room, replaying the scene over and over in your head. The way he’d crushed the bread underfoot—there had been no hesitation, no anger, just cold, calculated precision.

Who does that?

And more importantly, why?

The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but between your classes, assignments, and Su-an’s boundless energy, exhaustion had taken its toll.

It was the sound of the front door slamming that jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked into the darkness, the faint glow of the kitchen light casting long shadows across the room. Footsteps echoed through the hallway—heavy, deliberate, and nothing like the hurried, near-silent ones you were used to from the man of the house.

You sat up, your heart beginning to race. Something wasn’t right.

When he appeared in the doorway, your stomach twisted into a knot. His usually pristine white shirt was drenched in blood, the vivid crimson staining the fabric and dripping in thick, uneven streaks. His face was ashen, his dark eyes wild and unfocused, like a man teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t name.

“Wh-what happened?” you stammered, instinctively backing away as the metallic tang of blood reached your nose.

“It’s not my blood,” he said curtly, his voice gravelly and sharp.

As if that was supposed to make you feel better.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

He staggered toward the kitchen, his movements unsteady but purposeful. Against every ounce of self-preservation screaming at you to stay put, you got up and followed him.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your tone softer this time.

He didn’t respond, instead gripping the edge of the counter as if to steady himself. The dim light overhead cast harsh shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unapproachable than usual.

“Sit down,” you said, surprised by the steadiness of your own voice.

He turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a moment, you thought he’d ignore you, but then he surprised you by obeying. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every step cost him.

You grabbed a damp cloth from the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you wrung it out. You weren’t sure why you were doing this—why you weren’t running out the door or calling the police. Maybe it was the way he looked, like a man who had seen too much, or maybe it was the faint vulnerability hiding behind his hard exterior.

“This... isn’t normal,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, as you began wiping the blood from his face. The cloth came away dark and sticky, and your stomach churned.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with things you don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warning edge.

You paused, meeting his gaze. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unreadable—a mix of exhaustion, anger, and something else that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m here,” you said, almost defiantly, as you moved to clean his hands. “So I’m already concerned.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly.

The silence between you grew even heavier, the only sound now being the soft movement of the cloth against his skin. Your hands were shaking slightly as you worked, wiping the blood from his face, his hands, but his eyes never left you. They were intense—piercing, almost as though he were searching for something in your expression.

You couldn’t look away for long. The tension in the air thickened with every passing second, your heartbeat picking up, each thud echoing loudly in your ears. It was like being drawn into a web you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard you tried.

When you finally stepped back, giving him space, you thought you’d be able to breathe again. But then, his hand shot out, quick as lightning, wrapping around your wrist. The touch was firm, deliberate, sending an involuntary jolt of electricity through your veins. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. His fingers were cold against your skin, but the intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"Why are you helping me?" His voice was low, gravelly, and for a moment, you wondered if he was testing you—seeing if you’d reveal the truth, or maybe if you’d run.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but your pulse was hammering, and you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted to his proximity. The heat between you both felt suffocating. His touch was grounding, yet it stirred something dangerous inside you. “Because someone has to,” you replied, your voice steady, though you could feel the words slipping off your tongue more as a defense than truth.

His gaze deepened, darkening in a way that sent a chill down your spine. The air between you was thick, electric, as if there were an unspoken promise between you both—a promise you knew you were too afraid to fully acknowledge. Then, before you could even react, he pulled you in close. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision, desperate and overwhelming, like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long and was finally breaking free. His kiss was messy—almost violent—as if he needed to consume you, to claim you in a way that made your knees weak and your thoughts scatter. His lips were demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your body tremble.

You should’ve pushed him away, told him to stop, told him that this was wrong. Your mind screamed at you to break free, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him instead, matching the fervor of his kiss. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, his grip tightening. Your breath was ragged between kisses, and your pulse pounded in your ears as the world outside of the two of you seemed to vanish.

When he pulled away, just far enough to catch his breath, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving. You couldn’t think. All you could feel was the lingering heat of his touch, the undeniable thrum of desire that still buzzed beneath your skin. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something in them—something dark, dangerous, but...hungry.

His lips curved into a smirk, and it sent a jolt of unease running down your spine, mingled with something else, something deeper.

“You’re in over your head, kid,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your back.

The words should’ve been a warning. They should’ve sent you running. But instead, they only lingered in the air between you, wrapping themselves around you like a noose. You should’ve known then, but you didn’t want to listen.

And for the first time, you realized: you were already tangled up in his web, and maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want to escape.

The obsession grew in subtle ways. You’d arrive to find unexpected gifts waiting for you on the kitchen counter: a sleek leather wallet, a watch so expensive you didn’t dare wear it, a bottle of cologne that smelled like a storm breaking over the ocean.

When you tried to protest—“This is too much” or “I can’t accept this”—his expression would shift. His jaw would tighten, his eyes darkening with something that made your chest tighten.

“Take it,” he’d say, his tone brooking no argument. And you’d always comply, your words catching in your throat as he gave you a look that said refusing wasn’t an option.

Your feelings about him became a tangled mess of contradictions. Every instinct screamed that something about him was wrong. The blood, the cryptic way he spoke, the chilling bread incident in the park—they all painted a picture of a man you should stay far away from.

But then there were the moments that left you reeling. A lingering glance, a brush of his hand against yours, the way he could soften—just slightly—when he saw you with Su-an.

The first time he kissed you, you felt like your world had been turned inside out. It was sudden, overwhelming, and left you breathless. His lips were rough but urgent, like he was staking a claim rather than asking permission. And when it happened again—and again—you didn’t push him away. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, craving the heat of his touch despite every rational thought telling you to run.

But his obsession wasn’t content to simmer beneath the surface. It began to consume him, bleeding into the delicate balance of your day-to-day life.

He started showing up during your babysitting hours, a presence that was impossible to ignore. At first, he’d just watch from the doorway as you played with Su-an, his dark eyes following your every move with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

Then, his involvement escalated. He’d dismiss you early—always with some excuse about needing to talk to you. But the moment Su-an was out of earshot, his demeanor would shift. He’d pull you into his room, his hands firm but not rough as he guided you inside.

“You’re spending so much time with her,” he’d say, his voice low and rough, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Don’t forget who’s paying you.”

His lips would crash against yours before you could respond, his kisses urgent and messy, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere else but with him.

The final straw came on a night like any other—or so you thought. Su-an had already gone to bed, and you were tidying up the living room when your gaze drifted toward the slightly ajar door of the man’s study. It was a room he rarely used in your presence, a space he kept locked most of the time.

You hadn’t intended to snoop. But the door was open, and your curiosity, already inflamed by the strange events surrounding him, got the better of you.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of leather and faintly bitter cologne. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the mahogany desk and the shelves lined with books and files. One particular folder caught your attention—it was open, papers spilling out as if hastily shoved aside.

Your heart sank as you picked up the first page. It was your class schedule, neatly printed and highlighted. Beneath it were receipts from your favorite coffee shop, notes about your usual order scribbled in the margins.

And then there were the photos.

They weren’t candid shots taken on the street or at the park. They were intimate, the kind of photos someone would take if they were watching closely—too closely. You recognized the outfits, the moments. One was of you laughing as you pushed Su-an on the swings. Another showed you sitting on a park bench, earbuds in, entirely unaware of the camera.

The air in the room felt too thick, like it was choking you. Your fingers trembled as you shoved the papers back into the folder, heart hammering in your chest.

“What the hell is this?”

The words left your mouth before you even realized he was standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something intense.

The folder in your hands felt heavier than it should have, its contents seared into your memory. Photos of you, notes about your life, details no one should know unless they’d been watching you for far too long. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, standing so calmly in the doorway as if this was all perfectly normal.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice shaking.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his movements slow, deliberate. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you in with the man you were starting to realize you knew far less about than you’d thought.

“I warned you,” he said, his voice low, almost soothing. “I told you not to go looking where you shouldn’t.”

“This—this is insane,” you stammered, backing up until the edge of the desk pressed against your hips. “Why do you have these? Why are you—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he interrupted, his tone softening as he drew closer. His gaze was unrelenting, pinning you in place. “I’ve been watching over you. Protecting you. You’re... important to me.”

“Protecting me?” you shot back, your voice breaking. “This is stalking. This is obsessive. This—this isn’t normal!”

He stopped just a breath away from you, his height and presence overwhelming. His eyes, dark and piercing, searched yours for something, though you couldn’t tell what. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me–and to my daughter? You’ve become... everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Your body tensed, torn between the instinct to pull away and the undeniable pull of his closeness.

“Stop,” you whispered, though your voice lacked the strength it should have had. “This isn’t—this can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. His other hand moved to your waist, firm but not forceful, as he leaned closer.

“You keep saying it’s wrong,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your lips. “But you don’t push me away.”

His lips brushed against yours, testing, as though giving you one last chance to stop him. But when you didn’t move, when your breath hitched and your hands gripped the edge of the desk behind you, he took it as permission.

The kiss was slow at first, deliberate and searching, as though he was memorizing every inch of your mouth. But it didn’t stay that way for long. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

You gasped against him, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt. The heat of him, the sheer intensity of his presence, was dizzying. When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you couldn’t suppress the small sound that escaped you—a sound that seemed to ignite something in him.

His movements grew more desperate, more consuming. He pressed you back against the desk, his body caging you in as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent sparks of sensation racing down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your head tilted to give him better access.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, almost guttural. “Do you even realize what you do to me?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing even as your body betrayed you, leaning into him. His hands gripped your waist, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, and you shivered at the contact.

“This... this isn’t okay,” you managed, though the words came out weak, shaky.

“No,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, filled with something you didn’t dare name. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

The words hung between you, heavy and charged, as he leaned in again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left no room for argument. And though your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, your body betrayed you, pulling him closer instead.

His hand slowly trailed to the hem of your sweatpants, lightly tugging on the strap, you flinched when his cold hand suddenly went under your boxers. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this– Su-an might-” you were interrupted with his other hand covering your mouth.

“Hush now, this room is soundproof,” he merely stated before harshly pulling your pants and boxers down with one tug. He then picked you up and placed you on the desk, pushing aside all the files and paper, which now seemed so insignificant.

“You’re hard. Are you still telling me you don’t want this?” He questions, his warm breath fanning your ear. You shuddered at the feeling, not knowing what to say, or what to do.

Before you could form words, he wraps his hand around your aching cock which was standing erect, partly due to the cool air, and partly due to what was happening.

His movements were minimal, slowly moving his hand along your shaft, while his other hand fetched a packet of lube from his back pocket. Where he managed to get that, you couldn’t tell.

He ripped the packet with his teeth, and spread the substance all over his fingers, before swiftly flipping you over, so that your ass was facing him.

Before you could utter a word of process, he had slipped a lubed finger in you. A wanton moan left your mouth at the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck–don’t stop, please,” the man only smirked at this, slowly sliding in another finger, and then another. Three of his fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, and oh, it felt heavenly. His other hand held you up just a bit, to keep you from falling off the study desk.

Your hands gripped onto the desk, frantically trying to keep yourself upright, but to no avail. You kept slumping off, the pleasure being too overwhelming.

“Stay still for me pet, that’s it–good boy,” the praise went straight to your dick, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Soon, the man determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his fingers. You whined at the sudden emptiness, wanting to feel full once more.

He stared at your twitching hole, clenching around nothing. The sight did nothing but turn him on even more.

He removed his belt and cast it aside, while tugging down his pants and boxers with a sense of urgency. He easily flipped you over with his strong arms, now getting a clear view of your already fucked-out face.

He merely grinned, and before you could respond, he slid into your awaiting hole. You gasped at the intrusion, the head of his cock bullying its way into your hole. He groaned feeling the way you clenched around his length.

Without waiting for you to adjust, he fucked into you like an animal in heat, holding your legs in such a way that your knees where at your shoulders.

The new angle made his length hit your prostate with every thrust, making your head fall back on the table, a loud moan leaving your lips.

 The man was savouring every single reaction, every little noise you made. “Such a sweet little thing,” he cooed. “Can’t even keep a straight head while getting fucked, hm?”

The only thing that left your mouth was a string of garbled noises. Your brain had quite literally turned to mush with how well he was fucking you.

Soon, you felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, but the man didn’t stop. Instead, he fucked into you harder, a bulge forming in your stomach with every thrust.

He lightly pressed on the bulge, which made you squeal�� the overstimulation doing too much to your head.

He kept rutting into you until he felt his climax. When it came, his thrusts slowly started to stutter. Without warning he emptied his load in you, painting your gummy walls white.

He kept you on the desk, without pulling out as you whimpered, feeling so, so full.

With your mind in such a disarrayed state, you didn’t notice him slip a small ring onto your finger.

“Now you can’t leave me–or Su-an, ever. Poor thing needs a mother after all.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.