#that's why she also stopped him from talking about her

[starkwlkr]

she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

[monzabee]

short n' sweet (social media au) - op81

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where in an attempt to figure out who Y/N is dating, the internet come up with theories only to realise she is dating none other than Oscar Piastri and chaos ensues.

Pairing: oscar piastri x pop star!reader (model used: sabrina carpenter) (and domingooo)

Warnings: cursing (i think), sabrina carpenter is horny but it's okay we ride with it, feat the internet being the internet, i have a big fat crush on mercello hernandez so you have been warned

Auhtor note: came all this way, had to explain, direct from @percervall; mar this one is for you, i haven't had this much fun in a long time so thank you for indulging my brainrot and excitement😭🫶

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

yourusername

Liked by elleusa, taylorswift, gracieabrams and 3,255,376 others

yourusername: toto, i have a feeling we're not in kansas anymore. short'n sweet cumming to a city near you! first stop: columbus, ohio

user: bro just give me ONE chance

user: SHE'S GORGEOUS ❤️❤️❤️❤️

user: te amo diva

user: don't know if i wanna be with her or i wanna be her

view all 5,594 comments.

user: see you tomorrow pookie

user: cant wait to see u 🫶🏼✨🤍

user: she’s the sweetest & shortest 💋

user: it’s Y/N's world and we’re just living in it😭🤍🤍💋💋💋

user: is he talking about TOTO FUCKING WOLFF??

user: why is f1 everywhere, no she isn't😭

tiktokuser1

caption: bed chem from opening night!!

user: that mic is ON! ✨

user: I LOVE THIS DIVA!!

user: watching this isn’t enough, I have to be there

user: I need that bed.. NEOWWW

user: SHE BETTER BRING THE DAMN TOUR TO AUSTRALIA CAUSE THE FOMO IS CRAZY

user: oh i think she'll be bringing the tour to australia alright

user: what does that mean??

user: what do you know!!

tiktokuser2

caption: YO I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING BUT SHORT N' SWEET TOUR IS THAT GIRL!!

user: 'have you ever tried this one?' ugh her mind😭

user: IS THIS THE NEW NONESENSE OUTRO FOR THIS TOUR I NEED TO KNOW

user: i can't take my eyes off this, i've been staring at it for the past five minutes!

user: okay diva we see you👀

yourusername

Liked by madisonbeer, oscarpiastri, haileybieber and 4,182,928 others

yourusername: hello l.a., are you ready to wrap it up?

user: OSCAR JACK PIASTRI WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

user: okay who is he and why is he lurking in my diva's likes?

user: MY QUEEN (me typing this while listening to espresso 👀)

user: just a girl living life and making everyone fall in love with her

user: i’m 26 and AFRAID of Y/N Y/LN

view all 7,011 comments.

user: the caption and the last pic with the kittens the vibes don't match i love you😭

yourusername: stoppp, i diee

user: how is this tour like halfway over ????? second leg of tour maybe???? 😭

tiktokuser3

caption: have you ever tried this one?

user: i don't know how she keeps coming up with these

user: imagine having this much freak, i wouldn't be able to leave my house

user: am i the only one who is excited for the last three shows in la??

user: her boyfriend is one lucky guy that's for sure

user: she has a boyfriend??

user: girl who do you think the guy in the white jacket and the thick accent is?

tiktokuser4

caption: omg guys😭😭 domingo is here😭😭

user: CAME ALLL THIS WAAY HAD TO EXPLAAAIN

user: deerect from domingoo

user: okay hear me out... mercello and Y/N??

user: noooo, this crossover is actually too insane i can't handle it

user: look at how he's looking at her bro's down bad😭

tiktokuser5

caption: WE'VE LOST HER TO DOMINGO GUYS

user: somebody call kyle and tell him the good news😭

user: who's kyle?

user: omg do you live under a rock or something?

user: am i the only one who thinks they are not dating?

yourusername

Liked by tiktok, oscarpiastri, marcellohdz and 3,669,817 others

yourusername: LA night 2 ♥️💋 second locationnnn maybe he’s biiii!!! see you tonight for our last show of the US leg :’) how the hell

user: God bless your Dad’s genetics, Domingo

user: OMG DOMINGOOO… “NOW SHES WITH A HOT GUY BUT HE LOOKS GAY, HEARD HIS NAMES DOMINGO”

user: DOMINGO IS CHEATING ON KELSEY

user: no hate to domingo, but oscar jack piastri liked this post under 1 minute😭😭

user: i think we've established that she is probably dating marcello, please stop with the delulu

user: Y/N IM HERE👹

view all 5,179 comments.

user: marcelo hernandez had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever… and he did

user: the budget for this tour is insane… feels like a literal broadway production

user: came all this way, let her explain deeerect from LA

yourusername

Liked by oscarpiastri, madisonbeer, marcellohdz and 4,928,234 others

yourusername: date night but make it our way tagged: oscarpiastri

user: i'm sorrryyyy, but the dress is giving andie andersonn

yourusername: princess sophia is having some fun tonightt

user: this is still the most mind boggling couple ever BUT YOU LOOK GOOD THO

user: i'm so normal about this, i am sooooo normal about this

user: it's giving ross from friends and i am here for it

user: the best hard launch in the history of hard launches

oscarpiastri: great show, even better after party

yourusername: why did i know you were going to comment this

oscarpiastri: i'm literally sitting right next to you and you saw me type it

user: unhinged gf x calm bf duo is superior and this is the biggest proof ever

view all 6,728 comments.

marcellohdz: but what about domingo...

yourusername: i'm sorry domingo...

user: but is mark webber still alive, MARK ARE YOU THERE

oscarpiastri

Liked by yourusername, landonorris, mclaren and 928,256 others

oscarpiastri: came all this way, had to explain... tagged: yourusername

yourusername: 100% recommend, 5-star service

oscarpiastri: 😐

yourusername: 🥰

user: mister oscar jack piastri god bless your dad's genetics indeed

user: world class driving, world class relationship reveal

landonorris: okay but do we get free concert tickets ooor?

oscarpiastri: 😐

yourusername: of course!

user: this is actually so cute i'm going to throw up

view all 3,156 comments.

user: have you ever tried this one just took a whole other meaning

user: wait, are we going to see them together in las vegas??

user: the hard launching is insaneee

[beautifullilacsky]

"Will you overthinking this?" He asked as we were walking hand in hand in the park.

Me, fully aware I have already started overthinking the moment he mentioned that her friend broke off her relationship: "....... juuup"

"What are you overthinking about? Lets discuss it together, let me help"... I explained how, maybe, now that she is single, she might try to get over a guy by getting under another one. Or maybe, since you guys tall about problems and are pretty close, she turns to flirting now that she is single. "Okay and? Why would I get into that while I have my girlfriend at home? I would say no thank you. Also, I don't think she is the person to do that. I have met her before she was in a relationship, and she also wasn't like this then". Okay, well, .. maybe she will have heard bad things about me and will not like me or she will think I am not good enough for you, or too much, and tell you to break up with me. I mean, I'm in a relationship with you, not with her, but ja, well... He put his arms around me and stopped us from walking on, hugging me from behind. "Sometimes I forget how insecure you can be. Do you really think I'll just break up with you because someone tells me to? And besides, I think you should meet her. She is really kind and everytime I mentioned something, she was always more on the reassuring side." Well, I also thought your other friend was kind.. "..... true. ..... I don't have an argument against that."

"So... if she were to still be in a relationship, would it be okay? .. meh, I feel like that's a bad excuse. "Yeah she is in a relationship anyway" , as if that changes anything. Doesn't that sound like a bad thing to you?" Hmm. Well. Honestly, I felt better when she was in a relationship, assuming it wasn't an u know who typa relationship. It's always a 2 people's decision. And that way, I am at least sure that one side is on the no side (as I said it out loud, I realized how fuckedup it sounded.) "Shouldn't you trust me to already be on the no side?" .... I should, yes. I just don't know what to make of the fact that you told me that you can't promise me that it won't happen again. "That was a year ago" .... "back then I wasn't super sure, and before that I was def not sure. Also, I did not want to force you to trust me (def different exact words from his, buthey, u get the point.). It's been a year." Would you get back to it and say something different now then? "Yes. I am sure that it will never happen again".

And there it was. I know he is a firm believer in actions over words, but sometimes I need words to be sure. He told me that he tells me the truth, and I know he does. Thus, if he tells me, I believe him. So. Maybe this is what I needed to truly get to trusting him again. His word. It's not a signed contract, I know. I can't sue him if his words turn out to be false. Though, I needed this. I needed his faith in himself to make sure it won't happen again. Fuck damn hey. I needed him to believe in himself. If he doesn't believe he will stop it the next time, who am I to believe so? Well well well. Before he left, if our roommate wasn't sitting right next to me, I would've said after he asked me if I'm still okay (for like, the 3th time): "if you say it won't happen again, I trust you." Fuck. And I'd mean it. I feel like I have entered a new reality. One in which it is safe for me to have faith in him. In which, sure, maybe a girl will flirt with him, but I can laugh about it. I can be proud to be with that hotstuff that she can't help but talk to. I can make jokes about it and raise my eyebrows up and down. I can do it all, and enjoy the situation, knowing. Truly knowing. That it doesn't matter at all if the other party is on the "yes-boat". He isn't, and he won't get onto it either. Even if a chance presents itself, he won't even see it as one. He has the set in stone plan to come back home to me. Even if she would get him drunk and touch him all over, ... he will say no. Even if it scares me more with booze, he is still himself. He doesn't get into a crazy trans and turns into a different person with different values. He is still the same person who held my hand as we walked in the autumn colored park, and said that it would never happen again.

It feels like something in me has been freed. As if trust was a fluffy creature within me, which was tied down. His words freed it. It still can't believe that the tiny trust guy is free. That it's safe to stand up now and run and smile and truly trust. It's astonished, grasping for those words that set it free. Wanting to hold them and craving for them to invade its veins with its lightning energy and brightness. May it no longer feel the need to stay on the ground; the ties have been undone. Fuck.

[joelsgoldrush]

➽ summary: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

➽ word count: 12.4k words

➽ warnings/tags: mdni smut 18+ angst. fluff. feels. enemies to lovers. petnames. multiple focalizors/POVs. memory loss. x1 logan. mutant!reader. flashbacks. dirty talk. oral (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. unprotected p in v. missionary. doggy. creampie. cum swallowing.

➽ a/n: inspired by “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, one of the most hauntingly beautiful (and life-changing) films ever made. i took some creative liberties when it came to charles' powers, so just follow along. i’d love to know your thoughts on this one, hope you like it as much as i do! <3

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

Alexander Pope.

Logan thinks Jean is speaking to him, but her words dissolve into fragments, lost before they reach him. Her reddish lips shape the vowels and consonants with precision, yet the meaning is drowned out by the pulse in his ears. She’s agitated, her long strides barely matching his pace, heels striking the wooden floor in a staccato rhythm.

A few children peek their heads out from their rooms, curiosity tugging at their expressions as the tension unravels in the hallway. Had it always stretched this far into eternity? It feels as though he’s been walking it for centuries now.

If Jean Grey is the embodiment of grace and intellect, then Logan carries the weight of all the world’s stubbornness. It clings to him like a birthright. Defying her beliefs—or anyone’s—is as instinctual as breathing. She’s trying to dissuade him, to talk him out of this reckless act: asking Charles to meddle in what she’s called his personal issues. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on the steady cadence of his steps toward the man’s office, each one heavier with purpose.

Jean’s voice grows sharper, her warnings echoing in his mind. This is a mistake. You’ll regret it. You’ll want to undo it. Don’t be stupid, Logan. Don’t do this to her—don’t do this to yourself.

But her protests are futile. The cards have already been laid out. Only meters from the door, he comes to a sudden halt. Jean, caught mid-stride, almost stumbles into his back. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers across her face. Maybe, just maybe, she’s convinced him to reconsider. A tentative smile begins to form on her lips, until he turns to her with a look so unyielding, it steals the breath from her lungs.

She has never seen him like this. This resolute, this… haunted. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed so tightly it seems etched in stone. There’s no trace of relief or satisfaction in his expression. Only the grim determination of a man about to pass a point of no return.

Why is he doing this? Soon, there will be hands prying into his thoughts, a marauder pulling apart his memories. Think about her. Now think about this moment. What do you remember? Each memory bearing your name, inked into his unconscious, will be inspected, cataloged, and then erased.

A mind already scarred will be stripped even further, the void swallowing everything. It has to come from a place of self-loathing, he thinks, because no reasonable explanation suffices. Perhaps he’s always been this broken, this damaged, and it was only a matter of time before he sought refuge in the very solution that had once been his calvary.

“I’ve made my choice,” he says with a tilt of his head which aims to deliver a tacit message: stay back. Don’t follow me. I have to do this. I need to.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks to himself, to willingly want to forget, to crave oblivion. To stop caring.

His fist hovers over the door, but he doesn’t have to knock. Charles’s been waiting for him. His voice resonates behind Logan’s eyelids, calm and inescapable. Come in.

“Coward.”

That’s the last thing he hears before he steps into the office, leaving her behind.

The first time you saw him, he was a contained storm, seconds away from coming undone in front of a rather small audience. Hardly the most convenient introduction.

You were in Charles’ office, attending one of his Physics lessons—not because you needed to. He’d already taught you these principles long ago, in a different time, under different circumstances. But lately, Charles had been trying to delegate some of his responsibilities, hoping to carve out time for the pressing matters that demanded his full attention. Ever the sweetheart, you’d offered to help, stepping in to take over this class.

Which is why you spent those past few weeks studying him—not just his teaching style, but the way he presented the topics: the analogies he drew, the subtle inflections in his tone. You’d promised yourself perfection, committed to live up to his standard, and that was exactly what you were working toward.

The sound of a door slamming shattered the flow of the lesson. A man burst into the room as though escaping from some unseen predator, shutting the door with a loud, final thud. He didn’t turn to face you. Instead, he lingered by the door, chest pressed against it, his ragged breathing filling the silence. The students abandoned whatever fragments of attention they had left for the class—this new stranger was far more compelling.

And, truthfully, he’d caught your attention, too.

You hesitated, fists clenching slightly at your sides, bracing for something you couldn’t name. A familiar voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you: This is the man I’ve been telling you about.

Apparently, this was Logan Howlett in the flesh. You certainly didn’t expect Charles’ newest recruit to look like this. 

“Good morning, Logan,” Charles greeted him when the man finally spun around. From this distance, you could see the tension carved into his features, the crease in his forehead betraying his distress. Charles, still composed, redirected his focus to the students. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk on Wednesday, all right? That’ll be all.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, gathering their belongings in a flurry of notebooks and murmured goodbyes, barely sparing you a glance as they shuffled out. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, but your attention was drawn elsewhere. Logan was looking at you—or rather, through you—with a gaze that felt assessing. You never quite met his eye.

He stood there barefoot, dressed only in a sweater and sweatpants, his breath still uneven. Disoriented. His eyes swept across the room, his expression distant yet guarded, as though he was questioning the reality of it all. Considering the way he carried himself, it almost seemed like this was his first encounter with other mutants—but you knew better.

At some point, Charles decided to break the tension. “I’m Charles Xavier,” he began, his tone inviting. “Would you like some breakfast?”

But, of course, his cordiality and kindness were dismissed, being met with a gruff, “Where am I?”

“Westchester, New York,” Charles replied evenly, maneuvering his wheelchair closer. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

You hadn’t been part of the mission that led to this moment; that had been Scott and Storm. In fact, you hadn’t even met Logan or the girl they’d brought with him—Rogue, as you later learned. Although at the time, rooted in the aftermath, you stepped forward, bridging the distance between yourself and Logan. You extended a hand toward him, offering your name with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The gesture lingered awkwardly in the air, refusing even the pretense of acknowledgment. His eyes locked on yours, piercing and unrelenting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was his way of dissecting you. Then his gaze shifted back to Charles, impatience dripping from every word he uttered. “I don’t need medical attention. Where’s the girl?”

Oh. So that’s how he wants to play this. You withdrew your hand, doing your best to mask the sting of rejection as you pivoted on your heels and returned to your place beside Charles. “Jerk,” you muttered, low enough that it almost drowned beneath your breath, fussing with your sleeves in a vain effort to seem unaffected.

He didn’t miss it. His expression hardened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Come again?”

To end the exchange right there, Charles cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation into a different direction. Seizing the opportunity, he wheeled himself closer to the brown-haired man, his composure intact. What you admired about him was his self-control, something you’d tried to master in the years spent under his guidance without success. Yet, you couldn’t fathom how he managed not to tell Logan to just fuck off. “About Rogue, she’s doing fine.”

Logan arched a brow, his sneer cutting through the air like a blade. “Really?” You couldn’t grasp how he could hold so much bitterness toward a person he barely knew. His voice was thick with condescension, and a dozen sharp retorts swirled in your mind, each one eager to escape your lips. Your mouth parted to respond on Charles’ behalf, but he beat you to it.

“You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the dense air. Even the act of breathing felt strained, a soundless tug-of-war for the air around you. “You do know you’re not the only one with gifts, don’t you?”

“Is that what you tell those kids?” Logan’s scoff was a window into his beliefs. “That they have gifts?” 

“It’s no more than the truth.”

“Yeah? Truth my ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words escaped you before you could stop them, fury flaring in your chest. You stepped forward, the crackling heat of frustration coursing through your veins, ending in your fingertips. His blank stare only fanned the flames. “We took you in. We saved your life. How about showing a little fucking gratitude?”

Logan advanced, and his eyes bored into yours with a stinging glint of smugness. “I don’t remember asking to be saved.”

Your jaw tightened. You could’ve cracked a tooth as well. “Well, the least you can do is not act like a complete prick.”

A hand encircled your wrist, its grip firm but soothing. Charles’ touch anchored you, grounding you back in the moment. Your breath faltered, tearing your gaze away from Logan’s eyes to meet Charles’ calm expression.

“Don’t be so hard on our guest, my dear,” he murmured, as if the hostility in the room didn’t exist. It could’ve also been that he was too practiced at disarming it. He didn’t bother to glance at Logan, speaking as though the man was just a shadow. “Give him some time. He needs it.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you bowed your head. You sidestepped Logan without another word, avoiding his presence like he was a flame that threatened to scorch. The tension clung to your skin, and you flung the room.

From that day on, Logan becomes the only subject you seem capable of discussing.

It’s everything about him—his walk, his voice, the sheer audacity of his existence—that drives you to the brink of madness. You tell yourself to let it go, to not let it eat away at you, but your mind refuses to cooperate. Each day, it does a stellar job of reminding you that you now share the same roof as a man with forks for hands.

Logan is, undeniably, the source of your every frustration.

“He’s an idiot,” you grumble around a bite of your lunch, settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen. Scott, Ororo, and Jean are gathered around the table with you, savoring a rare break before the afternoon classes pull them back into their routines. “I can confirm it.”

“Trust me, we know,” Ororo snaps, her tone more cutting than you expected. The words catch you off guard, and you pause, napkin halfway to your lips, to lift your eyebrows in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice softening just a fraction, “but could you please talk about something else? It’s been Logan this, Logan that, for weeks now.”

“I think I understand what she means,” Scott chimes in, his tone lighter, nearly playful. You lift your hand for a high five, and he obliges with a grin, stealing a laugh from you.

“See? He gets it!”

Leaning back in his chair, your friend shakes his head. “I must admit I don't like the guy either. He’s—”

Jean’s elbow shoots out, jabbing Scott in the ribs just as Logan crosses the kitchen threshold. Scott’s indignant “Hey!” is muffled by your exaggerated cough, though it does little to mask the smirk threatening to break across your face.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Logan’s eyes sweep across the room, his silence louder than the faint hum of the refrigerator. He strides toward the cupboard with methodical ease, and Storm bites her lip to stifle a laugh once she catches you watching him far longer than you should have. His back muscles tense and flex as he stretches his arms, the white tank clinging tighter with every movement.

“Please, don’t stop talking just because of me,” he remarks, his voice gravelly as he rummages through the cupboard, his focus presumably on some elusive snack. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Your response comes out of instinct, words laced with irritation. “It’s hard not to,” you retort curtly, putting down your sandwich with a firm slap of your palms against your jeans.

That gets his attention. Logan turns around to confront you, a flicker of amusement twitching at the edges of his mouth. It’s that toothy smile of his that sets your blood simmering. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You jump to your feet, matching his intensity. “Such a pity I can’t say the same about you.” Without missing a beat, you step closer, snatching the bag of chips he’s holding. Hiding them behind your back, tilting your head in mock innocence, and then saying, “Oops.”

His brows draw upward, though his tone stays measured, as if speaking to a child. “C’mon,” he replies, making a half-hearted grab for the bag. “How old are you? Twelve?”

Unable to suppress the grin threatening to break free, you rest your back against the counter. “We both know you can do much better than that.”

Already preparing yourself for the lecture Ororo’s going to unload on you the moment he leaves, you watch as Logan exhales sharply. His irritation is palpable in the way he leans in, one hand planting itself on the counter behind you, his frame eclipsing yours. The proximity is electric, his scent, a mix of leather and something woodsy, fogging your senses. Hazel eyes, so deep you could drown in them, peer down at you, as he attempts to strip away every layer you’re desperately trying to hold together.

Safe to say, it’s working. Damn it. 

“Alright,” he finally says, tapping his fingers against the cool surface. “What do you want from me?”

Your galloping heartbeat is a major detail you choose to ignore, instead turning to the others for support. With an exaggerated motion, you point to each of your friends in turn. “Ororo and Scott were the ones who found you that day,” you start, trailing off, “and Jean ran a ton of tests on you to make sure you were okay. Have you even bothered to thank them for their hospitality?”

You believe you can joke with him—it’s how you usually bond with others, how most of your friendships have started. But you can’t help questioning if Logan can even get your sense of humor. The room falls silent, and his eyes flicker, just briefly, to your friends. 

“You’re right, you’re right. My bad, princess.” One of his big, manly lands on your shoulder, the pressure of it too casual, too familiar, working the muscle there. Your fingers slacken around the bag of chips, the feeling of his touch making it harder to maintain your grip. “Guys, I’m deeply sorry for my lack of amiability. Hope you can forgive me.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it’s the sensation that clings to you, that doesn’t seem to fade—the warmth of it seeping through the layers of your clothes, pressing into your skin, stubbornly refusing to fade.

His hand leaves only when he yanks the bag from your grasp, and the warmth that had been just beside you evaporates with his retreat. In an instant, he’s already pulling away, his parting words a careless “See you around,” tossed over his shoulder.

No one dares to speak after that. Because to speak would be to acknowledge what has just happened. Your stomach has turned into a knot, that kind of knot sailors make that are impossible for beginners to undo. Logan’s fingers left a burn in your shoulder. Can you still smell him, the trail he left? Scott is the first to speak after a minute or so. “What… was that?”

“I have no clue,” Jean says between bites, staring reflectively at you. “Care to elaborate?”

Your tongue feels heavy, your throat parched. Even if you tried, a rational explanation wouldn’t come.

Ever since you were a child, you had yearned to grow up, to experience love as only adults could. In your young, unformed mind, it all seemed like a simple equation: adults dated; adults embraced love in the flesh; adults reveled in freedoms that children could only dream of, waiting patiently for their time to come.

And you did grow up. You did fall in love. But now he’s forgotten you, and nothing could have prepared you for that kind of ending. It wasn’t the closure you would have chosen, not the goodbye you imagined for you and Logan.

You find yourself caught in the in-between—not quite a child, yet not fully an adult either. Because surely, an adult would know how to handle this pain. An adult would find a way to cope. But you feel small. Weak. Hopeless.

It leaves you wondering just how much you are willing to forsake.

More weeks go by, and Logan remains in the mansion, defying the departure you’d expected. Part of you is relieved. He moves through the halls like a shadow, his eyes always on Rogue: checking on her, observing her interactions with the rest of the students at the mansion. She’s thriving, really. Blending in with her peers, forming bonds, especially with a boy named Billy. They are quite the pair.

Yet, despite Rogue’s happiness, Logan can’t seem to shake the grim air that surrounds him, an aura that emanates a quiet kind of disgust.

One night, you’re flipping through channels in the living room, stopping when an old love movie catches your attention. You place the remote down on a cushion, and pull your knees up to your chest, the murmur of the characters’ voices the only sound in the otherwise hushed room. You don’t think anyone else is awake at this hour.

 “Can’t sleep?”

There he is again. Always intruding, always finding his way back to you. The predator creeping into the vixen’s nest. He moves closer, slowly, and you lift your gaze to him, replying, “Actually, I’m a sleepwalker.”

Your comment earns a half-smile from Logan as he drops onto the couch beside you, his leg brushing against yours momentarily, worn denim against bare skin. His attention shifts to the TV, to the grainy images of the film playing out. You steal a glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his side profile.

“Feelin’ romantic tonight?” he asks.

“Not precisely,” you retort, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the blanket pooled at your feet. “There’s nothing else on. Sometimes you have to make do with what’s there.” Your gaze drifts back to him, lingering just a second too long before you add, “What about you? Any ghosts keeping you up?”

“You could call them that,” he says after a pause, his face still angled away. It must be easier to speak to you with this thin, invisible wall between you. “I have nightmares.”

“So you’re the one screaming at two in the morning?”

“Exactly. That’s me.” He ends up meeting your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, harboring an emotion he doesn’t voice. “M’sorry if I ever woke you up.”

“I’m usually awake at that time, too.” Your eyes flick to the screen. The couple in the movie bursts out of a building into the rain, their body language unmistakably revealing the heated argument unfolding between them. The man, clad in a raincoat, removes it to cover the woman, his supposed girlfriend. She’s visibly upset, but accepts the gesture nevertheless. “You can always knock on my door if you need anything. Unless I’m snoring—then I’ll be useless.”

Logan clicks his tongue, his focus shifting to the film as well. The man shouts, ‘Because I love you, for God’s sake!’ He casts a glimpse in your direction, his expression unreadable. “Same goes for you.” The woman in the film responds with a strangled, ‘Then prove it!’

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

The man cradles the woman’s face before kissing her. She throws her arms around his neck, and the music swells, evolving into a much more melodic song. A chorus of angelic voices replaces the earlier tense harmony. The camera lingers on every angle of their kiss, every desperate touch, as the world outside their embrace ceases to exist.

“This is cheesy,” Logan mutters, his heel bumping against the floor in repeated, short motions. Is he nervous?

“Yeah, so cheesy,” you reply quickly, pulling the blanket over your lap and curling into yourself. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about kissing you, not even remotely, but you are.

A quiet yawn escapes you, and you rub your fist against your eyes, sleep beginning to take over your body. Logan catches it, his own yawn following like a reflex. “Looks like the movie’s workin’ wonders,” he quips.

You let out a drowsy giggle. “Shut up,” you murmur, but then he’s inching closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. His warmth seeps through, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you allow yourself to lean into his frame, resting your head on his arm. It’s awkward, your neck already protesting the angle, but you accept it. You’ll take the stiffness tomorrow without complaint, because this moment is worth it.

It won’t last long, though, this rare tenderness. These nights, the quiet ones, are when Logan opens up the most—when Jean and Storm aren’t around, when it’s just the two of you. That’s when he approaches you, like a wary black cat testing the waters. But he doesn’t need to tread carefully. Not with you.

“What if I were to fall asleep… hypothetically?” Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, the pauses between each one stretching longer. Your cheek nuzzles against him, seeking warmth, and you feel the subtle tug of his hand as he pulls the blanket over his legs as well.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, rasping his words near your temple, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Within moments, sleep claims you. You never find out what happens after that, but he stays, trailing quietly behind. No nightmares or shadows from his past dare to haunt him that night.

It was inevitable that an encounter like that would spiral into something more. You weren’t naïve. You could connect the dots, and the picture was clear: Logan wanted you, too. Desire often walked a fine line, and from hatred to something else, it’s hardly a leap—just a small, barely perceptible step. It could change with the shift of light, from dawn to dusk. But you’d need the strength to cross that line, to be bold enough to make the first move.

And now, with the sun already dipped below the horizon, taking its long-awaited rest after a full day of burning up in the sky, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, though you hadn’t started that way. Scott had lingered for a while, insisting he didn’t mind keeping you company. You’d thanked him with a polite smile before subtly nudging him out. It hadn’t taken much—just a few hints. Simplicity at its finest.

At the table, a neat pile of student papers spreads before you. Your pen dances across the pages, leaving corrections and grades in its wake. It’s then that he appears. He doesn’t speak at first, but his presence saturates the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him; it must be the unspoken familiarity of how he fills a space. Or maybe it’s just how attuned you’ve become to his every movement.

Logan leans in behind you, close enough that you feel the heat he radiates at your back. His low hum sends a shiver down your spine as he peers over your shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be playin’ the teacher?”

Your grip on the pen tightens, a small tremor in your fingers giving away the tension pooling in your stomach. You exhale softly, blowing on the fresh ink. “Would you prefer to have me doing something else?”

Smugness prickles at the edges of your words, but the resolve in your chest is faltering.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dips, grating next to the shell of your ear as his chest brushes your back. His presence is magnetic, the scrape of his beard scratching your skin while he tilts your head to one side. His fingers sweep your hair over your shoulder, lips mapping the nape of your neck, tasting your fevered skin. “I might have a few ideas in mind.”

Your breath hitches. You try for composure, but it wavers in your reply. “Really?” you ask, because playing dumb always has its merits, after all. “Want to show me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand moves deliberately, tracing a sensual, teasing path up your abdomen. His palm settles over one of your breasts, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak through your sweater. “I don’t think you’d want me to do it here,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion. “Too public for what I’ve got planned for you.”

You disentangle yourself from him, slipping off the chair with an unsteady grace, but Logan doesn’t give you time to find your feet. He smashes his lips with yours, the force of his kiss almost sending you reeling. His tongue presses insistently, seeking entry, as if the urgency in his touch could dissolve every barrier between you. He grabs your cheeks, holding you in place as though you might slip away, drawing you so close there’s barely space to breathe.

You’re caught off guard, not knowing where to put your hands, searching for purchase. The cold metal of the refrigerator handle digs into your lower back as he backs you against it, his groans reverberating through your mouth like a growled confession.

“My bedroom,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “Take me to my bedroom.”

Logan obliges, intertwining his fingers with yours. Together, you ascend the stairs, your laughter mingling in the noiseless night when he missteps and stumbles, momentarily breaking the spell. But he recovers quickly, finding your room in mere seconds. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and he presses you against the wood with a force you’d never experienced, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and knead the supple flesh with a possessive fervor. It all helps to feed the fire pooling in your core.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers, slipping his fingers beneath the back of your sweatpants. His nails trace fiery lines along your skin, igniting your every nerve. “Don’t want anyone wakin’ up to those pretty sounds you make. They’re just for me, right?”

You nod frantically, longing for more, arching into his hands as your hips grind against his, your body moving with a will of its own. The friction is exquisite, a tantalizing promise. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his words laced with unfiltered hunger. “I’ve thought about havin’ you like this ever since I met you.”

His confession sends a surge of pride through your chest, an ache that feels equal parts affection and astonishment. Ever since the beginning? When he could barely look at you without scowling, his disdain practically tangible? “You hid it well,” you reply, breathless as you trace the outline of his erection over his jeans. The way it twitches under your undivided attention makes your pulse race. “I thought you hated me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “I thought the same about you,” he counters, before crushing his lips to yours once more. This time, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, your bodies moving as one, the pent-up tension between you unraveling in waves. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Your pants hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. It should embarrass you, how desperate and utterly needy you sound, the pleas spilling from your lips like the filthiest confessions. But the hunger in you is too vast, too insistent, drowning any possible flicker of shame. Decency was abandoned the moment you crossed that threshold. Logan nudges your legs apart with his knee, and the instant you feel him against your center, a contained sigh escapes you, half-resignation, half-surrender. Thought dissolves, leaving only instinct as you rock against him in slow circles, seeking relief.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” He toys lazily with the waistband of your panties, like he has all the time in the world. You don’t give him an immediate answer, choosing instead to grind harder against his thigh, your breath hitching at the pressure. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, dipping his head to mouth at your collarbone, the scent of his cologne heady and intoxicating. “Judging by the way you’re basically humpin’ me, I’d say it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember,” you blurt out, your head thudding against the door when his teeth nip at the delicate curve of your neck. Your pulse thrums beneath his lips, and you’re seconds from biting your tongue just to keep from crying out. “Stop teasing.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a wicked smile against your skin, his knee retreating only to be replaced by his fingers, trailing them along the fabric covering your heat. “I like it when you get bossy. It reminds me why I like you so damn much.” He tugs the fabric of your underwear aside, the cool air hitting your wetness for only a moment before his fingers glide over your arousal, testing your patience. One digit slides into you, curling slightly as his palm presses over your mouth, muffling the whine that falls from your parted lips. “So wet for me, princess.”

Your legs shake under the weight of sensation, threatening to give out as you lean into the door for balance. His fingers move inside you with a sharp rhythm, hitting that spot with each furious thrust. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and it’s overwhelming, but then he drops to his knees, and the sight alone sends a jolt through your core.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds is molten. He laps at you with long strokes, his pace never faltering, pumping his digits in sync with the flick of his tongue, coaxing every sound you’ve tried so hard to stifle. “Oh, fuck. Logan—” 

He groans against your core, his eyes remaining locked on your face, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His focus is relentless, as though your reactions fuel him. You rake your hands through his hair, clutching at his dark locks with haste whenever his wet muscle lavishes extra attention on your clit, the intensity of his ministrations making your voice break, a choked gasp dying on your lips.

Your climax teeters on the edge, faster than you anticipated. “Close,” you manage to huff, the obscene noises he elicits driving you wild. “I’m gonna come. Please, come here—”

Logan detaches himself from you, standing tall with a fierce determination in his eyes. He’s set on pushing you over the edge with his fingers alone. His lips crash against yours, biting and licking, swallowing every desperate mewl that falls from your mouth, spit glistening down his chin. Three knuckles deep, coaxing your body to respond, your walls tighten around him, shuddering as he corners you against the door, the sharp edge of pleasure sending your knees buckling. Your orgasm washes over you, rendering you boneless in his hold. Limp and spent, you can barely return his kisses, panting harshly against his mouth, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

As you steady your breath, a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes flicker down to his slick palm, and a rush of pride floods you. "That was amazing," you breathe, your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, reaching for his belt to tug at it. “My turn now.”

He ends up with his back pressed against the headboard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. You’re positioned between his legs, stimulating him over the fabric of his boxers. “It won’t take too long,” he says, and you feel the weight of his words more than hear them as you pull him free, revealing the hardness beneath. He’s already swollen, the tip wet with precum that coats your thumb as you stroke him once, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch. A shiver runs through him, his legs stiffening as though on the edge of restraint. Bewitched by the size of him, you lean forward to slip the leaking head past your lips. “Jesus Christ.”

It’s difficult to take all of him at once, but you push through, your mouth stretching to accommodate his size. As you work him with your hand, your tongue traces the veins that snake along his length, feeling him throb. Logan’s body betrays him, his fists tightening around the sheets as if holding on to his last thread of control, desperately keeping his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck up into you.

“Honey, pull out,” he warns, stroking your back. “M’not jokin’. You’re gonna make me come.” But you don’t stop. Instead, you deepen your movements, cheeks hollowing as you take him with more enthusiasm, pushing him toward the back of your throat. When he realizes what you’re doing, a moan escapes him, laced with a dark laugh. “Filthy girl. So that’s what you want? To choke on my cum? Should’ve asked for it sooner.”

Not long afterwards, you feel the first splash of his release hitting your tastebuds. Ropes of his seed flood your mouth, some of it dribbling out to stain the corner of your lips. He watches, his thumb gently swiping over the edge, collecting what’s spilled, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves.

“Show me,” he asks, still breathless. You lean closer, your faces a whisper apart, and then you part your lips, revealing the evidence of your devotion like a masterpiece on display. His fingers find your chin, holding you there as he bites into his lower lip, the pressure turning the skin pale. “Now swallow,” he commands, and you obey, the motion deliberate, your satisfaction mirrored in the curve of his grin. He kisses you languidly, as if savoring the moment. “Where have you been all my life?”

The question invites countless answers, but you choose to murmur, “Down the hallway.”

“Logan, are you even listening?”

Charles’ voice slices through the playful moment, forcing Logan’s hands to still against your sides. The team sits around the table, embroiled in serious discussions that demand focus and discipline. Yet Logan’s fixation on you has rendered him deaf to anything beyond the sound of your laughter. Not a single word of the last hour and a half has stuck, his mind entirely preoccupied by the warmth of you perched on his lap.

He’d insisted he was much more comfortable than any chair, and you’d indulged him, leaning into his chest as his fingers danced teasingly along your ribs. “Of course I am,” Logan drawls, though the way his hand resumes tracing lazy circles on your stomach says otherwise, his entire attention remaining fixed on you.

“I don’t think you are,” Charles counters, leaning forward with both palms flat on his desk. His sharp gaze locks to you, narrowing faintly. “Do I need to seat you two on opposite ends of the room, or can you manage to behave?”

You stiffen in response, the easy comfort of moments ago evaporating. Sliding off Logan’s lap, you settle into the nearest chair, your departure catching him off guard. Your eyes meet his subtly, and you offer him an apologetic smile. Beneath the table, your fingers squeeze his knee, a silent reassurance. Finally, you direct your attention to Charles, straightening in your seat as if to demonstrate your newfound focus.

Logan, however, is less cooperative. His arms cross over his chest, and a crease forms between his brows, the picture of rebellion. Nothing that Charles says registers in his brain. All he can think about is how much better it felt to have you on his lap, where you weren’t bothering anyone. He contents himself with watching you now, contemplating your profile and the way your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. It’s not the same. You’ve been dating for a month, much to the surprise of everyone in the mansion. It’s as if the idea of the two of you together had never even crossed their minds. Not even Rogue believed it when she came to ask Logan if the rumors were true. He hadn’t known how to respond to her, caught between mirth and disbelief himself.

It’s been decades since he’s felt this alive. He’s head over heels for you in a way that’s exhilarating. Seeing you, even across a crowded room, lights a fire in him, and he has to actively fight the urge to walk over, pull you close, and kiss you senseless right there in front of your friends.

As the meeting finally draws to a close, Charles asks him to stay for a while. “I just need to have a quick word with you,” he says, waiting until the others leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Charles sighs, shaking his head like an exhausted parent addressing his wayward child. “Look, I’m glad you two worked through your differences,” he begins, a note of cautious joviality in his tone, “but this... well, this is the opposite of that.”

Logan exhales wearily, rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, and regretting it instantly. Don’t shrug him off, his inner voice scolds him. “C’mon, Charles. You’re overreactin’.”

The man arches a brow. “Am I? Watching the two of you cuddling during a meeting feels like chaperoning teenagers. Honestly, I must admit you’re even worse than them at times.”

That remark lands harder than Logan expects. He opens his not-so-smart-mouth, ready with a retort, but no words come out. For once, his quick wit fails him, leaving him standing there in uncharacteristic silence.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles’ eyes fall shut. “Just… try to be more present, alright? And don’t distract her, or yourself, too much. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Later, when he recounts the conversation to you, you start pacing nervously across his bedroom, your teeth worrying at your nails.

“Maybe he’s right,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Darlin’—”

“I just don’t want him to be angry with us,” you cut him off, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Turning toward him, you sit down on the edge of his bed, your shoulder brushing his as your eyes bore into the carpet. “Do you think we should... give each other some space?”

Your suggestion feels like a punch to his gut. He sits up straighter, hands finding their way to your hips as he guides you onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. “I think we’re fine the way we are,” he says, tipping his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a loving gesture, coaxing a small smile from you. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Are you happy with me?”

You nod—once, twice, like it’s the only answer you could possibly give. “I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling, your lips curving into a smile that he feels against his own when he kisses you.

“God,” he grumbles against your mouth, long fingers tightening on your hips. “I never get tired of hearin’ that.” Logan cups your ass through your clothes, rocking you against him, and a groan escapes his throat as your center presses against his half-hard cock. “Say it again,” he rasps, his voice wanting.

“I love you,” you breathe, your head falling back when his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his touch reverent and greedy all at once. “I love you so much.”

Before you know it, he’s rolled you onto your back, hovering above you as he peels away the layers between you. He can’t comprehend how he got so lucky, how he gets to have you like this every day, so pliant and eager beneath his body. Your whimpers grow softer, more airy, but even then, you’re still whispering how madly in love you are with him.

This is a memory he’ll hold on to when Charles inevitably asks him to reconsider—to think about what’s best for both you and him. Fragile moments like this will slip through his fingers, but for now, they’re his to cherish.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

It turns out that love doesn’t come neatly wrapped in perfection. No—it’s a chaotic blend of tender glances and fiery clashes, of whispered promises and cutting comebacks. It’s arguments that sting as much as they heal, moments that don’t glitter but still matter, making the difference.

“Fuck off!” you snap, shoving the door against its frame, trying to shut him out. But Logan’s hand wedges in the gap, his strength effortlessly outmatching yours. “Get out, Logan.”

“No.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he grits through clenched teeth, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Behind him, Jean calls your name, but he doesn’t turn. “Not now, Jean!” His voice echoes down the hall, and the sound of her retreating steps leaves the air tense.

You’ve already crossed the room, standing by the window. The sunlight filters through, painting your silhouette in warm flickers. Outside, the kids are in their break, passing a ball, their laughter carried by the breeze. Logan moves toward you, his presence heavy, and you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I’m going on that mission,” you say firmly.

“No, you’re not.”

Your head snaps toward him, a storm unraveling in your gaze. “Charles wants me there. The team wants me there,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word, “and most importantly, I want to go. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Logan doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch. He can’t understand how you don’t see his side of things, how the thought of you being in danger like this twists his insides into knots. “I can’t lose you.”

“Logan—”

“No, you don’t get it!” The words burst out of him. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt, and we can’t get you back in time?” His fists clench at his sides, fighting the need to pull you into his arms, to feel that you’re still here with him, still safe. ���It’d kill me, because I love you with everything that I am. Just thinkin’ about losin’ you makes me sick.”

Your expression softens, but only for a moment. You take a step in his direction, closing the space between you. There’s no hesitation in your tone when you speak, leaving space for conviction. “I had a life before you, Logan. I’ve been here since I was a child, learning how to fight, how to survive. I’ve gone on missions for years—missions that were just as dangerous as this one. I don’t need you to protect me like this.” Your voice wavers, just barely. “I appreciate that you care, but I’m just as capable as you are.”

How long can someone hold their breath? Logan doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until your arms encircle his waist, your embrace melting the tension that’s been coiling in his chest. You bury your face against him, your breath steadying, and he draws a long breath, pressing his lips to your forehead like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a softness that feels almost out of place after the heated exchange.

“You get so bossy sometimes.”

"I thought you said you liked me bossy," you answer, your voice low, laced with mixed feelings, as you look up at him through hooded eyes.

Logan’s lips twitch into what aims to simulate a smile, but it’s weighed down by the sadness pooling in his gaze. It doesn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes, doesn’t carry the warmth it usually does. 

“I do,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible, brushing a thumb across your cheek. The words hang between you, carrying a plea for things to feel less heavy, for this closeness to fix what words can’t.

The arguments come more frequently now. The love hasn’t faded—of course, it hasn’t—but it feels buried beneath the noise. You and Logan clash over everything, over nothing, over things neither of you can quite name, all the fucking time.

It’s a cycle that none of you can seem to break, passion feeding the fire until it burns too bright, too hot. One of you always storms out, slamming doors or throwing words that linger in the air like acid smoke. And yet, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how lost you both feel, the love is still there. Aching, waiting for the dust to settle.

You tell yourself it’s just a rough patch. That love like this isn’t easy, that it’s supposed to be messy. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too long after another fight, you can’t help but wonder how much more the two of you can take before something breaks for good.

Lust becomes your apology, an untamed collision of anger and desire that you can’t resist. It’s not gentle—it’s frenzied and blazing. The bed creaks beneath you, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass enveloping the room. Every thrust drives you closer, the ferocity of it making your head bump into the headboard, but all you can think about is how full he makes you feel.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, drooling all over the pillow, ass high up in the air as Logan continues to pound into you. He pulls out all of a sudden, making you gasp in protest. That’s when you feel his tongue against your slit, eating you out from behind, spreading your cheeks to see just how much further he can go. Your hand flies back, pressing him into your skin. “So good, baby. F-fuck.”

There’s no leaving him, not even in your wildest dreams. When he spills inside you, you always ask him to hold you close, whispering for him to stay there. To keep you full of him. And he does, fusing your body with the mattress, his weight anchoring you to the pleasure he knows how to grant you. 

But then, it’s morning. The sun filters through the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, and you’re tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist. You stare at the ceiling, your mind crawling back to the fight, to the anger that seemed so vital only hours ago. You have to force yourself to remember why you were so mad in the first place. As his hand slides over your hip, pulling you toward him, the memory slips further away.

Dating Logan means understanding the darkness he carries, the nightmares he has almost every night. Usually, you’re woken by his movements, his rambling, the tremors that run through his body. You’ve perfected a way of rousing him gently, pulling him from the grip of whatever horrors his mind conjures without causing him more harm.

Though tonight, you must’ve been drained. You didn’t notice the moment the nightmare began.

“Honey? Oh, fuck. Wake up, c’mon.” His voice pulls you from the depths of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light, the first thing you see is Logan, sitting rigid, staring at your arm as though it’s breaking him apart. The pain in his gaze is nearly palpable.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice groggy as you sit up, still partly disoriented. “Logan, are you okay?”

Then you see it: Blood. Dark stains seeping into the sheets, trailing from a jagged cut running the length of your forearm. It isn’t deep, and oddly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. But Logan looks stricken, his eyes flickering between your wound and his own hands.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” you assure him as you fumble to grab the ruined sheets, bundling them up to contain the mess. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, you switch it on, bathing the room in a golden glow. That’s when you notice the droplets of blood on his knuckles, the torn skin where his claws must have pierced through. This has never happened before. Neither of you know what to say or how to react. When you reach for his hand, he recoils, shaking his head like he’s trying to will the scene away. “Hey, don’t do that.” 

“I knew it’d happen eventually.” He’s spiraling, rising to his feet. A man trying to escape himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his chest and back, his body tense with the effort of holding his pieces together. Turning to face you, his expression is the embodiment of torment. In his eyes, it’s as though the prophecy has been confirmed, irrevocably, by his own doing. “I hurt you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, pushing yourself off the bed to meet him. You’re tired, too tired to be arguing like this. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be so sure? You said the same thing before, and now look. Look at where we are.”

You’re at a loss for how to calm him. The exhaustion weighing on you makes your thoughts sluggish, and you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. But giving up isn’t an option—not with him, not because of this. Slowly, you step back and spin in place, letting him see you fully, the wound and all.

“You see? I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m not hurt. Please, Logan, believe me when I say I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond, but the uncertainty etched into his face lingers. For a moment, you think you’ve reassured him, as he lets you guide him back to the bed. Together, you pull the sheets up to cover your bodies, and he leans into the pillows with a weary sigh. He mutters something about being sweaty, so you don’t rest your head on his chest as usual, settling into the curve of his shoulder instead. The rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, begins to steady.

At some point, the warmth of his body disappears. You stir faintly, but your mind is too clouded by sleep to register it as anything more than the remnants of a rather vivid dream.

Logan remains standing, staring at Charles, refusing the invitation to sit down. “You told Jean,” he says, and the other man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“I thought she might help you reconsider,” Charles answers, looking more serious than usual, his piercing eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan, I still don’t believe this is the right path for you. It’s not the solution to your problems. You can’t run from her, from this—relying on forgetting won’t bring you peace.”

Who really knows what’s best for him? Logan certainly doesn’t. After all these decades of walking the earth, what has he truly learned? His long life feels like a cruel irony, offering time without clarity. What use is immortality when you’re paralyzed by indecision, unsure of what you truly want?

“I can’t leave her. At least, not willingly,” he explains, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the arm of a chair, the gesture lacking finesse. “She’ll get over it. She’s stronger than she thinks.”

“You’re deciding for her.”

To that, Logan has no reply. He only looks away.

“When I got here, you told me you’d help with whatever I needed.” Logan crosses the room, lowering himself into a chair by Charles’ desk, his posture stiff. He lifts his chin slightly, trying to convey a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. “This is what I need you to do. Today.”

“Let’s start with your most recent memories and work backward from there.” Charles rolls himself closer, his chair nearly brushing Logan’s legs. “There’s an emotional core to every memory, and when you eradicate that core, it begins to degrade. By the time I’m done, those memories will have withered, as in a dream upon waking.”

Logan’s throat tightens at the description. There’s no comfort in Charles’ words. It doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare.

“Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes.” Logan’s reply is immediate, though it scrapes his throat like gravel.

Charles nods once, solemnly. “Then tell me your most recent memory of her.”

I think I was preparing a class when she burst through the door, uninvited. I’d been trying to keep my distance from her, because of... well, all of this. But it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to leave, so I let her stay. She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and asked if I had much left to do. I told her everything else could wait. Big mistake.

We were lying on my bed. Somehow, we always ended up there, tangled together. It wasn’t strictly... sexual. There’s something profoundly vulnerable about sharing that space. Snuggling, you could call it. Now that I think about it, she likes resting her head on my chest. Says it’s the best way to hear my heartbeat and find out if it matches hers.

“Focus, Logan.”

Yeah, I know. You’re right. Anyway, she asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I laughed. Obviously, she thought I was mocking her, so I had to convince her I wasn’t. I just thought the question was funny.

“Why did you laugh?”

Because it was exactly the kind of question she’d ask. She hadn’t before, but I’d been waiting for it. She told me she thought soulmates existed, and that I was hers. And I laughed again, and she threatened to leave. I held her tighter.

I told her I didn’t know if soulmates were real. I didn’t have that kind of certainty. What I did know, I said, was that I loved her. That was the only thing I was sure of. Soulmates or no soulmates, I loved her. I was right where I wanted to be. Those were my exact words.

“When did this happen?”

Yesterday. Before she left with Ororo and Scott for their mission. That’s why I’m choosing to do this now.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you again. Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Yes, Charles. Please, don’t ask me again.

Throwing open the mansion’s entry door, you let it swing wide as you step inside. You could use a shower, but right now, all you care about is finding him. Where is he?

Before starting your search, a cluster of students rushes toward you, their arms wrapping around your waist. Their laughter fills your senses as they chatter excitedly, hugging you tightly. “We missed you!” A boy exclaims, and you can’t help but smile, ruffling his hair.

“Have you seen Professor Logan?” you ask, crouching to meet the eye of one of the younger girls.

She grins, her innocent smile spreading, and she points toward the kitchen. “He’s in there.”

You thank her and make your way to the kitchen, your heart beating a little faster. You find him standing by the counter, slicing bread. His movements are methodical, his posture calm, but something feels off. You pause in the doorway, scrutinizing his face for a sign, any sign, that he’s happy to see you.

But his gaze flicks to you for only a brief moment, cool and detached, before returning to his task.

“Hey,” you call softly, tilting your head. His shoulders tense, and he doesn’t stop cutting. “I’m back,” you add, stepping closer, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and when he does, his voice sounds flat. “I see.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a fork. “Good for you, I guess.”

The words hit you like a slap. A joke, surely. But why? You take a hesitant step forward, your brows furrowing. “Logan, why—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs yours, yanking you out of the kitchen. Startled, you turn to see Jean, her expression pale and stricken.

“Jean?” you ask, confused. “Is this another one of Logan’s pranks?”

Her lips twitch, and tears glisten in her eyes when she swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop him. I really did. But he—he wouldn’t listen!” Her hands tighten around yours, quivering. You’ve never seen her like this before.

“Wait—slow down,” you urge, your stomach twisting.

“I swear, I tried to talk him out of it,” she pleads, each of the words she utters rushing out like a flood. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

It doesn’t take too long for her panic to feel contagious. The pit in your abdomen deepens as you glance back toward the kitchen, where Logan stands just out of sight.

Something is wrong—terribly wrong.

“Jean, what did he do?”

Despite all his wisdom, Charles had known this moment would come the second he agreed to help Logan.

The door to his office flies open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberates through the room. You storm in, your strides long and charged with anger, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Madness blazes in your eyes. “You did what?!”

“My dear—”

“You erased me from my boyfriend’s memory!” The words erupt from you, shaking the very air. You fling your arms wide, your fury spilling over. Before he can respond, you turn on his bookshelf, yanking ancient, cherished volumes from their resting places. One by one, you ignite them, flames devouring their fragile pages in an instant.

Then, there’s a momentary pause—a flicker of silence before you seize another book. This one you hurl in his direction, not quite at his face, but close enough to graze the air near his shoulder before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoes, a physical punctuation to your rage.

“You made me disappear! He doesn’t fucking know who I am!”

His expression, pained and weary, holds no exasperation—only regret. “He asked me to do it.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” The question hangs underlined by the tears that stream down your face. Your voice breaks, the pain behind it cutting deeper than any accusation. “You could’ve said no, Charles. How many times have you denied me things?”

“You didn’t see him in the way I did, he was—” He stops himself, faltering. No words can repair what he has already destroyed. “I’m sorry.”

You stand there, breathing hard, the space between you filled with smoldering ash and a silence so loud it feels suffocating. The remains of his books lie scattered, the faint scent of burnt paper lingering in the air. Charles watches you, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He doesn’t fight you.

The fury ebbs, leaving behind a hollow ache that takes its place in your chest. “If you’re so willing to erase love like it’s nothing, then do it for me, too.”

Charles’s brows knit together. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Logan doesn’t remember me. I walk into a room, and he looks right through me. Like I’m a stranger, like I never mattered. So tell me, what’s the point in remembering him if he’s already forgotten me?”

“I don’t believe forgetting will give you the peace you’re looking for.”

“Is that what you told him as well? Clearly, it worked out well.”

Touché.

“I’ve already hurt you enough,” he whispers.

“And you’ll keep hurting me if you don’t do this. I can’t carry this alone.” You kneel in front of him, clutching the edge of his wheelchair. “If you could take it away from him, you can take it away from me, too.”

Charles stares down at you, his mouth tightening, as if the weight of your words presses down on him. His hands, usually so steady, shift uncomfortably in his lap. It’s clear he can’t believe this is the second time he’s found himself in this situation, faced with the same desperate request. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head. “He wanted to forget me. Now, I want to forget him.”

He exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “All right,” he says softly, though his voice carries a sadness he doesn’t try to hide. “But I need you to understand… once it’s done, there’s no going back.”

 “That’s the point.” You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, as though erasing the tears could also erase the doubt creeping in.

“Then sit,” he counters, motioning to the chair Logan sat in days ago.

You hesitate for a moment, the finality of the act looming large. Slowly, you lower yourself into the chair, gripping its arms with all your earnest. Charles wheels himself closer, and the reality of what’s about to happen sets in.

“Tell me your last memory of him,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, and the image surfaces instantly: Logan, holding you close, whispering that he loves you. No soulmates, no destiny—just love. You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again as you begin to recount it. “The last time he looked at me like I was his whole world.”

Charles nods, his expression unreadable, placing his hands on your temples. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I had to leave the next day, so I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. My things were already packed. I walked into Logan’s room and asked him if he was busy. A week isn’t a lot, but ever since he moved here, we hadn’t been apart from each other. I was anxious about that. I thought it’d be so hard to fall asleep without him at night. What—oh, God, what’ll happen now?

“I need you to keep going, darling.”

Don’t call me that. 

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

I convinced him to lie in bed with me. I had my head on his chest, and he kissed my forehead. His beard scratched me in the right way. It never hurt or bothered me. I had once dated a guy who had a beard, and it was just so uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Logan’s case. He would kiss me and hug me, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

There was a question I’d been meaning to ask him. It was about soulmates, and the existence of them. I thought Logan was my soulmate, and I said it to him. I asked if he believed in them, but he laughed. He told me he wasn’t making fun of me or anything, just that he thought the question was funny.

Logan said he didn’t know whether soulmates existed or not, but he knew for a fact that he loved me. He didn’t care about anything else. He loved me. He really did. Do you think he loved me, Charles?

“Yes. I do believe so.”

Then why did you take that away from me?

“I’m sorry.”

I hate you.

“I know.”

Your head pounds, an ache that feels like it’s splitting you in two. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink repeatedly until the world around you sharpens into focus.

Four blank walls. The stark, colorless void offers nothing but the oppressive weight of emptiness. This must be your mind, stripped bare. Somewhere in the depths of this space, Charles is at work, pulling threads and unraveling every memory of Logan.

You push yourself off the cold floor. A soundless shift disturbs the space—a door appears out of nowhere, its frame faintly glowing, and without hesitation, you reach for the handle and swing it open.

On the other side is a fragment of your past: that night months ago, sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Logan had decided to join you. The memory pulls you in, and suddenly, you’re no longer standing—you’re on the couch. Your clothes have altered to match that night. Logan sits beside you, the warmth of his presence impossibly real.

This moment feels untouched by time, but deep down, you know the truth. Charles is erasing it even as you relive it. Soon, this too will vanish.

The scene begins to warp. It’s no longer the movie on the screen. The couple has been replaced by you and Logan. You’re watching yourselves from a third perspective, your bodies framed by the flickering light of the TV. It’s deeply unsettling, but in this fragmented state of consciousness, it doesn’t feel worth questioning.

“Logan?”

“Tell me.”

You grab a cushion and smack him on the arm, the motion instinctive. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?” he asks, laughing as he takes the cushion from your hands, tossing it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You erased me from your memory!” you accuse him, even as you know the futility of it. He’s merely a fragment, a faint echo of who he once was to you. A lingering shard of memory caught in the tangled wires of your brain, sparking as it teeters on the edge of a short circuit. “You’re not even real, are you?”

“No,” he admits, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just in your mind. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re just what’s left.” You lower your gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll take Charles to erase you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The words you long for, the closure you might crave, are swallowed up. His lips vanish mid-formulation, and then you’re staring at a blank void where his mouth used to be. The rest of his features begins to fade—his eyes dissolve into nothingness, followed by his nose, his brows, the lines of his face. All that’s left is the space where he once sat, and even that feels tenuous.

You’re on your own now. The memory of him—of that night, the first time you truly shared an intimate moment—has been swept away like smoke in the wind. You collapse onto the floor, trembling as sobs tear through you, your hands pressed tightly against your face, attempting to contain your anguish. “I don’t want to forget you,” you choke out between hiccupped breaths, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” a familiar voice murmurs behind you, and there he is—Logan. This time, he’s wearing his suit. His claws are unsheathed, gleaming. “I shouldn’t have done it first. I don’t know what I was thinking’.”

You push yourself to your feet, drawn to him. When you move to hug him, he takes a step back, raising his claws as if to protect you from getting harmed. “I can’t retract them. If I hug you, I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, pressing forward and slotting yourself between his arms, ignoring the danger. Your face finds its habitual place against his chest, and you inhale deeply, inhaling his scent. “I just want you.”

His arms fold around you hesitantly, careful yet incomplete. You feel a sharp pain, a searing slice along your ribs that rips a scream from your throat. The agony is blinding, drowning your world into darkness.

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere else entirely. The bed feels soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your legs. Logan is there beside you, his body warm against yours, both of you naked under the sheets.

“You’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice tender, taking a strand of your hair, twisting it gently before tucking it behind your ear. “You alright?”

His face won’t stay still. Beard, no beard. A moustache that fades as quickly as it appears. Hair long, then short. Sideburns one moment, smooth skin the next. He’s a shifting mosaic of himself. You realize you can’t remember what he looked like the last time you saw him.

“I’m forgetting you.” Your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek, memorizing each detail. “I don’t think I can stop it now.”

He’s seconds away from crying, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both desperate and resigned. “Stay here with me,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands sliding over your arms, your stomach, your legs. “Don’t let me go.”

“You did it to me first,” you say, voice thick with emotion, pulling him closer, down until his body presses fully against yours. His weight feels real, but you know it’s not. Nothing about this moment is.

His voice breaks, repeating the same mantra. “Stay here with me. Don’t let me go.”

The touches multiply. It’s no longer just his hands on your skin. It’s as if the entire universe is reaching for you. The cacophony of touches, the overlapping voices—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”—swirls into a suffocating chaos.

Logan begins to blur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. His face fades first, then his body, until all that remains is a ghost of his shadow. Then even that is gone. The bed disappears beneath you, leaving you adrift in an empty expanse. You can’t tell if you’re still there, or if you’ve vanished with him.

You exhale slowly. Silence, at last.

The second first time you see him, he’s sitting alone outside on a weathered bench, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s completely alone, and you pause a few steps away, studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like someone you would’ve missed at the mansion. Charles mentioned he’d recently joined the team, a mutant who had spent too long wandering the earth.

You clear your throat, trying not to overthink it. “Mind if I take a seat?” you ask, your hands clasped behind your back as you wait for his reply.

He shifts to one end of the bench, leaving you more than enough room, though his movements seem cautious. You sit down, exhaling softly as an awkward silence stretches between you. His demeanor isn’t exactly inviting, and you wonder how to bridge the gap.

After a moment, you stretch out your hand, offering a polite smile, giving him your name. He glances at your hand, then takes it. “M’Logan,” he says simply, though you already knew that from your previous talk with Charles. His fingers are rough, calloused, yet they linger a beat longer than necessary before letting go. “The other day, I was in the kitchen, and you walked in. You were acting… strange.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between his face and your hand that still feels warm from his touch. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

Logan hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought so… but maybe not.” His lips press into a thin line, shrugging. “Never mind. I could be wrong.”

Tilting your head, you study him. There’s something familiar that you can’t quite place. “Have we met before? Outside this place, I mean. It’s just… I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

His eyes meet yours then, like your question has triggered something dormant. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he lets out a low chuckle. “Funny you’d say that. I wasn’t planning on bringing it up, but… I got the same feeling.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” His lips quirk into a smile, one that matches yours.

Inside the mansion, Charles and Jean watch the scene through the window. Jean folds her arms across her chest, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is crazy,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get me started,” Charles replies.

“They don’t know what happened, but they still feel it. Like they’re connected.” She peers down at Charles, her voice quieter now. “You erased everything, didn’t you? Every memory, every trace.”

Charles keeps his eyes on the scene outside, his features softening as he watches the two of you talk. He sighs, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re asking me for an explanation I don’t have. I guess some things… refuse to be forgotten.”

Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.

Friedrich Nietzche.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[mossyscavern]

Not spies, just a bit incompetent.

_________________________

“Now, are you spies? Or just incompetent! Lackeys!”

The winged bot asked, leaning forward with a harsh yell as red optics flared. “Whoa, we’re not spies.” Orion ushered, servos up. “But he is incompetent.” Elita adds.

“Scanning electrical impulses: he speaks, the truth.” The bot with the face guard and yellow visor states after scanning-. ‘Is that bee?! Why’s that mech holding bee?!’ Orion thought, worry coursing through him.

“That just means he believes himself, like any spy would.” He states, leaning against the other armrest of the throne. “Hmh! M! M! Mh!” Bee tries to say, kicking his peds excitedly, but thanks to the treat he’s eating, he can’t talk.

Orion’s glad that he’s alright.. but he still can’t help but worry about the young sparkling. “Uhm.. Why is he holding him..? Is that an energon treat?” Elita-1 asks, pointing and threatening.

And from the looks of it, D really doesn’t like how they’re holding bee, judging by the obvious death stare. “He wouldn’t stop talking.” The one eyed mech explains. “Even when he was unconscious?” She wondered, optic ridge raise-.

“WE DIDN’T KNOCK OUT A SPARKLING!!!” He shouts stomping his ped, sounding offended by her question.

“Enough. Two options for you, 1: we slowly dismantle each of you, one bolt and screw at a time! And really make sure you feel it for potential kidnapping.” He says, listing off one of the two options with a scowl.

“Or 2: in exchange for a quick death, you give us intel on the energon trains, access to the mines or anything else that could hurt your boss, Sentinel Prime.” He threatens, darkening his optics more towards the three.

D-16 darkens his optics, not entirely trusting any of them.. especially with the sparkling in their arms. “Who exactly are you?” Elita asks.

Bee ate the energon treat more quickly now, trying to finish it in 20 seconds. “Wait!! Not too quickly!” The one eyed mech warned, too little too late by the time bee finished the cube.

“The cybertronian! *hic* high *hic* guard!” Bee says, hiccuping as he spoke. “*sighs* I told him not to eat it quickly.” The mech sighs, shaking his hexagonal helm fondly, handing an energon drink to the sparkling.

“Prestigious *hic* defenders of *hic* Iacon. *hic* prest-*hic*-igious?” Bee asks, hiccuping each word, then drank the energon and thanked them.

“Right. I read all about you in the archives. You were the most legendary warriors in all of Cybertron.” Orion exclaims, pointedly before remembering a very important detail about them. ‘They’ll always protect our young.’ He thought.

“Look, look! There’s starscream! Shockwave! The bot carrying me is Soundwave!” he exclaims, pointing to each main three before raising his hand.

“Hey, are all of you named wave? There’s a lot of waves” bee asked, getting an answer from shockwave’s shaking head.

“Silence!” Starscream shouts. “The young spark is correct.” The seeker states, giving bee a smile when he celebrated. “We were once the High Guard,” he starts, leaning back on the throne.

“We witnessed Sentinel’s Betrayal, saw the Primes fall. Ever since then, we’ve been fighting from the shadows to sabotage Sentinel.”

“That’s great! We’re also-.” Orion was about to stand before a multitude of weapons are levelled to his face. “Woah, okay! We’re good, relax, we’re all friends here. I just wanted to say that we’re all allies here.”

“Hah! Yeah right, like we’d believe the bots that probably kidnap the sparkling.” Starscream stood up, screaming in rage at the last bit, making everybot quiet… all but a small voice broke the silence.

“… what?”

_________________________

I’m… making this one a 2 parter.

1: I like to make these things short and sweet so it’s not too overwhelming. 2: … I can’t fit in some of moments from the movie and pair it with the baby au.. like that fight scene between D-16 and starscream.

I got permission to write this from @yuukirita … and here’s their art and writing for the inspiration -> high guard and the baby please go check it out.

[carbonfiction]

Dark Desires

older, best friends dad!Logan x reader

summary: a week ago you found yourself drunk texting your best friends dad; something that should've been a mistake, but you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would know everything you'd kept from him all those years. You'd been thinking about it for longer than you'd care to admit; adding to the fantasy. so what happens when logan finally indulges you..

warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, F!Receiving oral, PIV smut, prone bone and missionary, Somnophilla (technically??), daddy kink, roleplay?? pussy sniffing?? Kind of voyeurism? But the person is very much asleep. Also tagging this for dubcon but it’s more pre established consent/free use and slight CNC vibes depending on how you view it? Tagged this the best i believe i can but ultimately you are responsible for your media consumption.

A/N: i don't know where this came from, other than i had a glass of wine and a naughty thought. i tried real hard on this and its a little darker than i usually write- not to mention longer- but i hope yall enjoy a filth filled piece of my intoxicated brain anyway. Et voilà.

Masterlist Words: little over 4k (oop- longest thing ive ever written.. i got carried away..)

Your heart is hammering away inside of your chest so insistently that it feels like your ribs are bruised and your breasts are trying to punch their way out of your dress.

You're still wearing the stupid thing and Laura is drinking another mimosa. Part of you is grateful for that. Yet while you want her drunk and snoring tonight, part of you can't help trying to stop her.

You make eye contact, give her the look. Tell her to slow down because you two have been down this road before. She gets wild, has fun for half an hour, and then spends the rest of the night dizzy in a bathroom asking deep philosophical questions like why do my eyes hurt? And why do guys suck? And do i still have puke in my hair?

But if she's drunk tonight, just enough to sleep like the dead, then what?

You set your own drink aside to check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time this hour and lift a shaky thumb to your texts.

You've read the thread again and again and again, and still you don't quite believe it. The party swirls around you. A hurricane of sound and the smell of cocktails is sour in your nose. You feel the heat of your friends, your fellow graduates. one day lawyers, doctors, professors, professionals in their field; and yet here you are reading over the texts again.

You feel like a little girl and yet simultaneously the most grown of women because you have a secret, a dirty little secret.

You were nearly as drunk as Laura is now when you sent the first text a week ago. You were celebrating the end of finals and you were curled up in bed after a long night out.

One of your other friends had flirted with the bartender. You'd told the girl to stop and Laura had reached from her stool and pinched your leg. Asking if you'd ever needed something so badly that you actually made a bad decision.

Everyone had laughed, all except you.

You know she was teasing and complimenting in the same breath. You're a good girl and everybody knows it. Reliable, honest and never involved with the wrong kind of guys.. Always a reason to why you were too busy to bother. You were studying, too busy hanging out with Laura. Too busy prepping for school, internships and the next two decades of your life.

You're no angel, although of course, no one was. You've had your share of regrettable hookups and disappointing boyfriends, but nothing that set your world alight. Nothing worth risking anything for.

But maybe what Laura had said thread under your skin more than you'd like to admit. Maybe you were just drunk enough to ignore the obvious risk.. Or was it that you'd been thinking about him for an indecently long amount of time?

So with finals over, diploma practically in hand. There was nothing preventing years of pent up lust from sending a jolt down between your legs, setting a crackling fire in your heart and making you sweat. Dripping down your neck, stomach, that spot on your lower back, they all tingled as you crouched on the corner of your bed and wrote a single text.

You: I need something.

You sent it. Had forced yourself to before you chickened out and immediately regretted it. You thought you'd worded it in such a way that you could play it off, pretend it didn't happen.

But you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would read those three words and know everything you'd kept from him all those years. Every dirty thought, every horny fantasy, everything.

It was all right there in the text. 2am on a Thursday night and truly it could only mean one thing. You put the phone down, tried to make yourself go to sleep.

Logan was an older man with a life. A job, house and a child- your best friend- and you were sure he wouldn't even see the stupid thing until the morning when you could say you meant to message Laura. Not him, not her father. But then you picked up the phone again, half panicked and ready to change your mind, when you'd saw those little dots.

That meant he was writing something back, at 2am on a Thursday night, either in bed or his limo.

Logan: You need to go to sleep

Of course.. Responsible. That was the responsible thing to do. And you would do just that. But first you'd just write a quick text to apologize. Say it was the wrong number and sleep this off; pretend it didn't happen for the rest of your lives.

But.. what if, for once in your life, it could be easy? What if Logan did know everything? What if.. There was something else? Because that was how this all started, hadn't it?

You'd always felt something more, saw something different in his worn eyes, his gruff demeanor. Heard something he was saying when he really wasn't saying anything at all.

Or.. Was it all in your head? Was this only ever a one way infatuation? A young woman's crush, a dark fantasy that only grew darker with each new kink you discovered in yourself? Losing all confidence, you texted back.

You: sorry. Wrong number.

And that was that- or it should've been that- If it was only ever a one way street. You put the phone down, tried desperately to keep your eyes closed, but the moment you heard the phone buzz again you peek.

Logan: Is that true sweetheart?

Oh no, no. it wasn't true at all. You knew he knew exactly who'd texted and why; what you wanted him to do. You'd been thinking about it for years. Adding to the fantasy. Soaking your sheets in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep, all that brought a temporary relief. If only for a little while; So, you text back.

You: No

Just that. A simple No.

Logan: You telling a lie?

You: Not exactly

Logan: So you wanted my attention then?

You: Wanted? No Logan.. Need.

And yes, you know need is a very strong word.

Logan: You feel very strongly about that huh? Strong feelings can be dangerous sweetheart.

You: what if i want something dangerous.

You answered back with the most honest thing you could say. And then there was a pause, a very long pause, in which you could see no dots, and even started to wonder if he'd abandoned you. Left you on read.

A thousand images erupted in your mind, different versions of him sitting and staring at your number- your words. Those cheap reading glasses perched on his nose as he wondered if this was some kind of game.

But if it was a game.. Logan was ready to play and after a few minutes your phone dings again.

Logan: you're being a real bad girl tonight, aren't you?

And then it wasn't your best friend's father you were texting. Well, it very much was- that was the crux of it, wasn't it? But now it was also the man. The man on the other side of the phone who was paying close attention.

You: Yes, daddy. very, very bad.

Now, In the darkness of his daughter's room, You imagine colors swirling on her ceiling. Your heart restless like a caged animal and there is a knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter by the second.

You don't know how long you've been lying here. 5 minutes or 5 hours. But you know you can't possibly wait another moment... But then you do, because you have to.

You haven't heard from Logan all day and that makes you afraid. Really genuinely afraid that He's forgotten or changed his mind.

Because, well, it's just you and Laura in here, isn't it? You're lying on the floor, a lumpy pillow under your head, and a spare, slightly musty blanket folded under your breasts.

Laura is snoring away in her bed, her limbs tangled with a stuffed animal almost the size of her- one you'd won her from a carnival. It was like old times, she slurred drunkenly. The three of you huddled together in her bed, giggling and watching some crappy reality show.

She'd tried to get you to join her and the animal in the bed, but you'd said no. Insisted that it was too hot tonight. That you'd rather be able to spread out on the floor. Fortunately, by the time you made it up to Laura's room, she was too far gone to argue.

Unfortunately, now though, there's a very drunk girl in her bed beside you, a possible witness to your depravity. And so you lie there, staring at the ceiling and forcing yourself not to text. Not to call. To just ignore the nagging doubt in your gut.

And yet again, you still find yourself opening the text thread. Reading through the things you told him, the things he'd told you. A formed plan and line after line of you promising things. All of the 'Yes, daddy I want this' the 'Please do that to me' The repetitive 'ill be a good girl, Promise' And then, at the very bottom, a safe word. It was when you'd agreed on the safe word that you knew this was for real. Not a fiction in a book or a fantasy playing out in a movie.

The word. Kitty. An inside joke from years ago. The word proof that all the little confidences and conversations held an attraction you were both willing to hide for the sake of decency

But.. you don't want to be decent anymore. You'd confided your fantasy, one that you had dreamt so many nights. Wished for it in the hot, comfortable haven of Laura's bed every time you'd stayed over. The thought of her older, attractively gruff father coming to you in the night and making you submit to his secret lust.

Of him pulling your panties to the side while Laura slept untroubled. Logan ravishing you while you whispered and mewled 'please, daddy, make me your filthy slut'

You've always been his filthy slut, haven't you? Deep In your heart. The thought is turning the wet spot between your legs into a soggen menace. You've been horny before, You've been needy before, but never like this- because you've never tried something like this.

Never wanted something badly enough to ask for it; or even beg for it. This was a dream, a dirty desire, a secret yearning never to be true.

Then you'd drunk texted. You told him and he'd responded, not with shock or disgust, but enthusiasm, cautious enthusiasm. But it was still only text messages. You haven't spoken to him yet, not properly at least. Even when you saw him walk in at the party, or in the limo on the way back to Laura's. You couldn't bring yourself to say a word. Your mouth was so dry, cheeks so hot. Laura had laughed and said you were flushed in the backseat- a lightweight to end all lightweights- when in fact you haven't had a drop to drink tonight.

You're going to throw your phone at the wall, you swear it. But No, that would probably wake her up. Instead, you conclude that you're going to find your pants, and you're going to leave this house and never come back. You love Laura but you can't bear it, can't believe you trusted him with this. You can't lie here and torment yourself about your decisions a minute longer about your need.

Then, your heart leaps into your throat. phone dropping onto your chest with a soft thud. Quickly you brush it off and turn onto your stomach. Your head hitting the pillow, eyes squeezed shut and pulse racing like you've run a marathon.

Through your closed eyelids, you see the glow of the hall light from the open door, only for it to vanish moments later. Either the door has closed or the light's been turned off, but you're not sure which because blood is racing so loudly in your ears. Breath escaping in overwhelming gasps.

Do you hear calculated heavy footsteps or is that your imagination? You struggle to listen for Laura. Is she awake or still sleeping? The tension so tight in your chest that you begin to feel dizzy, almost nauseous. Then comes the creak of the floor at the foot of your makeshift bed, the unmistakable presence of another person in the room, their eyes on you.

You can't stop your body from trembling slightly as the sheet is softly yanked away. Adrenaline courses through your veins, making your body buzz with anticipation.

Your legs are bare the cool air of Laura's bedroom. You're laying on your stomach. Face pushed into the pillow, eyes clenched shut as if you're locked into a deep, drunken sleep- like you should be.

Your legs are splayed out, dark lacey panties riding up the crevice of your ass. One of your ass cheek's indecently exposed... then a rough touch caresses over the swell of that exposed cheek, two big exploring hands, gliding over you.

You hear the grunt of a man, and you know it can only be Logan. He's the only other person home.

Your heart is beating so hard you're afraid you're going to pass out. Laura is on the bed, sleeping mere feet away, and her father is groping you in your supposed sleep.

So the question becomes: are you dreaming now? or are you praying this is as far as he'll go?

when Logan pull's the fabric of your panties to the side, you know he's willing to go much further. He's quiet in the darkness around you, but he's big and the house is old; the floor creaking and groaning as he readjust's his heavy weight.

Your panties are roughly hiked over one cheek of your ass, the sound of ripping lace filling your ears. Logan's hot breath roll's over your ass and the tremble in your limbs becomes a full shiver.

You can feel his scruffy face so close to your body, Feel his nose against the crevice of your ass as he roves lower. Dipping further until his mouth- his nose - is pressed into the folds of your bared cunt.

You hear how he inhales deeply, toes curling in response. Your fingers lay over Laura's spare pillow, the case tight in your grip. He's smelling you, nuzzling against your dampening skin not once, but many times. Lewdly breathing in your scent like a dog that's found something it likes.

His calloused hands spread you open so he can breathe deeper still and when hes as deep into your cunt as his face will allow, his wet tongue slides out to lick at you. You cannot stifle your moan at the feeling, immediately biting your lip to keep from growing any louder.

But with this the culmination of so many fevered late night fantasies, you dont know if you are dreaming.

His wide tongue laps at your swollen clit, swiping open the seam of your pussy and to the point just shy of your tighter hole. You hear logan growl into your wet slit like a monster unleashed from beneath the bed. Feeling how how his licks grow stronger, longer and twice as ravenous as he steadily turn your pussy into a drooling, dripping mess.

He laps at you in the quiet darkness of Laura's room, calculated and experienced as you fight to not to cry out. The pressure of an impending orgasm building so tight in your body that it feels time you woke up.

And so you take a deep breath, a rough gasped sound falling out too. Your fingers claw at the pillow as you flex your lower half.

"Hmm?"You grumble, pretending to bat away the cobwebs of sleep. "Wha-whats happening, What are you doing?" You ask, voice thick with mock confusion.

Within moments you feel Logan's tongue retreat from your pussy, a weight so much heavier than your own crawl over your half naked body. You feel him pressed tight against you, still clothed if the scratchy fabric tells you anything, but an unmistakable bulge is hidden inside. Hard and large against your ass you feel Logan's arm rub against your shoulder. A big hand sliding over your mouth.

"Quiet, sweetheart" he growls in your ear. "Daddy's had enough of your teasing"

Another large hand slides beneath your sleep shirt to cup your tender tits, The nipples diamond hard against Logan's palm. You cant help but moan into his hand as you plead.

"Please. Didn't mean to tease" its a wine, petulant in tone.

"Course you didnt.. Shame S' Too late now" he whispers against your ear, teeth biting into your earlobe. The hand on your breast trails down. Right the way down to his slacks.

"B-but Laura" You warn him in a whispered panic, hearing the sound of a zipper sliding down. you struggle teasingly, hips bucking back against him. Its not enough to cause a scene or enough to wake your sleeping friend- his sleeping daughter- but just enough to make him pin your body down. Enough for you to feel a fraction of his real strength.

Logan's muscles bulge from the effort of caging you against the floor and spreading your legs.

"Nuh uh, Stay still. Stay right where ive got you" he murmurs darkly in your ear, voice a low rumble. the words fire through you like liquid lightning as you bite into his palm, not to fight but to restrain a high pitched moan that you fear could wake the neighbors- not just Laura.

"nothing you can do now sweetheart, just gotta take it" Logan says and you hear the mocking smile in the words, feel the throb of his thick cock as it emerges from the confines of his pants. "Kept telling me you were a good girl, so show me"

With your stomach flat against the ground, legs spread wide beneath him, you can do nothing but tremble as his cock slips between your legs. The cock belonging to your best friend's father sliding deliciously across that little bundle of nerves that sparks a whimper of pleasure.

Your eyes roll back as Logans hips buck, cock brushing your clit again, running up and down your slit torturously slow. "fuuuck, you feel that? How hard you've got my cock?"

You're kicking your legs now, moving your hips. It could be viewed as a struggle but its not, not really, you're just so desperately excited you can't keep still.

"Don't need to fight me baby. Just let daddy in hm? let it happen sweetheart."

And then he's pushing inside your body in one heavy thrust; slow and impossibly deep. The weight of him inside your cunt making you mewl against his palm. All the years of secret yearning, wet fantasies and subtle flirtations have all led to this moment.

It doesn't take many thrusts before your tongue is rolling out of your mouth, licking wetly against his palm like a grateful dog- a bitch in heat. You try to use it to muffle the moan that follows, a pitiful sound mixed with pleasure, like you're ashamed to be in the situation.

Used and humiliated around logans cock.

Its push followed by retreat, a half thrust and then withdrawal over and over. "So fucking tight" Logan growls as you wiggle your ass, not certain if your trying to squirm further in to his grip or out.

He's stretching your walls apart, the burn of his size delicious with each heavy he offers. Each bringing a pulsing throb on your clit. "Yeaaaa, that's it, take it like a good girl.." he groans. "S' what you wanted isn't it."

Logans right, this is exactly what you wanted and more. His body trembles atop yours from the exertion, balls squeezed against your ass, his hand on and off clenching around your breast. His thrusts picking up in pace as you struggle and squirm to keep quiet even under his palm

"L-logan" you whimper as he pushes particularly deep, pussy squelching lewdly from your arousal, his hand barley muffling the word. He knows your close before you do, can feel your cunt clenching desperately.

"Getting fucked so good your gonna cum sweetheart?" he rasps in your ear, panting into it. "C'mon, tell daddy how good his cock feels."

"S-so good.. F-fuck yes daddy, please"

You whine and It is a struggle to pry his strong hand off your mouth to get the words out.

"Go on sweetheart. Cum, coat my fuckin cock. Show me this cute little pussy is mine"

and then his big hand clamps back over your lips as he begins to fuck you into the floor. Your orgasm crashes over you in burning waves. Every stroke becoming an ecstatic agony, overstimulation starting to buzz over your bones. Its a constant struggle to hold your moans and neither of you can move properly for the risk of waking Laura .

But Logans hips remain unrelenting, Fucking you prone on your friends floor. His balls swinging, swatting unbearably at your clit with every entry. The heat of him and being trapped against the floor is almost unbearable, but so is having to keep your whimpers quiet. sweat beads hot on your brow

you can hear his own desperate attempts at staying quiet. Broken only by muffled groans, grunts of exertion, and primal chesty growls as your cunt clenches wetly around him.

Yet the discomfort of overstimulation is no match for the absolute bliss of your submission. Your toes curling so hard you're on the verge of a cramp.

The friction between your clit, Logan's cock and the floor builds to an intolerable pressure. Something must give way. The temptation to lose all control and scream his name too great. Now that possibility of you blacking out is too dangerous to ignore. So you say it the word.

"Kitty!"

Not because you want to, but because in this moment you have to. Almost as soon as the word leaves your lips and sinks into the pillow, wet from saliva and tears, you feel his body shudder. muscles seizing while a heavy groan sounding out into the skin of your neck.

"you okay?" he pants softly worry creasing his brow. "Was it too much?"

Your wordless and it worries him. Making him pull back, cock slipping free with a hushed hiss as he helps you shift onto your back, so he can look at you properly.

Your hands rise, fingers caressing his scruffy cheeks. "M'okay" you pant, eyes on him. "wasn't too much. Promise."

No, in fact, It was just right- before it all overwhelmed you that is. Now? now you just want to hold him, make love to him. Hold onto something- someone that isn't really yours. Eye to eye, your mouth slides back over his, legs spread back open, ready to welcome his length back inside. Without a word you buck your hips down, beckoning him to fuck you again.

Things are much quieter this time. Pace slowed to deep grinds rather than shallow thrusts, pleasure once again coiling in your gut as you lean up to watch his cock disappear inside.

"Feel so good sweetheart, my good girl" he coos, lips against yours as his hand slips back to cup your breast. "My good girl with a fuckin perfect body"

You keep your eyes on logan, blissful smile across your face, and for this moment he's not your best friends father. Not with the way he's gazing down at you with a mixture of lust and long held affection. "always wanted you" he whispers, hand moving back from your breast to cup your cheek. "But I would have kept that secret forever.."

You squeeze him to your chest, heart stuttering at the admission as you lock your arms behind his neck, legs tight around logans waist. You whimper back his name, a plea on your tongue.

"Want you to cum logan.. Please, need to feel it"

You want it more than anything, to feel his cum pushed inside you; for it to drip out later as a downright filthy reminder. You kiss his neck, then cheek, and finally his lips. You want Logan to claim you right here on the floor, right under her nose and you know it makes you a bad friend. Your eyes roll back, hands clawing down his chest as you feel yourself giving up all thought to the rush that flows down the center of your body. The one that begins and ends in the wet, sticky place between your legs, Where the sensitive bud of your clit pulses like a dying star.

it's then he growls much too loud, and you respond back in a whimper, lips pressing tight as you cum together in panted kisses. Him pumping hot heady ropes of cum inside your cunt without reservation or regret as you clench in a vice grip around him.

Tomorrow you will be sore, you know it for a fact. But Tonight.. Tonight You can revel in a fantasy made flesh, your flesh and Logans wrapped around each tight. You drag weak fingers down through his damp hair, then his back, feeling the way his shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Logans panting has subsided by now, breaths no longer crackling besides your ear. He plants mouthy kisses at the juncture of your neck, ever so gently, like a sated wolf nuzzling at the muzzle of his mate. You giggle quietly as those kisses grow fiercer, teeth nipping at your neck.

"my good, great, naughty girl" he murmurs against your skin, voice soft. "you feeling okay sweetheart? sure it wasn't too much?"

You nod and he can feel the enthusiasm seep from the move as you grasp his face again. "Mhm, better than okay. Was perfect" you hum sleeplily, content in his hold, in the scent of him. Your eyes flutter, lashes tickling his cheeks as you kiss him long and deep, until the rub of his beard hurts your face and sleep begins to take you under.

You both know tonight was the culmination of so many fevered dreams. The breaking point of lust and its power that can't be fully expressed in words. So he holds you close- just as you do him in your rest- for a little while longer, until light begins to filter soft through the curtains and the reality of what you'd both done really begins to set in.

thats it!! lemme know what you thought anddddd yea! asks are always open to shoot the shit, drabbles and more! <333

[tomboy014]

Tamaranean Siblings, Part 2!

After the Body Swap incident, Phantom and Starfire get close.  Really close.  Turns out swapping bodies breaks down a lot of boundaries, and unlike Raven, the two have bonded.  Starfire has always been a hugger, and she’s taken to carrying Phantom around like a teddy bear. Phantom is used to having a red-headed big sister, and ever since his parents worked the ecto-deflectors into their jumpsuits, he might maybe be a teensy bit touch starved.  He loves to sprawl over Starfire whenever they hang out together.

It’s driving Robin up the wall.  Phantom knows he’s been crushing on Starfire for a while, and he goes and does this?!  He can’t help but get more brusque with Phantom, to the point it starts to interfere with group dynamics, and it prompts even Starfire to tell him off for it.

Danny confronts Dick privately to tell him off for being a total dingus.  As far as the two of them are concerned, Kor’i and Danny are basically siblings now.  He’s knows Dick has a crush on her;  that’s why Danny has been trying to talk him up to Kor’i so she’ll give him a chance, and his attitude is not helping.  Dick needs to CHILL OUT!

Robin: … Who?

Phantom: You live with her for pete’s sake! How do you not know her first name?!

This is also where it comes to light that Robin/Dick doesn’t actually have any dating experience.

Robin is a super popular super hero, leader of his team, and supposedly smooth and charismatic.  Dick Grayson is the adopted son of Bruce frickin’ Wayne and beloved by the public. Danny’s at the bottom of the social ladder and he still got a date with the most popular girl in school. Twice!  How are you this bad at girls? 

Either way, things with Robin start to calm down and the group dynamic returns to normal (though Danny will never let him live down his lack of love life).  But things in the training room start to heat up. 

Starfire and Phantom now have a much better understanding of each other’s limits, and the gloves are off.  The whole tower shakes whenever the two of them spar together, and they’re both experimenting with new ways to use their energy powers after seeing how the other uses theirs.  Phantom even manages to give Starfire a black eye for the first time, and she’s ecstatic! It’s a Tamaranean thing.  In their culture, it’s an accomplishment when a younger sibling to visibly injures the elder sibling for the first time.  It shows how much the younger has grown and how well the elder has taught them.  Starfire is super proud and posts it all over SpaceBook.

But Phantom has ulterior motives for pushing Starfire the way he has been.  No one knows his strengths like Starfire does.  More importantly, no one knows his weaknesses the way she does.  If there’s anyone who’d know how to stop him…

Phantom asks Starfire to be his contingency plan, and explains everything that happened in The Ultimate Enemy, about his future self, what he did, and how terrified he is if he one day becomes that.  If that ever happens, he wants her to be the one to take him out.

Don’t try to talk him out of it.  He already gets it enough from his friends and sister that it won’t happen.  That he’s a good person.  He doesn’t need to worry about that, etc.  He’s heard it all before, but… None of them have actually agreed or promised to end him if it does happen.  And if it does… his friends are only human, and they couldn’t stop him before.

Starfire agrees.  She can see how important this is to him, and she won’t lose Danny to a dark path the same way she lost her sister.  The wave of relief that washes over him breaks Starfire’s heart.  These must be the horrible feelings that led him to develop the Ghostly Wail.

Still, she is confident that this future won’t come to pass because he chooses not to let it happen.  She, too, has been flung forward into a bleak future, but she knows nothing in the past, present or future is set in stone.  She fought and changed the future with her own two hands.  She’s knows Phantom is strong enough to do the same. 

While Dick and Danny were never really good at staying in contact with each other, Kor’i is and keeps up her relationship with Danny even after he “retires.”  She knew months before Dick of Jason did that he took the job at Arkham and is happy for him.  It may not be the career path he wanted, but he found a good job and a way to still help people without his powers. 

<<Prev

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Lol no but like what if... glances down at pitch notecards... tosses them aside and pulls out the pepe silvia board.

Okay, so picture this: Buck's looking to date. It's going to be a rebound, but he's trying to convince himself it's not a rebound. Is he still baking? Sure. But that's just - that's just his thing now, okay? He bakes. And thinks about Tommy. But he's trying not to, so he's trying to date.

And at first, he seems to have this very sweet meet-cute with a girl. She seems nice. It feels like a chance encounter. They decide to go out on a date.

But wait.

The audience knows who that woman is.

It's the serial killer.

And it starts a few months earlier with Tommy.

Tommy fucking Kinard, kidnapped by this woman, somehow fumbling his way to his phone. And he doesn't call 9-1-1. Cell service is abysmal. No, he tries to text Buck.

Evan.

He tries to tell him sorry and that he loves Evan, only for the serial killer to catch him.

And.

Gets confused by why he tried to text this Evan guy instead of calling 9-1-1.

Tommy finds himself telling the story of his entire six-month romance with one Evan "Buck" Buckley, thinking this might be the last time he'll ever be able to talk about the man he loves.

And the love. The passion. The sweetness. The domesticity. The excitement. The yearning.

It captivates the serial killer.

So much so that.

The serial killer?

She wants that for her own.

She wants that story to be hers but with a happy ending.

She falls in love with the idea of the romcom that Tommy had with this Evan Buckley guy.

And what seems to be cutesy is flipped and you get a gender swapped You scenario - this woman stalking and forcing happy accidents so that she might get to her goal of dating Buck.

There's a comedy and a horror to this woman forcing all the stars to align for her; to take all the romance that Tommy had and try to reverse engineer it into this potential relationship with Evan. It's distorted in the framework of some Crazy Ex-Girlfriend delusion.

And while she's seemingly proud of what she's doing, well, something doesn't quite feel right to Evan. They seem to have so much in common. There seem to be all these beats that make him feel cared for by her.

But.

But something feels slightly off; like someone moved everything one inch to the left. And he's not sure why it's feeling like that. And he's not sure why half the time it just feels like something he would do with Tommy.

And Buck, despite himself, can't stop goddamn baking.

Things start to unravel at the seams. And the serial killer has to get Maddie out of the way after Maddie notices something suspicious, leaving Maddie with Tommy in her secret underground cage.

Tommy and Maddie, stuck together in the cage, get to talking. Tommy basically tells Maddie that he's been in the cage since he bubbled Evan - which had been a few months ago. A little before the girl Buck is currently dating, the serial killer, started pursuing Buck... with insider knowledge unknowingly at first by Tommy.

After Maddie and Tommy debrief each other, they devise a plan to get out of the cage.

Meanwhile, the perfect romcom cutesy homemade romantic dinner date that the serial killer is trying to have with Buck is not really going as planned. She's hitting all the right beats, goddammit, it's just Buck.

Buck is not playing his part right and it's messing up the fantasy.

He's sad. He's admitting that the dinner feels a lot like these dinners he had with his ex (dinners he had with Tommy, who the serial killer got the idea from in the first place). He apologizes and starts talking about how he's really not over his ex.

Also, his sister hasn't been messaging back and he's worried that she might have run away again; might be suffering a bout of depression. Or maybe he's just been too annoying lately and she's been purposefully ignoring his texts the last day or so.

And.

All of that.

Pisses the serial killer off.

Now it's a race against time as the serial killer, disillusioned with Buck, decides he should be her next victim - she already partially drugged him with the wine.

And there's a difference between Buck actively fighting off and running from this serial killer as the drugs kick in and the serial killer still seeing the romcom delusion with a slasher twist to it - similar to Harley Quinn's visions in The Suicide Squad.

Meanwhile, Tommy and Maddie are hearing the sounds of the dinner upstairs going awry and are quickly doing their best to break out of the cage they were in - and they do!

They burst out of the basement, surprising both Buck and the serial killer as Tommy tackles her and Maddie checks if Buck is okay since he is definitely drugged.

Maddie makes a crack about how she might be 9-1-1, but they should probably call the actual 9-1-1.

The serial killer is taken into custody and Tommy, Maddie, and Buck are all sent to get checked out.

At the hospital, Buck and Maddie talk about what happened. How Buck is stunned he didn't realize he was dating a serial killer. How Maddie put some pieces together because she recognized the screen on Tommy's phone at the serial killer's house - a picture of Buck and Tommy at Billy Boils' grave. Maddie has a little heart-to-heart with Evan about what she and Tommy talked about and suggests that maybe it would be okay to at least visit Tommy.

Buck is heading to visit Tommy in his room, but Tommy actually finds Buck first. Tommy makes a crack about being in the 118 wing. Tommy talks about getting kidnapped. Thinking he was going to die. Realizing he still had his phone on him, but only wanting to text Buck that he loved Buck and that he was sorry while he still had the chance.

Because he didn't think that he could make a call from the basement to 9-1-1 with the room seemingly being a cell service dead spot. And at least if he typed out that he loved Buck and that he was sorry, that might get to Buck if his cell phone got out of the room.

That was the bubbling.

But then the serial killer caught him in the act.

And in a depression sink, thinking that there was no way out and that he was going to die, he found himself answering her question to him - why text Evan if he could have tried calling 9-1-1?

Tommy apologizes profusely. He had never expected the woman would try to use that information to date Evan. He hates that he told her his story in such a way that she wanted to basically crawl into his metaphorical skin and play tourist in the relationship Tommy realized he regretted ending because he was too scared of it hurting him. And Tommy understands if Evan never wants to see him again, but he still loves Evan and wants to make it work.

Buck confesses that his relationship with the serial killer had always felt weird and with this information, he realizes it's because it was everything he wanted except the person he wanted it to be with - Tommy. That every time he wanted to text Tommy, he would bake, and god, Buck had been baking up a storm. He had baked so much he was giving away loaves. He was still baking. He had baked earlier that day.

Buck want this. And Tommy wants this. But they both understand how hurtful the last breakup was. They acknowledge where the problems might be. They decide to not only go by Buck's pace, but by Tommy's pace too. To try to be more open about how they feel. Try to make this work.

Because they love each other. And they were always going to find each other again in the end.

[agoldengalaxy]

a headcanon about every gravity falls character I can think of off the top of my head:

- dipper’s chewing pen habit came from his mother, who tried to get him to stop biting his nails by handing him a pen instead. he doesn’t bite his nails anymore, but he’s uncomfortably used to the taste of ink now

- mabel learned how to knit out of spite. an adult at school told her it was probably too hard for her and she learned it all by herself out of pure rage. she can and will knit nearly 2 sweaters per week now

- stan keeps a journal to document all the things he begins to remember. sometimes he’ll be talking to ford and cut himself off mid-sentence to jump up and rush to grab his journal excitedly. he jokingly calls it journal 4

- when visiting a new city, ford decides to get a tattoo to match stan’s. finally he has a tattoo that he actually likes

- soos is BELOVED as the new mr mystery. sales are even better than when stan ran it, but he keeps that a secret from stan so as to not hurt his feelings

- along with all of the obvious stuff wendy is good at like cutting lumber and climbing trees, she also holds a world record in cup stacking

- melody is trying really hard to beat wendy’s score. they have a friendly competition. soos doesn’t understand why they can’t BOTH hold the world record. he loves them both and can’t root for either and it’s stressing him out

- once the therapism took away his arts and crafts hour, they gave bill a piano. he’s surprisingly good at jazz

- when fiddleford moves into the northwest mansion, he adopts two raccoons and one opossum from the junkyard to bring with him. he is very good at taking care of them and they adore him

- pacifica collects pokémon cards. she’s very secretive and very territorial about them. no one she battles can beat her. her favorite pokémon is drifblim

- when robbie hit puberty his hair actually started getting curly, so he straightens it every day. it is completely and utterly dead from all the heat but he keeps telling himself it’s a later problem

- gideon is coding his own website to blog his journey of becoming a better person. it’s slow-moving and frustrating but he thinks he’s…having fun??

- grenda and candy have been friends since candy moved from korea at age 6. grenda saw she was sitting alone at school and had no problem going to ask her if she liked boys. to this day candy is so grateful that grenda has always been more direct than she is

- abuelita just adores melody. she affectionately calls her mija whenever she visits

- blubs and durland have their honeymoon at disneyland. durland likes the teacups the best. they make blubs sick but he does it for him

- lazy susan’s home is full of home goods decorations like “I like cats more than people” and “autumn leaves and pumpkins please!”

- toby determined finds himself settling well into his role as bodacious t. although shandra jimenez still doesn’t like him back, she’s nicer to him now. she even introduced him to a friend of hers, whom he has taken on several dates

- mayor tyler still likes to gossip and encourage fighting whenever he can, even within his own office. he insists upon a good natured rivalry with the neighboring towns, which results in some destroyed property. his approval rating is through the roof

- blendin blandin finally discovers xanax

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a house in the middle of nowhere l Joel Miller

Summary: you and Joel went on patrol together, nothing went your way

Warnings:  angst, guns, switchblade, killing people, allusions to sexual abuse, blood

A/N: 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]

# 1/2

"We should be reaching that building in a few minutes."

You nodded and didn't slow down when you heard Joel's footsteps behind you. The leaves crunched under your shoes and the air in the forest was pleasantly cool. It was as if you had done this before.

The flu that had been sweeping through Jackson for a few weeks now had also reached the people patrolling the area. Soon, Tommy had no choice but to ask you and Joel to start working together again. 

Despite his concerns, he was pleasantly surprised - you were a great team. That's why he recommended you check out one of the buildings, which was a bit further from your trail.

"Looks good." You said, stopping in front of a small house standing near the end of the forest.

"Yeah. Too good." Joel mumbled. "Do you remember that..."

"I remember." You interrupted him, because your thoughts immediately drifted to a certain house you had found on your way to Jackson. "I saved your ass that time." You smiled, noticing the grimace on Joel's face.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling." he mumbled, heading towards the entrance.

But this time it was safe. The house was small and it took you a few minutes to check all the rooms. Apart from a few canned goods, a few old blankets and a dead bat in the bedroom, everything seemed long forgotten.

"This will be a good base for further patrols." Joel noted as you spread your things in the living room with the intention of spending the night there. "Once we check the area and make sure everything is safe."

You sat down on the dusty couch. The feeling that all this seemed strangely familiar to you filled you since your first joint patrol with Joel.

He didn't press you, he wasn't pushy. The safe distance you wanted to maintain was perceived by him, although you felt his gaze on you many times. You weren't without blame either. Your eyes often lingered on his broad shoulders for a few seconds longer than necessary. You missed him.

"We'll eat something and you can lie down." Joel announced, pulling sandwiches out of his backpack. "I'll take the first watch."

"There's water in the bathroom. Cold, but it's there." You noticed, doing the same as he did.

"Maybe the house is connected to a well. It's hard to tell right now." You handed him a cup of coffee. "Are you going to the party on Saturday?"

You looked at Joel, surprised. "Since when are you interested in parties in Jackson?"

He shrugged and chewed a bite of sandwich. "Ellie asked."

"Oh, did she say anything else?"

"That this new guy, Walsh, asked her about you."

Warmth crept up the back of your neck and you hoped Joel didn't notice your confusion. You weren't dating anyone, you didn't want to. But you knew what Miller was talking about. You and Walsh had been on a few patrols together, and you'd been seen together in the city too.

"Your coffee's getting cold, Joel." you replied, cutting off the discussion.

The room was filled with Joel's quiet snoring. You had been sitting by the window for almost two hours, observing the area. The first rays of sunlight were breaking through the treetops, and you only noticed a few squirrels and a hare.

Your spine was slowly starting to hurt, so you got up quietly and, trying not to wake Joel, you went to the door. Maybe you should have let him know you were leaving, but you saw how much he needed sleep. The lack of people meant that you were almost always outside Jackson, so that those who had families could rest or recover.

You quietly closed the door behind you and inhaled the fresh air. With your finger still near the trigger, you moved forward. The area was quiet, the fog was rising here and there between the trees, and even the birds were just waking up from their sleep.

An unexpected rustling behind you gave you goosebumps. You turned around sharply and saw a pair of rabbits disappearing behind the bushes.

"You scared me." You mumbled to yourself smiling "Don't do that again."

Then you heard a completely unfamiliar voice "I promise I won't do that again, doll."

You turned around sharply and saw the man behind you, then you felt something hit you and darkness engulfed you.

Something was tugging at you. You felt your wrists being tied. Some pushy hands searched all over you, and then someone patted your cheek.

"Doll, wake up!" the same voice, unfamiliar to you "Mike, you hit her too hard."

More steps and someone crouched down next to you. He brushed your hair away from your face.

"Such a pretty face, and look what you did." the first voice hissed "I hope you didn't break her nose."

"Do you need her nose for something?" Mike sneered and patted you on the cheek a few times "Hey! Get up!"

You moaned quietly and opened your eyelids. You almost immediately wanted to back away, but there was a tree behind you, and two men in front of you, who were staring at you with interest.

"Morning, doll." one of them greeted you with a smile "I'm Patrick, and you?"

You pressed your hands together violently, trying to get as far away from them as you could. It was impossible, you knew that. 

Fuck! How could you be so careless? You had been with someone last time, but now... 

You thought about the sleeping Joel. Maybe you had at least managed to get far enough away from the house that they wouldn't find him so quickly. Hopefully.

"Hey, bitch!" Mike nudged you in the shoulder, and your gaze immediately went to him. "Can you talk? I didn't knock your teeth out, did I?" he cackled as if he had told a good joke.

"No." You replied quietly.

"Good start." Patrick nodded, his eyes lazily moving over your face. There was something strange about him, something slippery and indecent. "Will you tell us what you're doing here, doll?"

"I was walking."

"You were walking." Patrick repeated after you, reaching out and pulling a blade of grass from your hair, there was something in his gesture that gave you shivers "Pretty girls like you shouldn't walk alone. Is anyone with you?" 

You shook your head and Mike immediately spat in the grass.

 “She's lying!” he growled, standing up. “I'm sure someone's nearby.”

Patrick frowned. 'Come on, I'll help you.' He grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to your feet, then pinned you against a tree. 'Who's with you?' he hissed. 

'I'm alone.' you repeated. 

'Wrong answer.'

You flinched nervously as a knife blade flashed before your eyes. It was the same switchblade that Joel had given you. You carried it with you, they had to find it when they searched you. 

“Listen to me carefully, doll.' Patrick moved the blade to your chest and soon you saw the first button on your shirt pop off, then the second. 'You'll tell us what we want, okay? Be a good girl. Maybe then I'll be gentle with you, huh? I wouldn't want to hurt you...' he made a sad face as if he was really sorry, two more buttons popped off. 'But I haven't had a warm pussy in a while, I might be too hard for you. Unless you like that? Do you like it, doll?"

"I'm alone." You managed to choke out, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "I swear. I... I got away from the group."

"That bitch is lying, I can feel it!" Mike growled, looking around the area. "Do what you have to and let's get out of here."

Patrick watched you closely. His gaze slid down to your chest, which was rising rapidly with every breath. Your bra peeked out from under your shirt, the outline of your breasts must have been clearly visible to him.

"You could have been good, doll..." he whispered. "We could have been something great."

"Please..." you groaned.

At that moment you heard a shot. You didn't know where it came from, but you saw Mike stagger and fall hard to the ground. In an instant Patrick looked up, then looked at you.

"Who is it?!" he growled angrily, pressing you against the trunk so hard that you felt something stab you painfully in the back.

"Your Death." you gasped.

Another shot and warm blood splattered on your face. You slid to the ground gasping for air. Patrick's body lay beneath your legs. Strong hands grabbed your arms and then your face.

"Are you okay?"

Joel!

You nodded your head violently. He noticed the bonds on your wrists and when he looked around he saw the switchblade lying in the grass. He quickly cut the rope. In a second your arms were wrapped around his neck and a quiet cry escaped your throat.

"It's okay, I've got you." he whispered, stroking your hair and back "You're safe."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist

[oddthumbswetsleeves]

Hiding - Oneshot

Inspired by this post by @crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington <3

“Have you heard from B today?”

Elita-1 looked up from her datapad at her former-incompetent-subordinate turned leader. He looked stressed, or maybe nervous? It was hard to tell ever since he received the matrix.

“No. I haven’t seen him since the last time he messed up putting the supplies in storage.’ She looked back at the forms she was filling out. “He’s probably avoiding us cause he’s embarrassed.

“Embarrassed?” Optimus sounded confused. Elita realised she had neglected to tell the prime about B’s latest incident.

“He put a lot of the supplies he was sorting into the wrong places. I mean, seriously! I gave him possibly the easiest job I could have, and he still messed it up.” Optimus didn’t look like her answer had put him at ease. “He’ll be fine. If he’s embarrassed it might teach him to listen a little more.”

“Just-“ They met optics, “Tell me if you see him, or if you can get through to him. He won’t answer my comms.” He sighed. “I’m worried.”

He definitely looked nervous now.

“Yeah, sure.” Elita went back to reading. Optimus was silent for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but left quickly.

Once he was out of audial-range she tried B-127’s comm, certain Optimus was exaggerating. B never missed an opportunity to blabber.

“B”

Nothing

“B-127, respond.”

Still nothing

“B, this isn’t funny. Answer me.”

Silence

Elita never thought she would be able to use that word to describe the yellow bot. She started feeling slightly worried before it was replaced with something else.

How dare he hide away from his duties as an Autobot because he was embarrassed. He wasn’t the only one struggling with his new status. Being the Autobot commander and essentially second-in-command of Cybertron was exhausting. Every moment she wasn’t recharging or refuelling she was working. B was not going to get away with skirting his duties.

She was gonna find him.

Where the frag was he?

Elita had spent nearly half the orn asking around for the little mech. No one had seen him since she had. Not Jazz, not Ratchet, not even Prowl, who was usually aware of all Autobot activity. The other scouts had gibed her about B-127’s unrivalled skills in what they called “Extreme Hide and Seek”.

“If B’s hiding from you there’s no chance you’ll find him” one taunted. Primus, she hated being around the scouts, nosy bunch.

“Wait, why do you think he’s hiding from me?”

“Why else would you be looking for him? He’s told us about how busy you are.” Another one answered.

“Well, you’re not helping!” She stormed off before they could peeve her off more.

Elita was definitely getting hangry, so she decided to stop to get energon before anyone could risk mentioning it to her. Everyone had really been enjoying the abundance of it. The decreasing rations had been affecting the cogless bots hard. She remembered after being transferred to waste management seeing how some of the supervisors were stealing others rations off the delivery lines for themselves. That was one of the first things she fixed, especially since many of the bots on lower levels didn’t leave their stations during their breaks. Mostly the bots on the sub-

The sub-levels

“The best hiding spots are ones that other bots don’t know exist.” B-127 told her that once while he was training to be a scout. He was mostly talking about places that taller bots couldn’t get to, but almost no one knew about the 10 extra sub-levels.

“Scrap”

The elevator rattled more the lower it went. It was also getting noticeably hotter. The doors opened and after stepping out they surprisingly didn’t close behind her. Strange. She didn’t say anything at first, trying to hear any noise that wasn’t coming from the furnace.

She felt isolated.

Even though Elita knew she could contact anyone she wanted instantly, there was just something about the room emanated loneliness, but B had to be here.

She looked around. The room was small, nothing besides the furnace, the conveyor belt, and the trash chute.

Unless…

One of the walls seemed to have a handle, and when she moved it... Another room! She pushed it over.

What on Cybertron?

The walls were lined with multicolour string lights. The room had a table and chairs, but in the chairs were 3 piles of trash. They were kind of bot shaped. She guessed one of these were what “Steve” was, who Orion supposedly killed and D-16 insisted wasn’t real. Primus this guy was weird. Just before she turned away, she saw it. There was something golden-yellow barely poking up from behind the table. Elita had to stop herself from groaning. Some hiding expert he was.

“B” He didn’t move. Elita crossed her arms.

“B-127 I can see you.” He slowly ducked out of view. Elita’s face scrunched up, “Get out here right now or so help me, I will drag you back up to Iacon by your finials.”

The bot cautiously stood up, looking anywhere except her face. Neither one said anything for a few moments. Elita tapped her finger against her arm, making sure B could hear it. He still did not say anything. Elita started feeling nervous again, B didn’t even recharge this quietly. She wouldn’t show it though, he wasn’t getting any pity from her.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Why are you down here?” He asked quietly.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Elita leaned forward, but B still didn’t look up. “Why are you hiding? Do you think I’ll just forget your screw-up if I don’t see you for a few orns?”

“I’m not hiding. You know I’m here now, you can go back to work.” He fidgeted with his servos.

“What, so you can keep sulking here?”

“I’m not sulking.” His voice was low, but a bit rough.

Had he been crying?

“Then why are you down here?”

“You were really mad at me the last time I messed up. You said I was running out of chances.”

“So?” Her gaze steeled. His breath hitched.

Was he going to cry again?

“Well, that’s what supervisors used to say to me before I would get demoted” their optics met, “and you were a supervisor…”

“So, you came down here?” She gripped her arms a bit tighter.

“I’ve never had a boss who was my friend before.” He looked down at his servos, still keeping his voice low. “I just didn’t want to see your face when you decided to give up on me.” Fluid dripped from his optics.

“Give up?” Her voice was suddenly much softer. She cleared her throat. “Why would you think I’d give up on you? We’re friends, you said it yourself.”

“Megatron was Optimus’ friend, and he dropped him to the centre of Cybertron.”

Elita felt a pang in her spark. That might have been the scariest moment of her life, including everything that happened leading up to it. B had been the one to stop her from trying to grab Orion as he plummeted. In the frenzy she might have fallen after him. B had probably saved her life.

She was definitely failing to hide her pity now.

They were both silent for a while, the furnace rumbling softly behind her. Elita sighed and walked around the table. B shrunk under her gaze. This was the first time she had ever felt bad about making a subordinate scared of her. She put her servos on his shoulders, taking care to be gentle, and bent down slightly to be at optic level with the scout.

He was definitely crying.

Elita wrapped her arms around him tightly. He tentatively moved his servos up to her back. She felt him shake.

“Are you not mad at me?” B’s voice quivered. She sighed, squeezing tighter.

“I’m not sure I am anymore.” Letting go to hold his shoulders again. He sniffled and she moved her servos to cup his face. “Why haven’t you answered any comms? Optimus is practically beside himself.”

“I didn’t know you guys were calling me.”

“What?! Is your commlink broken?” She turned his helm to look at his audials. He pulled her servos away from his face. They had tears on them.

“No.” He looked towards the furnace. “I’m pretty sure no signals reach down here from the surface.

Elita’s face scrunched. She turned away, reaching a digit up to her commlink.

“Optimus, come in.”

No response. She swore quietly.

“We’re going back to Iacon before the boss starts pulling walls down to find you.” She held her servo out. B hesitated.

“He’s looking for me?”

“Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be?” B tapped his pedes nervously.

“I thought you guys were kinda fed up of me.” Elita chose not to address that. She grabbed his servo and pulled him towards the elevator. It was still open.

“How come these doors didn’t close behind me?”

“Cause they don’t open from this side. It’s so if somebot comes down here to get something they won’t get stuck.”

“But that means…” Her spark sank in her chassis.

“Yeah, I can’t call the elevator.”

She stared at him. She felt the rage she frequently had for Sentinel and his lackeys build up.

“So you planned on staying down here forever?” B started wringing his servos again.

“I dunno”

“Well how would you have come back up if I hadn’t found you here?”

“Optimus, Megatron and I climbed up through the chute.” He pointed at it. “I probably could have done that again.”

“Would you have?”

B didn’t answer.

“You’re coming back to Iacon with me.” She put a servo on his shoulder. “I cleared my schedule when I went looking for you so we can do whatever you want, ok?” She led him into the lift. He shrugged. “There are a couple movies I’ve been too busy to watch. We can watch them in my quarters if you want.”

“Sure” He smiled for the first time since she found him.

“We do have to go see Prime first. I’m a bit worried he has actually turned headquarters upside down in my absence.” B giggled. Elita felt a weight lift off her spark. Once the elevator started moving, she pulled him into another hug, more forcefully this time.

“Never scare me like that again, or I will actually kill you.”

“Okay”

[captainsophiestark]

Worth The Risk

Jason Todd x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: DC

Day Twenty-Eight Prompt: "Just say what you want"

Summary: Jason's teammate has been trying to ask him out for a long time now, but he's always ducked the question before it's officially been asked. Now, it seems he's finally ready to talk about why.

Word Count: 1,955

Category: Fluff, little bit of Angst?

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"I'm telling you, Art, I'm starting to go a little crazy! He'll flirt with me all day long, but the minute I try to turn it into a date or a kiss or even a fucking conversation, he pulls back like he's been shocked!"

I could hear Artemis, one of my best friends, trying to stifle a laugh on the other end of the line. I narrowed my eyes, but didn't call her out on it. I had bigger problems right now, as far as I was concerned.

"Okay, when you say you've tried to turn it into a conversation...?"

"I mean I've gotten as far as 'so, Jason, I've been thinking' before he suddenly has a call coming in from Bruce or an urgent cramp in his leg or a super interesting bird outside the window that he has to go look at right now!"

This time, Artemis didn't bother trying to hold back her laugh. I scowled even though she couldn't see it.

Jason Todd and I had been friends for a while now, working together as vigilantes. We'd hit it off from the first time we met, and our relationship had always been a little flirty. More recently, though, it had felt on the verge of something more. And I wanted that. I liked Jason, a lot, and I wanted to see where we might be able to go, if he was interested too.

Most of the time, it did seem like he was interested. But for whatever reason, he kept pulling a 180 on me and defaulting to more platonic behavior than we'd ever had with each other any time I tried to bring it up. I'd decided to talk to Artemis about it, to see if she could give me any advice or anything, but so far she'd been absolutely no help.

"Alright, Art, I'm glad I've been able to entertain you tonight, but can you please-"

I stopped short at the sound of a knock on my door. I frowned. I hadn't ordered anything, and I wasn't expecting anyone. So who the hell was at my apartment?

"Hey, you still there? You alright?"

I hummed, standing from my seat in the kitchen and heading for the door.

"I'm fine. Somebody just knocked on my door, hold on."

I leaned forward to peer through the peep hole, and to my immense shock, I saw Jason Todd standing on my doormat. After a few moments of stunned silence, I finally managed a few words into the phone.

"Yeah, Art? I think I'm gonna have to call you back."

I hung up without waiting for her reply. I'd owe her an explanation later, but I knew she'd understand. Whatever this was about, it seemed pretty serious. Jason had never once shown up at my civilian residence, despite both knowing each other's identities.

I cleared my throat and stuck my phone in my pocket, trying to get a handle on the nerves that had suddenly exploded in my chest. After a moment, I couldn't stall anymore. I took a deep breath and opened the door to find Jason fidgeting almost as much as I was.

"Hey," I said, giving him a weak smile. "What's... what's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine," Jason said, glancing down and rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just... wanted to talk to you. About something. Didn't want to wait till the next time I saw you on the rooftops, hunting somebody down. I hope that's okay."

"Yeah! Of course, yeah. Come on in."

I took a quick step back from the door, holding it open for Jason and trying not to let him see my nerves. He walked through, but stopped in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, looking a little lost. All I could do was stare at him for a moment as I shut the door. It was strange to see Jason in the middle of my civilian apartment like this, but it was also the kind of strange I could get used to.

"Here, take a seat," I said, heading to the kitchen and motioning towards one of the stools at the counter. "Can I get you a water or something?"

Jason cleared his throat, moving with me after a moment's delay.

"A water would be great, actually. Thanks."

"Sure thing."

I used the time it took me to get some water from the fridge, with my back turned to Jason, to take a few deep breaths. I was a vigilante, for god's sake, I knew how to keep myself from panicking in stressful situations. I wasn't going to let this impromtu visit unravel me.

I returned to Jason with a water for each of us, then sat down at the stool next to his. I was still a little nervous, but my heart had at least stopped pounding quite so quickly, and my hands weren't shaking when I set down the waters.

"So... you wanna tell me what's up?"

Jason cleared his throat, shifting in his seat before meeting my eyes. I gave him a little smile, and it seemed to help him relax, at least slightly. He smiled back.

"Listen... I really like spending time with you. And working with you and talking to you and... and everything. And Roy has been telling me he's sick of listening to me talk about you, so I'm taking his advice and coming to talk to you."

My heart did a backflip in my chest, but I refused to get too far ahead of myself. Jason still looked grim and stressed out of his mind, like he did when I tried to ask him out, which didn't exactly match the positive topic I was hoping this conversation might have.

"So... what are you saying?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light. "Because it sounds like you're building up to one thing, but your tone and your body language is pointing to something very different. Are you trying to ask me on a date, or trying to tell me you're not interested."

"I'm not not interested," Jason responded quickly. I raised an eyebrow, but he looked more stressed than before.

"Okay... so then, what is it? Just say what you want, Jay."

Jason took a long, deep breath in, closing his eyes for a minute and apparently trying to get in the right headspace. When he finally opened his eyes again and met my gaze, he at least looked marginally calmer.

"I want to ask you out."

"...I feel like there's a but coming."

"...But... I don't know, I just feel like you should be fully informed. I'm not necesserily the most... stable potential partner. I'm still working through a lot of shit from before and after the Lazurus Pit, and I'm a regular letdown to my family. That whole experience... I think it broke something in me. And I've been trying to fix what it broke, but I'm not sure I can. I don't want you agreeing to a date or anything else without knowing exactly what you're getting into."

I frowned, which Jason seemed to take as an expected bad sign. His shoulders slumped a little, and he looked resigned. I shook my head.

"Jason... what the hell are you talking about?" Jason opened his mouth like he intended to speak, but I held up a hand to cut him off. "That was mostly a rhetorical question. Believe it or not, I've gotten to know you pretty well in the time we've spent together, working side by side in life and death situations and passing days upon days with each other. And frankly? I like you. A lot. If you hadn't sent up the signals for a hard no everytime I tried, I would've asked you out a long time ago."

Jason sighed. "I still feel like you don't know what you're getting into. I don't want to go down this road and have you end up regretting it and hating me."

"Okay," I said, letting out a sigh of my own. "First of all, let's clear something up. Not once have you disappointed me or let me down, not in all the time we've known each other and worked together, even though you've had plenty of opportunities. And Jay, I didn't know you as Robin. I don't know the old you that you're so intent on comparing yourself to. But the guy sitting in front of me right now? He refuses to see it, but he's a wonderful person and friend, and anyone would be lucky to date him."

Jason flushed and looked down at his lap, but I didn't stop.

"Second, if I ever hear Batman or another one of your family members calling you a disappointment, it's game over for them. I'm punching them in the mouth like they deserve, and that's the end of that."

Jason snorted, briefly picking his head up to give me a look. I grinned back at him.

"And third..." I let the smile fall from my face, adopting a serious expression instead as I gently reached out to take one of Jason's hands. To my delight, he let me. "Third, nobody knows how things're gonna go when they go on a date with somebody. There's no real predicting that, there's no garuntees that we'll be perfectly matched and instantly work out and never have trouble forever and ever. But I know you're a good person, and I love spending time with you, and I trust you with my life, and my heart likes to do a gymnastics routine whenever you're in the same room as me. So if you feel similarly about me, and you want to give it a shot...?"

Jason sighed, chewing on his lip for a moment as he stared at me. Finally, he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I really do."

"Good. Then that's that, Jay. There's no garuntees of anything, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. The only way to really lose is to let fear keep us from taking a shot at happiness, right?"

Jason shook his head, but he was smiling all the same as he took my other hand in his, too.

"I guess you do make a pretty convincing argument. But seriously, are you sure you want to do this? It... feels like it could lead to a lot of complications."

"Jason, I'm sure." I laughed. "Honestly, I have been for a long time now. Are you sure?"

I saw Jason take another bracing breath. Then he straightened, shoulders back, and gave me a genuine smile.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Great! Then what do you say we turn tonight into our first official date? I was just about to make dinner, and I've got some good movies we can pick from."

Jason's smile grew, taking on a little bit of an edge.

"That sounds perfect to me. As long as you promise to let me take you out for our second date. Somewhere nice."

"Believe it or not, that's not going to take too much convincing."

The two of us shared a smile again, and I gave Jason's hands a squeeze before standing and heading for the kitchen. He joined me, and when I stood at the counter to lay things out, Jason only hesitated for a second before coming up behind me to wrap his hands around my waist. He leaned in to place a soft kiss on my temple, and I leaned back, a smile on my face.

This time, my heart didn't do a backflip. Instead it radiated warmth through my chest and into the rest of my body. I knew we were at the beginning of our road, and there were no garuntees about what might be at the end of it. Still. I couldn't help having a good feeling.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @samreich @misshale21

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182

[justmeinadaze]

November Rain Part 2 (Eddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: You have decided 😈 I'll release this now then :) Enjoy the angst and the cliffhanger! *dances away in an angsty fashion*.

Warnings: Older (Early to Mid 30s) Dominate Boxer (Friend's Dad) Eddie X Plus Size Fem younger (early to mid 20s) sub Y/N, SMUT, Daddy Kink, public-ish smut (quickie at work), FLUFF, Eddie really does love his daughter and is trying to be a better father. He also really cares about you which leads me to...

ANGST! Reader mentions that Eddie disappears for a bit and how it affects her (brief), mentions of worry when it comes to their relationship (both are aware they can only keep this hidden for so long which kind of fuels he choice at the end of this chapter), Eddie also kind of keeps his ex and marriage close to his chest (struggles to talk about it), we meet Paige's mom, Paige gets wasted and you take care of her, I think that's it. OH! Cliffhanger ending 😈 I LOVE YOU!

Word Count: 4608

Part 1/Donate to Me

2 weeks. 

It had been two weeks since you found out the man you had been intimate with was your roommate and friend’s father. Two weeks of silence even though you left him your phone number by his nightstand praying he’d call only to find out a few hours later that things were way more complicated than they should be. 

Two weeks of dreaming of his lips and hands roaming your skin while he whispered in your ear how beautiful you were. Two weeks of crying at night because you desperately missed the sound of his laugh and hated that life was so un-fucking-fair. 

Two weeks of misery. 

“I’m sorry, Paige.”, you murmured as you glared out the window. 

“Honey, it’s no problem. Your car was doomed to die sooner or later. I’m surprised it ran for as long as it has.”, your friend chuckles as she rubs your arm. “We’ll get through this, Y/N.”

Following the tow truck pulling your car, she lets out a heavy sigh as her head hangs seeing a face you both recognize as he steps out towards the vehicle and speaks with the driver before heading towards you both.

“What are you doing here? You’re normally off on Wednesdays.”, Paige growls as Eddie scans her over drying his hands on the rag from his back pocket.

“I’ve, um, been doing some overtime. What happened, sweetheart? Your car die?”

“No. My friend’s.”, she gestures towards you. 

Without looking your way, he nods and guides you both towards the garage before popping the hood.

“Go ahead and take a seat in the lobby. Y/N…was it? Can you stay and tell me what’s been going on with the vehicle?”

“Yeah, sure.”, you affirm, nodding towards Paige to assure her that you could handle yourself as she disappeared into the building. 

“Jesus Christ, I can already tell you this engine is shot.”, Eddie sighs as he leans under the hood. 

“Yeah, um, I’ve had it for years and it was my dads before that. It runs but sometimes if I go over a certain speed this part—”

“Careful!”, he shouts as he hastily grabs your hand before you can touch anything. 

Time seems to stop as his fingers connect with your skin. You didn’t realize how deeply you missed that feeling and when his eyes finally met yours you knew he felt it to.

“Don’t…don’t want you to get burned.”, Eddie mumbled as he let you go and turned back around. 

“I’ve been burned before.”, you sigh causing his head to hang. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate.”

“You’re right. I guess I don’t deserve an explanation or anything.”

His chocolate eyes glare your way before focusing on the parts in front of him once more. 

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, your fucking actions did.”, you growl. “I guess Paige was right about you.”

“Listen here, little girl.”, he grumbles as he stands up straight and points his finger at your chest. “You don’t know fucking anything about me or my family so I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Glaring his way, you take one step forward till the tip of his index was pressing hard into your skin. 

“You’re right, I don’t because you didn’t call and what you did fucking tell me was a lie.”

“I DIDN’T—“, he starts to shout before looking around, grabbing your wrist, and dragging you to an office in the back of the garage. “I didn’t lie.”

“You said you weren’t married.”

“I’m in the middle of a divorce.”

“Don’t play semantics with me!” As he starts to lift his hand to silence you, you shove his chest. “You said you were a boxer.”

“I AM a boxer.”, Eddie grunts with annoyance and as your eyes search his, you realize you’ve touched a nerve. 

“You made it sound like it was your career. You’re a fucking mechanic.”

“I’m working and training to make that my career. I work here to make money for my family.”

“That you left.”

The man steps towards closer till his nose is hover just above your own. 

“I said shut your fucking mouth. I love my daughter and I loved my wife before we separated. There are things Paige doesn’t know and I plan to keep it that way because what happened in our marriage should be between me and her mother. Even though she keeps dragging her into our business…”

Your gaze remains locked with his till a heavy sigh leaves your chest and an involuntary tear slides down your cheek. 

“You hurt me.”, your whisper causing his strong features to falter. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t even want to go on that stupid date but then I met you and we had a good time… I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate that some of your cologne is still clinging to my fucking dress. I hate that I miss your lips and the way you made me feel—”

Abruptly, Eddie’s hands cupped your cheeks and his mouth crashed to yours. Your arms circled around his waist as you pulled him closer to you, your fists clenching around his dirty jumpsuit. 

“I’m sorry.”, he murmured when he pulled back enough to allow you both to get some air. “I never meant to hurt you… I liked being with you to, sweetheart, and not just sexually, but this is wrong.”

“I know, Daddy, I know.” At your words, a strong groan leaves his lips as his forehead rests against yours. “H-Have you been thinking about me to?”

You knew it wasn’t right but you couldn’t help dropping into that headspace. You had felt so vulnerable these last couple of weeks and he had been the only man in a long time to make you feel cared for. To have him in front of you after missing him so much was making you needy and the desperate energy that was radiating from him wasn’t helping. 

“Why do you think I’ve been working so much overtime?”, he chuckles. “I needed a distraction because every waking moment I miss your face. I dream about you, Y/N.”

As he continues to speak, your hips grind against his allowing the prominent dent below his waist graze along your panty covered core. 

“I can smell your perfume on my sheets. When I’m training, I picture you watching me like you did when I first saw you. Sometimes—shit—sometimes I imagine I’m punching that fucking idiot that hurt you.” Eddie smiles when a breathy laugh leaves your lips. “When I’m on my bike, I wish you were holding me like you did on the ride back to the gym. Jesus, any chance to feel you’re your sexy legs wrapped around me…”

“Like this?”, you ask, lifting one of your legs around his waist. 

At the action, his head falls into the nook between your neck and shoulder, pressing himself harder against you as he rubs his crotch against your center. 

“Ah my god, baby.”, he whispers causing you to shutter as you try to pull him closer to you. “Fuck this.”

At Eddie’s abrupt grunt of annoyance, he pulls away enough to unzip his jumpsuit and push it down just below his waist. Your eyes take in the beads of sweat that cling to his muscular arms and chest, ready and willing to lick it off his skin if he wanted. After moving your panties to the side, he maneuvered his hips till his cock slid a bit roughly into your entrance. 

“Mmph—so big, Daddy. I missed having you inside me…so deep.”

His large palm gripped the back of your thigh, pulling it high up his waist while his open mouth kisses along your throat had your eyes rolling. 

“J-Just like that, baby, please. I need your cum. Please, cum with me.”

Rolling his hips, Eddie repeatedly slammed into that spongy spot inside at you, leaving you a trembling mess as you clung your arms around his neck and smothered your whimper in his shoulder as you came. 

It didn’t take him long to follow as he groaned and his fingers dug into your skin as his release coated your insides.

Neither of you moved as you panted in each other’s embrace. 

“Edward Munson!?”

At the sound of his name, you half expected him to jump away from you and adjust himself but when fingers gripped you tighter you were surprised. 

“Who is that?”, you whisper calmly.

“My boss.”, he replies in an equally lower register.

“Should you get back out there?”

When he nods, you begin to lower your leg but he just holds you tighter as he nuzzles his nose into your neck. 

“I don’t want to let you go.”, Eddie murmurs into your skin. “If I do…the reality of our situation comes back and…I don’t want that, Y/N.”

Your fingers tenderly thread through his hair as you duck your head so your lips can kiss his. 

“I know, baby, I know. I don’t know what to do though.”

“Me either.”

“EDWARD MUNSON!”

“YEAH! I’m fucking coming! Give me a goddamn minute!”, he shouts before backing away from you and adjusting your outfit. “Maybe…maybe we can just be friends…at least. I miss your voice…”

“Ok.”

Your eyes lock with his after watching him tie the upper half of his jumpsuit around his waist. 

“Ok.” Turning around, he grabs some paper off the desk behind him and writes down his phone number. “Text or call if you need anything or just want to talk. I’ll reach out to you later about your car. It’s going to take longer than a night to fix. Do either of you need a ride?”

“Oh, um, no. Paige and I followed the tow truck in her car so we can take that home.”

“Oh, pfft, that’s right. My brain sometimes...”

“I understand.”, you smile as you start to walk away but his hand around your wrist tugs you back as his lips lightly kiss yours again. 

“I just wanted to taste you one last time.”

“One last time.”, you repeat before turning to leave.

***

There were many “last times” over the next couple of months. 

You two couldn’t stay away from each other for long but you knew this was wrong so after every intimate moment or night spent together, you promised this would be it. Especially since, according to Paige, Eddie was trying to be more in her life.

“I’m trying to let him in more but with the divorce hearing and everything, my mom is flipping her lid. My graduate school is doing that exhibit for art students and I want them both to go but I don’t want it to be thing.”

“I understand, honey. This is a big deal for you and your work is amazing. All the attention should be on you. The few times I’ve talked with your parents, they seem like they can keep it together for one night.”

“Hm.”, she sasses as she rolls her eyes making you laugh. “You’ll be there right?”

“Of course. I’m taking the night off to be there.”

“Good.”, she sighs as she leans her head on your shoulder. “You can help be my referee.”

You smiled and nodded but that was the absolute last thing you wanted to be.

***

The smell of rubber and sweat promptly hit you as soon as you open the gym door with the key Eddie gave you. He had already moved into his new apartment but the metalhead liked to come by after work and train as much as he could. 

They gym itself closed around 8pm but the owner seemed to trust this particular boxer, allowing him to come and go at will. When you found him, you could vaguely hear the metal music that was blasting from his headphones as he punched the bag in front of him. 

Eddie’s eyes were zeroed in on his target as he continued to follow one swing with another. Sauntering to his phone on the edge of the ring, you couldn’t help but take in the picture of him and a much younger Paige on his lockscreen as he kissed her cheek while she smiled at the camera. They both looked so happy. 

Pausing his music, he angrily turned before realizing it was you and his gaze immediately softened. 

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t expect you.”, panted as he removed his gloves and took out the earbuds. “Everything all right?”

With a half smile you flashed him his phone screen and he cautiously came over to sit beside you as he continued to try to get a read on what was going on inside your head. 

“I still remember when that was taken. Paige was about ten or eleven and the three of us went to a park to have fun. She lifted her arms in that boxing stance and took a couple of light swings.”, he chuckles. “That was a few months before I started training. I had mentioned to her how when I was her age I wanted to be a boxer. She encouraged me to try… I don’t know if she even remembers that after everything.”

“She’s worried about the exhibit this weekend. She’s afraid that you and your ex will fight and ruin a night that’s supposed to be about her.”

Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut as he sighs and takes your hand in his. 

“I can understand why she would feel that way. My ex and I… I’ve tried so hard to…”, he stutters as he struggles to find the words. 

“I feel bad, Eddie.”, you whisper as his chocolate irises find yours. “She’s right. This should be about her but this is the first time I’m going to be in the same room with you two since my car broke down AND your ex, her mom, who I’ve met will be there…”

“Sweetheart, baby, come on. Everything’s going to be alright.”, he coos as he kisses your forehead. “Just be yourself and focus on Paige. I can handle the rest.”

############

“Calm down.”, you tease as you tug lightly on your roommate’s skirt as she dances in front of her artwork. 

“I’m calm! I’m calm. I’m just so excited.”

“Hey, sweetheart.”, Eddie beamed as he sauntered towards Paige and reached down for a hug that she eagerly accepted. You knew she would be more open tonight because she was in such a good mood and the warmth that glowed from the metalhead as she wrapped her arms around him had you grinning from ear to ear. 

You liked seeing them both happy. 

“Hey there, Y/N.”, he greets politely as he tosses you a smile. “Geez, you both look gorgeous. I feel like I’m underdressed.”

Since you met him, you had never seen Eddie this dressed up and to you he looked as delicious as ever in his suit and tie with his hair pulled back out of his face. The man tried to control his eyes as they raked across you in your cute blue dress that rested just above your knees. 

“I think you look great, dad. Oh, there’s my professor. I’ll be right back! Y/N, show him my work.”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh as he watched her excitedly bounce away before focusing on her art hanging on the wall. 

“Paige was always a really talented artist.”, he muses as he absorbs the image in front of him. “I, uh, I guess I see now why you didn’t make the connection that we were related.”, the man murmurs sullenly as he gestures towards her signature.

Paige Davis

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”, you whisper back wishing desperately that you could hold him. 

As the night wore on, you remained next to your friend while her father roamed the area occasionally sneaking glances at you from afar. He absolutely adored what a caring friend you were to his daughter knowing that’s exactly what she needed with everything going on in her life. 

He always hated that his ex insisted on telling Paige everything going on in their divorce even more so that he knew she was purposely omitting truths to make him look like that asshole. Eddie could do the same if he wanted to but he refused to stoop that low and not just because it was wrong to pull her into that but because he also knew how much Paige loved her mother. He knew how important it was to have her in his daughter’s life after losing his own at such a young age so he chose to allow the narrative to continue even if that made him the bad guy. 

He just prayed you didn’t see him that way either. 

The boxer hated having to hide you knowing a beautiful woman like you deserved to be lavished and seen. 

But what could he do?

Not only were you his daughter’s friend but he was going through a messy divorce, in-between careers, barely had an income, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say the age difference made him feel slightly insecure. 

Eddie accepted the way things were at the moment but he knew it couldn’t stay that way forever. 

“Paige, honey, oh my god, this is amazing.”, her mom squealed as you watched them both hug. “Hey, Y/N, how are you? You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Ms. Davis.”, you awkwardly smile as she leans down to hug you as well. 

“Now, who do I speak with to buy this gorgeous work of art?”

“Mom. My professor has to review it first along with all the others.”, Paige whines.

“I mean, obviously, you’ll get a good grade.”

The smell of his cologne hits you before your friend’s nervous eyes do. 

“You know maybe Dominick would like it in his living room so we can show it off you know? Oh, hey Edward.”, her mother coos in a syrupy tone that has even you wanting to roll your eyes. 

“Ava.”, Eddie greets. “How are you?”

“Great! Absolutely wonderful.”

As the night progresses, something changes. Paige, who had been spending most of the night in front of her artwork, had vanished and you promptly went on the hunt for her before finding her in a bathroom stall. 

“Paige? Oh my.”, you sass as you inhale the smell of liquor wafting from her lips when you open the door to check in. 

“Hey, Y/N! My bes fer-en.”, she slurs. 

“Ok, how much have you had, honey? Don’t you still need to talk to your professor?”

“Pfft, no. I done. Uh oh…”, she chuckles before throwing herself over the toilet to vomit.

“Alright, sweetie. You’re ok. Get it all out.”

“My-my mom invited her boyfr-en. I mean…I guess he’s not technically her boyfr-en…I don’t know. Ma dad is gonna be pissed.”, she giggles as you help her to her feet and guide her to the sink to wash her hands and face. 

“Let’s talk about that later. Like you said, tonight is supposed to be about you.”

“I don know why he be so angry. I think he has a girlfr-en or something. Plus, they haven’t been together for a year.”

You try to block out her words but it’s hard especially when you walk her out the door and are suddenly bombarded by the sound of yelling. 

“Tonight was supposed to be about her, Ava!”

“HEY! I’m only going to say this one more fucking time. Don’t speak to my girlfriend like that!”

“You don’t have any fucking say in this as far as I’m concerned! Now excuse me while I talk to the mother of my fucking child.”

“She’s not a child, Edward, and she doesn’t mind that I bring him. You’re the one that seems to be causing the problem and putting attention on yourself.”

“That’s right. Make me the fucking bad guy even though you’ve been parading him around in front of me the last couple of hours.”

The sound of your grunt as Paige collapses in your arms grabs their attention as all eyes turn your way. 

“I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry…she’s drunk. I was just trying to get her to my car…”

“No, um, no worries, Y/N, I can take her.”

As the other man steps forward, you spin your friend out of his grasp. 

“I know them. I don’t know you.”, you growl. “All I know is that you being here upset her so I’m not letting you touch her.”

“Dom, it’s ok, baby.”, she calls his way before glaring at Eddie. “This your fucking fault.”

“She didn’t want him here, Ava.”

“No, you don’t want him here.”, she hisses before taking her boyfriend’s hand and heading to their car. 

Angerly, he stalks your way and collects his daughter in his arms. 

“I’ll follow you to your place and help you get her in bed.”, he grumbles, buckling her in before heading for his motorcycle.

***

“I don’t think I’ve seen your room before.”, he sighs with a smile as he looks around at all your things.

After getting Paige in bed, he took the opportunity and followed you across the hall into your bedroom. Eddie took solace in the fact that you were a bit messy like him, taking note of all the clothes on the floor and your bed half made. You had posters of different movies as well as some of your friend’s artwork that he immediately recognized. 

You watch as he picks up random items on your dresser including your perfume that he inhales and smirks at the familiar scent. 

“My parents.”, you answer when he flashes you a photo in a frame. 

“You look like them.”

“Eddie, why does her boyfriend make you so jealous?” 

At your question, he sighs as he places the image back down and turns to face you leaning against the furniture. 

“I don’t know.”, he shrugs. “Maybe it’s because we aren’t even fucking divorced yet and she’s calling him her boyfriend while talking about him like he’s the love of her fucking life.”

“You two aren’t divorced and you’re fucking me.”

“It’s different.”

“How?”

His large chocolate eyes meet yours before coming around and descending to his knees in front of you. 

“Y/N, I did everything and I mean EVERYTHING to make my marriage work. It was never enough. To her…I had failed as a husband and she was…is…going to whatever she can to punish me for that.” As your gaze shifts to the floor, his fingers quickly grab your chin to bring your focus back to him. “Talk to me.”

“I think…the reason it’s different is because she can parade him around and claim him. You can’t do that with me.”

“I want to.”, he whispers. “More than anything.”

“But…”

“I don’t know what to do, Y/N. It would fucking kill Paige if she found out but I know it’s killing you, sweetheart. You deserve to be seen and shown off.”

“Eddie…maybe, we—”

“Don’t. Please don’t say we should stop.”, he murmurs as his head falls into your lap and on impulse your hand comes up to run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to lose you, baby.”

Hearing your sniffles, he lifts his head and his palms cup your cheeks as he catches your tears with his thumbs. 

“No, princess, no. Don’t cry. Daddy’s here, baby girl. Everything’s going to be ok.”

Collecting you in his arms, you allow him to hold you as he continuous to whisper soft words of endearment and adoration. After a while, you allow him to undress you and make love to you; his palm clasped over your mouth to silence the screams that are on the edge of your tongue with every orgasm he pulls from you. 

“Can I stay? I promise I’ll leave as soon as the sun comes up.”, Eddie murmurs as he continues to trail gently pecks along your skin. “I just don’t want to let you go right now.”

You nod knowing “right now” will eventually come. You fall asleep in his arms and wake up alone but unlike other nights where you both had done this…this time kills you. 

#################

Eddie grumbles under his breath as he slams the phone a bit to roughly on the table in front of him. It had been a few days since he had heard from you and he was starting to get incredibly worried. Usually if you couldn’t talk, you would leave a little emoji or tell him you’d reply “ASAP” but since that night after his daughter’s exhibit, you would read his messages but never reply. 

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey…hey, Paige, sweetheart. It’s good to see you.”, he grins as he tries to hide his pain so he can enjoy lunch with his daughter. They rarely did this anymore and he savored every moment he got. “How are you? Tell me everything.”

One of the many traits she got from him was her gift of gab. Once she started talking, she could go on and on and Eddie loved it. He absorbed everything she said and laughed whenever she would make a little joke at her expense. 

“Ugh and then Y/N’s got her own bit of chaos.”

At the sound of your name, he tried not to let the concern show on his face as he casually replied, “Oh yeah? What’s going on with her?”

“I guess her and that boxer guy she liked split or something. She spent the last couple of days just completely broken and sobbing. We’ve had a lot of girl’s nights filled with ice cream and movies.”, she giggled before sighing as Eddie’s heart breaks. 

You hadn’t said you wanted to stop seeing him, not directly, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t said anything to make you think he wanted your relationship to end. He cared about you very much and hated not being around you or hearing from you. 

“And of course, guess who calls like dog who can sense that she’s upset? Her fucking ex. Oh shit, dad! Are you ok?!”

Eddie hadn’t realized that while Paige was speaking, his grip around his glass had gotten tighter and tighter until she mentioned your ex causing it to break under his grasp. 

“Huh? Fuck. Yeah, I’m fine.”, he replies as he reaches for napkins to clean up the mess. “So did they get back together or what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She’s had dinner with him a couple of times but I don’t think they are. She said she wanted to go slow and hear what he had to say. I mean they were together for a while.” 

“Yeah…well, shit. Good for her, I guess.”, he seethes. 

“Yeah. I told her I was going to your match on Saturday with my boyfriend and that she should come so I can vet him. See what he’s up to but she seemed skeptical about going. Maybe she’s afraid the boxer guy will be there to. Do you know who he is? She’s never told me his name.”

“Uh, no I don’t but tell her they both should come. The more the merrier and if that boxer guy shows up, I can kick his ass. Maybe we can all have dinner together and I can help you vet him.” 

Paige laughs when he lightly taps her hand.

“Won’t it be weird? You’ll be like a fifth wheel.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m sure I can find someone to bring along. If you’re ok with that, of course.”

“Ok! Sounds like a plan. This is going to be interesting.”

She had no idea.

###################

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @micheledawn1975 @hardladyheart @chelebelletx @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paleidiot @alphabetically-deranged @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @yesimabratandwhataboutot @idkwhattoputhere08 @gryffindorqueensworld @mewchiili @veemoon @heavenlyhorrors @twirls827 @jamiecb66 @chelebelletx @longpondlibrary @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @hellv1ra @utterlyinsanity

[laswells-ashtray]

The fun thing about taking a childcare course in college is that now I'm going to tell you the 141's key features of attachment when they were children/toddlers and you can't stop me.

If you've seen nay of my Price-posting then you know I think his parental situation consisted of a dead mother and a drunk father who was heavy handed with a belt, this stands.

John's key feature of attachment when he was just a little toddler was safe haven, returning to dad when he was upset even if the man had drunk himself into unconsciousness. But the lack of conscious interaction did nothing to soothe his distress or anxieties, so in the long run, it resulted in an ignorance towards the man's actions. John couldn't tell you if he entered or left a room because he became so apathetic to his presence and he became reliant on himself for comfort and protection that in his adult years it's why trying to explain his discomfort or anxieties to someone else makes his skin crawl. It's also why he so often acts as a base of security for the other men, spending years self-soothing leads him to try and soothe others the way he never was.

Kyle was without a doubt proximity maintenance, didn't matter if it was Mum or Dad. He wouldn't need to be clinging to them but if his Mum was in the living room and then moved to the kitchen then he carry his blocks through to the kitchen table so he could play while she was near. If Dad was out in the garden fixing up his older brother's bike then Kyle had his toy cars and was playing with them on the steps just a few feet away.

He didn't need their attention at every second but he needed the comfort of knowing they were nearby. He has a great relationship with both of his parents, on the worst of days he'll go home and sit in the kitchen while his mother cooks and they'll talk. She doesn't want his help because God, if he isn't fucking useless with anything other than a pot noodle but she'll let him sit there for as long as he needs and they'll just chat about whatever.

Simon's was secure base. If little toddler Simon Riley was exploring a new environment then he needed Mum somewhere in the general vicinity so he could return back to her every 10 minutes or so to stop the experience from becoming overwhelming.

Only, we all know what his childhood was like. And my perception of it is that his mother's mind was elsewhere, her priority was ensuring Simon didn't do anything to anger his father. So, it resulted in almost a disinterest, the less she cares about what the little one is babbling on about then the less likely he is to get enthusiastic and subsequently loud, which would upset his dad. And the lack of interest or comfort she provided led to Simon approaching new environments with an uncharacteristic disinterest for a child of his age, he wouldn't explore or participate in any of the same sensory seeking activities as other children his age. He'd just sit there on his own and glance around with a blank look. In later years he'd struggle to form good relationships with people because of his perceived disinterest, he'd never be enthusiastic about anything. Eventually, he'd learn how to express himself in a way that doesn't make him embarrassed but also can't be mistaken as a lack of care.

Johnny is without a doubt separation distress. Take him away from his Mammy and see what fucking happens. If Mrs MacTavish is cooking then he's standing by her side and holding on to the edge of her cardigan. And when she realises she's three seconds away from tripping over him then he's sitting on the counter and her cardigan is draped over his shoulders as he babbles away at her.

He has a good relationship with his dad too, mind you. His dad never took it personally but Mr MacTavish knows that when Johnny Boy comes home after being away for months, he's heading straight to his Mum to give her a hug. He keeps one of her old scarves at the bottom of his bag and switches it out whenever he goes home not because he can't live without it but he sleeps a little easier knowing that it's there. If there's anyone in his life whose opinion he cares about it's Mum, if he's going to get a new tattoo then he'll ask her opinion on it first and if she has suggestions then you bet your arse that he's adjusting it accordingly. He can go months without talking to her but no force on earth can stop him from being a Mammy's boy.

[winxfairyliveshere]

Ruben Dias x Wife Reader (Part 2)

Part 1

Hi! I really got so happy that you guys liked the part 1. I hope you will like this too.English is not my mother language so please excuse me for mistakes. Feedbacks are welcomed, enjoy <3

You climbed the stairs making too much effort. Your first pregnancy was not like this hard. But this time, it's complicated. After you climbed half of the stairs you stopped and took a few big breathes. Ruben was in the downstairs making noises you had no idea where they are coming from. You thought he was picking up his shoes. After you climbed the whole stairs you said to yourself, yes!, because it was really hard.

You waddled to your son's room, door was open. There were teeth brushing noises coming from his bathroom. You watched him while he is brushing. Oh, in your eyes he is the biggest man in the world. He can talk, he can sleep alone and he doesn't like it when you bath him! He is not the baby in the bassinet crying for you, looking for your skin anymore.

But while you are thinking all of this you thought you need to step up because he was being too harsh with his teeth. "Oh, oh buddy calm down, calm down." You took his hand and guided him. "You need to be gentle, remember? We have talked about this before, like this."

Brushing was over, you helped him get off the chair. He ran to the books and started to yell "I want Portuguese, Portuguese!" while bouncing. You started to collecting Portuguese books for him and said "Which one do you want?". He pulled one of the books from your hand and started waving in the air. You walked to the bed with him, he got in first.

"Come on mommy be fast"

"I am coming Teo, look i am huge."

"You are not huge mom you are pregnant." said while giving you a dead ass look.

Did he really pick this book? Really? He had dozens of books but he picked this one? Like he is doing this on purpose. Eu Amo Meu Papai (I love my dad).

Ruben's POV

Ruben scrathed his scalp while she was climbing the stairs. Wanted to help her like he always does, but he thought this time she will shove him. So he continued to clean his shoes but no. He just can't do it. He threw the cloth in his hand, it made cleaners fell. Collected all the shoes and put them in their bags.

"You are not in the football world." said to her. He thought, am i wrong though? Maybe he was, maybe he was not. He couldn't decide. He said in his head "She still sees me like the day we first met; strong and solid. But she is forgetting one thing: my age." That's why he said those sentences. And the word she said about "not seeing her as a soulmate?" Crap. "I was not under of a another man." Total bullshit. She can't.

The best thing he can do right now is fall into coma without dying: sleeping. So he went upstairs, his family's voices became more distinct as he walked towards his room.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes, mãe. Your Portuguese is getting better also." He giggled at Teo's words.

"What! My Portuguese is always nice. Look at yours."

"Papai talks better."

"Of course he talks better, he is Portuguese." Something in Ruben's heart always melted when he acknowledge his identity: talking Portuguese, watching Portuguese cartoons or wanting to wear Portugal jersey.

Reader's POV

You ruffled his hair while saying "Of course he talks better, he is Portuguese." This boy always surprises you with his words.

"Teo, i am sorry for what happened. I should not yell." You played with his ears and said "Sorry ears"

"Maybe you should say sorry to papai's ears too." You looked at him. Gosh, he is literally Ruben's twin. You literally gave birth to another Ruben.

"Should i?"

"Can we go -yawns- to the papai's game?" You understood the signals he is giving and started to caress his head and hair. That's the trick for falling asleep. Right that time, door opened and you saw your husband. Ruben slowly entered the room, he was very careful not to make any noise. You made eye contact for a moment but quickly looked away from his eyes. He stretched his long and muscular arm towards your son's head and caressed his cheek. He slowly brought his head closer to Teo's face and left a small kiss on his other cheek. At that moment you smelled him, his presence almost crushed you. His neck was literally displaying itself right in front of your eyes. But remember, you guys had a fight. Fight.

You slowly removed your arm from under Teo's head. You need a help for getting up and here he is. Ruben stretched out his hands to you, you grabbed them. If you were not angry with him, you would have kissed his hands. You stood up with his help, didn't say a word. You tucked Teo in bed, Ruben was walking in front of you. You adjusted the intensity of night lamp and walked out of the room. When you closed the room, you felt his existence behind you. You didn't turn to him. When you realize he is gone, you walked to your room. Ruben was folding his t-shirt, already in night clothes. He doesn't like waking up to the pile of clothes all messy. You entered bathroom, took the toothbrush in one hand and the toothpaste in the other. Thanks to the big bathroom mirror, you could see Ruben. After brushing you applied your lip and face moisturizer and hopped to the another care routine which is Ruben found "unnecessary". Brushing hair! Well Ruben does not find brushing hair unnecessary, he founds brushing hair for 10 mins unnecessary. You deal with hair loss due to pregnancy, whatever you try does not help. So you find yourself brushing your hair for at least 10 mins. Maybe it makes worse, but when you do not brush it, there is always a big pile of hair on your pillow which makes you sad.

Ruben was laying on his back. Eyes fully open. Right to the ceiling. He opened duvet for you and you saw your pregnancy pillow placed like you always did. Was he saying sorry through his acts?

You sat on the bed, leaning your back against the headboard. Looked at him, still glued his eyes to the ceiling.

"Did your ears get hurt too?" you asked. He turned his head towards you. "What?" he said with a little smile.

"I asked a very clear question." After your response, he stopped lying on the bed and sat instead of it.

"Y/n, look at me." he cupped your face. His hands, you loved his hands. Always made you so safe: holding them, his hand on your thigh while driving, wandering around your body, his long fingers around your neck. Best necklace in the world.

Altough you think like that, you looked at him with a attidute and said, "I do not think i said something wrong. I am right about what i said."

"Yes i know but you need to listen to me also. I am so happy and blessed to have you in my life. I know no matter what happens, you are my number one supporter, you will stand with me. I am so happy for our family." caressed your belly, "So much i can not put into words. I said those words because football is changing, i am changing Y/n. Last game, i fucked up. Fucked up everything. Like it was not me playing. Then when i was in the changing room, sitting while i am disgusting with my performance, i saw them." You looked at him with interested eyes. "I saw my opponets. Yes opponets. They are my teammates but that was the first time i saw them as a opponent. With their young and stable bodies, they came and sat in front of me. I saw myself in them, when i was in Benfica, i always waited for some one to drop so i can get in the game. Y/n i am getting old."

"You are not getting old! You are just 32."

"That means i am getting old minha vida (my life). " said while caressing your arm.

"Nowadays footballers play until they are 40. You are no where close to 40 Ruben."

"I know but that does not relax me. There are people coming behind me and waiting for me not to play. One game, just one game me playing bad, that's it. That's their chance to shine. And i do not want others shine. Not yet."

You felt insane discomfort in your body. His words were like rain, storm. You could not do anything but stand.

"I really appreciate your support and trust towards me and i am sorry for what i said. You are my everything, my world. Like you are Earth and i am Moon, hovering around you. I am so sorry Y/n, i just feel so much pressure. I should not acted like that with you. And while Teo was there."

All your guard is down right now. You hugged him, felt sorry for him. Left a few pecks around his neck and shoulder. He looked at you with smiling eyes firstly but they changed so quick like he remembered something. He distanced himself.

"What? Am i smelling? I took a shower this morning." You started to sniff yourself.

"No no you are not. I just remembered something. Forbidden words, you said them." You did not understand his point.

"You talked about another man remember?"

You burst out laughing.

"No, stop laughing stop it." He tried to close your mouth but no, you did not stop laughing. You pulled the duvet over yourself, he spooned you with his body.

"As i said before, i am right about my words, i said facts. I was under you not any other man."

"I know amor i know. You are only mine."

Tags: @carmilladias @caraclocekfjrv @hockey-racing-fubol @mahivah @ciaraovnot and who sent me a message anonymous 💞

I think i need to find title for this one :)

[bonefall]

BGA fumbled Gray Wing so hard but can we please talk about how they said people hated Clear Sky bc " he's a villain " ( unless I'm misremembering they said that a lot ) like they're right in a very generalized way but come on. Also I noticed a lot of Crow cope but maybe that's just their humor going over my head ( also how tf are they gonna say " yup Tom is a monster " but then go " they hate him bc he's morally gray/a villain " )

Listen... BGA is far from a "bad" WCtuber, and she's not the only one to have this problem, but that video did have that same vibe that most Please-Read-DOTCers have where it feels like they haven't actually critically engaged with the arc they read.

like. i promise you that nothing about Gray Wing smugly watching a domestic abuse victim get dragged back to a wifebeater because it "serves her right" for taking his Plan B Love Interest away from him for 6 months is treated as "morally gray" by this story. Bumble is in fact ultimately blamed by both him and the narrative for getting killed by his shitty brother, because she was a soft, fat woman.

RE: Skinwretch's post:

And speaking of the shitty brother (the one whose victims are exclusively women, children, and his god-given doctor).

While it is true that there was a general trend in her poll to put villains low on the list (which makes it hard to tell if they're actually hated or just fulfilling their role as villains), it's a little disappointing she didn't try to interrogate why Clear Sky was right next to Bramblestar. Of all the villains, why was this one so low?

Especially when she managed to note;

Barely anyone actually read DOTC, and yet, Skystar still ranked second place

He's the only villain to get a ""redemption arc"" and that makes the back half of DOTC dissonant

Star Flower's romance with him was, in her own words, "weird."

She's got the dots. The video was kind of agonizing because she didn't connect them.

I WILL say though that we need to put the term "morally gray" up on the Big Kid shelf until everyone like her stops saying that liking Breezepelt is "excusing his actions" while also implying that encouraging your son to direct hatespeech at your ex and doing mental and physical child abuse is actually very nuanced if your girlfriend died.

If that was just part of her humor I don't know her well enough to "get," that's fair enough. Still, it rubs me the wrong way because that's a genuine stance I encounter a lot in this fandom.

DISCLAIMER: I don't know BGA or her stances enough to have opinions about her, all of these gripes are generally aimed at wider fandom trends.