#the bike was part of the whole image

[airandangels]

There was a period

Meiji period fashion was some of the best in the world, speaking purely from an aesthetic standpoint you can really see the collision of European and Japanese standards of beauty and how their broad agreement even in particulars (the similarity between Japanese and Gibson girl bouffants, the obi vs the corset, the obi knot vs the bustle, the mutual covetousness for exotic textiles, the feverish swapping of both art styles and subjects) combined and produced some of the most interesting cultural exchange we have this level of documentation for. Europeans were wearing kimono or adapting them into tea gowns, japanese were pairing lacy Edwardian blouses with skirt hakama and little button up boots. haori jackets with bowler hats and European style lapels. if steampunk was any good as an aesthetic it would steal wholesale from the copious records we have in both graphic arts and photography of how people were dressing in this milieu.

[lunaekalenda]

biker!suguru who looks pretty intimidating with that big helmet that covers his face, but will take advantage of red lights to make the children in the cars around him laugh. moving his hands, changing his seat, lying on the motorcycle; anything works when he sees them smiling and waving at him when the traffic starts again.

biker!suguru who's full of tattoos under all the riding clothes. they're tiny, like fine stickers on his body, but you could spend whole afternoons finding each one of them, and he'll gladly tell you what do they mean.

biker!suguru who refuses to let you get off the bike by yourself. if he opens the car door for you and offers a hand so you can comfortably get off, why wouldn't he do the same on the bike?

biker!suguru who accompanies you to buy clothes and equipment for riding. he has been on it for years and he knows the best brands, the best options and the more secure ones. he'll make sure to pay for them, even if they're expensive, as long as you're comfortable and protected from any injury.

biker!suguru who takes you everywhere. you have a meeting? he takes the bike. you're craving your favorite ice cream at night? you'll go quicker in the bike. why would you go walking if he loves to take you anywhere?

biker!suguru who's not bothered by the rain at all. he would ride anyway, with drops falling on his visor and sticking to his exposed neck. he would even unzip his riding jacket and let the rain wet his t-shirt. it makes him feel alive. (and later, sick.)

biker!suguru who doesn't like you sitting by yourself so makes it impossible for you, moving the bike and going back and forth, laughing and receiving your little slaps on his shoulders until you let him sit you (or he lets you sit)

biker!suguru who holds your hand when driving straight, taking it between his gloved fingers, cutely caressing and taking it to his helmet as if he was kissing it.

biker!suguru who helps you to put and take off the helmet the first times you ride, being his smile the last thing you see when closing your eyes to put it on and being his lips pressed on yours the first thing you feel when taking it off.

biker!suguru who doesn't doubt to show you how to ride when you ask him. he takes you on a couple lessons outside, quietly and calmly ordering you what to do. he trusts you enough to backpack you (but you don't trust your freshly aquired habilities with such a man behind)

biker!suguru who never arrives from a ride late. he'll always find you awake, and he doesn't want to let you go to sleep alone. he'll always make it safely on time.

biker!suguru who loves to mess with you, while riding and once done. he'll take your visor up, he'll put your hands inside his t-shirt, he'll give little taps on top of your helmet.

biker!suguru who craves shoulder massages on sunday afternoons after all the week riding and working. you'll gladly give him some, and he'll make sure to payback with cuddles (or rides.)

biker!suguru who lets all the kids try his helmet while he waits for you to exit work/uni. you'll just find the most random situations while getting closer to your boyfriend, such as a kid having trouble with the helmet's weight or another one unable to see due to puting it wrong.

biker!suguru who looks so good unzipping his riding suit and taking off the helmet you can only think of seein that exact image every evening of your life

part one here ✨

[chaoticwriting]

Part 1

Fenton Crime Family 2

-Batcave-

The batmobile enters the cave with a resounding boom. When it stops, Nightwing, Batman, Robin and Red Robin jump out of the car with Batman going to the batcomputer to make a report. The rest go to change their suit when the elevator bell sounded. Out comes Alfred with a tray of tea and snacks.

Alfred: Returning early today, Master Bruce?

Bruce: *Grunts* Someone has already captured all the rogues before we reach them.

Red Robin: And Oracle can't find any footage of the person in question. All she got is blurry and fuzzy images and the next moment, the rogue has already been tied up. The only thing we know is that the rogues that got beaten up all are around The Bowery.

A revved of a motorcycle enters the Batcave and Red Hood enters with Black Bat and Spoiler following from behind. Red Hood gets off his bike and sits on one of the sofas while taking a plate of cookies from the tray.

Red Hood: I think I know the guy you are talking about.

Red Robin: You know?

Red Hood: Yeah. There is a new gang in The Bowery. They call themselves the Undead. Their MO is completely different from any other gang in Gotham.

Red Robin: So our guy is part of this gang?

Red Hood: Worse. The guy is possibly the leader of the gang.

Red Robin: What?

Red Hood: You say any video of the guy is corrupted in someway right?

Red Robin: Yeah. The image is blurry and the audio is unusable.

Red Hood: Yeah. That's the same thing that happens to all the spying devices I use on them. No recording devices can directly record the leader specifically but from what I know, the leader is supposed to be a child.

Batman: A child?

Red Hood: Yeah. And no. She will not get adopted by you. Apparently, she has a personal vendetta against rich people.

Nightwing: Welp. There goes my new sister.

Robin: I would appreciate it if father put more restraint on his adoption problem.

Batman: *Grunts*

Red Robin: What else do we know about the girl?

Red Hood: Not much actually. Most of the people around her are children around Damian's age so we can assume she is also around that age.

Red Robin: What about her gang?

Red Hood: Remember how I say their MO is completely different from anyone else? Yeah, that's because they don't seem to work like a gang.

Batman: Explain.

Red Hood: They don't partake in any illegal activity at all except for some sketchy gold selling that doesn't have any source. Even those golds are sold at a very high price because they are old gold. Apparently, the collectors are going crazy for them.

Red Robin: Then how do they obtain money?

Red Hood: Using their money as capital, they bought buildings and shops and made their gang members work there. Hell if not for the fact that I know it's a gang, I would have mistaken them as a company.

Red Robin: Anything else?

Red Hood: The leader also has a brother and an unknown sister. Both are older with only the brother ever showing up. White hair, green eyes and around Timmy's and Cass's height.

Black Bat: *Frown*

Spoiler: Wassup BB? Got any news?

Black Bat: I meet the brother.

Red Robin: What? Where?

Black Bat: On a rooftop. He says he is on the lookout for rogues.

Nightwing: You are not hurt right? He didn't attack you?

Black Bat: No. Not hostile.

Red Hood: I thought so. My underlings also say that The Undead is quite friendly. They wouldn't actively hunt other gangs unless provoked first.

Batman: Find out more about them. All of you go to bed. I will finish the report.

Red Hood: Well I guess that's my cue to go. See you never old man.

Red Hood then gets on his motorcycle and exits the cave. The others also move and return to the manor. The others realize that Cass is unusually absent minded the whole time they are going to bed. Cass is usually quiet but her eyes also show that she is not focusing on her surroundings.

She lays on her bed after showering thinking heavily on today's event. The guy that she meets on the rooftop seems so familiar to her. She just doesn't know who.

-The Bowery-

Ellie is not having a good day. First, Danny and Jazz are pressuring her to go to school at breakfast. She says she doesn't like school and their response is how can she not like it when she never experienced it herself. To that response, she has seen how Danny struggles with class and she is pretty sure he is not having fun.

Then there is that new gang that suddenly rises up. It's one thing to make a new gang. But then they have the audacity to send people to kidnap Danny. Sure, Danny is strong enough to raze Gotham to the ground if he wants to. But it's the principle that counts. She is going to punt their group to the ground for doing something like that.

And then there is this Arkham breakout. Why can't all these guys just stay in Arkham anyway? It's not like there is much for them to do outside. After she beats up Condiment King (Ellie swears she is going to kill this guy for covering her in mustard) and Professor Pyg, she gets the news that Danny has already beat up all the rogues near The Bowery.

On the bright side though, she met this cute guy named Damian. He has a little temper but not something she hasn't dealt with before. She is apparently some rich guy's son but she really can't see the similarities in their mannerism from what she sees in this Brucie Wayne guy. After talking for a bit they promised to go out on a date at a zoo. His dad sponsors it and apparently there is a new animal in the exhibition.

After all things are settled she goes back home to have dinner with her family. After teasing Danny a little bit about his date, she goes to bed excited for the date.

Part 3

[hgfictionwriter]

Discovery: Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's nervous about a date at your apartment. Despite enjoying the evening and a chance to talk, she's left with lingering doubts about how to handle your evolving relationship.

Warnings: G!P content. Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts; themes of self-acceptance. Reluctant gaslighting??

A/N: Thank you all for the interest in this piece. Still heavy on the angst here. Things will move more significantly in the next chapter. First chapter is here.

"Hey, for Saturday I was thinking of making us reservations at that new place on Greenwood. What do you think?"

"That sounds nice. But I was thinking maybe you could just come over instead. I'll make us dinner. We've been going out a lot and while it's fun to check out new places and it's sweet of you to plan all these dates, I miss our chill nights in."

A pit formed in Jessie's stomach upon reading your message. It was inevitable, really. You two couldn't have an entire relationship outside of your apartments. In fact, this whole going out every week thing was draining for her, but it was the lesser evil compared to hanging out at either of your places and what would, eventually, follow.

She ran a hand through her hair with a sigh.

"Yeah, sure. That's fine." She paused, staring at the message before exhaling in frustration. What a lackluster response. She deleted it.

What you were offering was legitimately what she wanted. She had the most fun when it was just you two, relaxed and in the comfort of your own homes. Just, now, there would be nothing relaxing about it. It would be coded with all sort of hints and allusions to something more now that you were dating. That tentative dance of will you, won't you, and when.

"That sounds great. What do you want me to bring?"

"Just yourself 😉"

Her shoulders slumped with a sigh. She should be excited. Instead, her mind ran rampant with thoughts and scenarios, each one more concerning than the last.

Through the rest of the week, she couldn't quite shake that weight in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes she forgot about it, but as soon as she had space to think or rest, worry came rushing back.

"Still want me to come over?"

Jessie hit send though she was standing at her bike already, helmet on and ready to go. And it's not like she wanted you to cancel. She really wanted to see you, but she was so torn.

"Yes lol. Of course I do. Been looking forward to it all week!"

Her chest panged and another text came through.

"Do you want to do something else?"

Now she really felt bad.

"No, no. Just checking. Just about to hop on my bike. I'll be over soon, then 😊"

"Sounds good. Ride safe."

Jessie's heart was racing as she shifted anxiously from one foot to the next as she rode the elevator up to your apartment. She looked down at the bouquet of flowers she picked up along the way and shook out a hand as she let her head fall back and she stared vacantly up at the ceiling.

"Calm down," she said to herself.

Soon, she stood tentatively in front of your door, hand poised to knock. She stood there frozen for a second before she brought her knuckles to the door. She fidgeted with the straps of her helmet and the paper around the bouquet as she waited.

A few seconds later the door opened to reveal your smiling face. Despite how she was feeling a second ago, the veil of worry that weighed on her dissipated upon seeing you. She couldn't help but smile back.

"Come in," you said cheerfully as you waved her inside before your eyes fell to the flowers. Distracted by seeing you, Jessie momentarily forgot about them and glanced down to follow your gaze.

"Oh," she voiced in belated realization before she smiled brightly and held them out. "For you."

You gave a wide smile and took them from her, smelling them and smiling once more before wrapping her up in a hug.

Her grip around you was slack to begin with, but when you held her tightly she found herself reciprocating. Her chest tightened as she held you close; she really missed you and it was a relief to hold you in her arms again. She felt herself relaxing a touch.

When you pulled your head away from her, you two locked eyes.

"I missed you," you said. Jessie felt a small blush forming and she gave you a coy smile.

"I missed you, too."

Her eyes closed as you gently closed in and soon your lips were on hers. It was chaste and sweet, but it sent a shiver down her spine and she couldn't help smiling into the kiss. Her heart warmed as she opened her eyes to see you smiling affectionately at her as your hand came to her cheek and gave her other a peck.

"Okay, let's get inside. And thank you for these, they're beautiful," you said as you ushered her in and closed the door. "Gosh. It feels like you haven't been over in ages. I guess you haven't - not since we started dating."

"Yeah," Jessie agreed with a faint laugh as she scratched the back of her head, nervousness starting to creep back in. She tried to remain relaxed as you stood close to her.

"Make yourself at home. Dinner should be ready soon."

Jessie followed you with her eyes as you returned to the kitchen and found a home for the flowers. She was lost in her thoughts before shaking her head out.

"Can I help with anything?"

You looked around briefly with the cutest frown on your face before giving a shrug.

"I guess you can get some plates and cutlery out."

She did so, carefully laying everything out before returning to the kitchen and standing awkwardly waiting for further instructions.

"Go sit down," you laughed as you shooed her away.

"No, let me help you," she insisted, a smile finding its way onto her lips, your mannerisms infectious.

You placed your hands on your hips and cocked your head at her. "Fine. Go get me these things," you unlocked your phone and handed it to her with a recipe on screen. You nodded to the pantry cupboard. "The shaker's in there. I saw this on a mixology account I follow and wanted to make us some tonight."

"Oh," Jessie voiced as she looked at the drink recipe. "Tequila?"

"Don't tell me you're scared of a shot of tequila," you teased lightly. "I thought some of you varsity athletes partied hard - especially in LA."

"Yeah, some," she emphasized as she scanned the cupboard for the items.

"You don't have to drink anything if you don't want to," you added. She gave you a fleeting look over her shoulder before returning with the supplies.

"It's fine," she said. "I'll try it."

It's not that she never drank, she enjoyed a relaxing beverage as much as the next person, but alcohol seemed like a dangerous thing given her current circumstances. However, perhaps it would take the edge off.

She started measuring out ingredients into the shaker and sealed it before shaking it all together. You looked back and gave her a not-so-subtle look of appreciation as your eyes fell to her biceps. You even reached out and gave her nearest arm a brief squeeze.

"Oh," you said with a quick raise of your eyebrows, a hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth before you turned away. Jessie blushed under your attention.

"For you," she announced after she poured out the drinks and handed you your glass.

She smiled softly as you cheers each other and took a sip. You both immediately winced and she started coughing at the overwhelming taste of alcohol.

"Shit," Jessie coughed, her eyes started to water.

You burst into laughter, but took another tentative sip.

"They are not joking with these drinks. Either that or you're heavy handed," you teased.

"I measured!" She insisted.

The drink certainly took the edge off for Jessie. By the time you were done dinner and settled into watching a movie together, her body was void of tension and her head still felt a bit light.

It wasn't long before fleeting pangs of concern started to edge in though. You two had watched shows and hung out on the couch together before, that wasn't the big deal, but as Jessie became acutely aware of your hand brushing up against hers, she found herself fidgeting lightly. She cleared her throat.

She tried to view you out of the corner of her eye and got the sense you were doing the same. Eventually, you took charge and slipped your fingers between hers, giving her hand a light squeeze. She turned and gave you a tight smile that caused your cheeks to grow flush.

While you'd both been quietly watching the movie, now you started to talk - making comments about the movie or other things. She responded softly as you chatted, cluing in that you were nervous and trying to distract to some degree. Soon, your clasped hands were resting on Jessie's thigh as you leaned into her, eventually resting your head on her shoulder.

Her heart started to pound with increasing intensity in her chest. She cursed inwardly. This shouldn't be a big fucking deal. She wanted to cuddle with you. She wanted to put her arm around you and pull you close. But it was the possibility of what would follow that had her wary.

She completely lost track of the movie, fully preoccupied with what to do. She was so conflicted. You drew small circles on her thigh and at one point laid a soft kiss on her shoulder. She cast her worries aside and lifted her arm to wrap around your shoulders. A rush of affection went through her as she caught the smile on your face as you cuddled in.

If she hadn't forgotten about the movie earlier, it was certainly forgotten now as you grew more handsy. Jessie tried to not appear affected, but her body was so tense in apprehension; she just didn't know how to relax.

When your lips suddenly made soft, sweet contact with her neck. Her free hand dug into the underside of her leg as she fought to remain indifferent. Your lips were sensual and teasing, your breath hot on her neck and she could feel sensations building within her and threatening to spill over. When your tongue grazed the sensitive skin of her neck she instinctively jerked away, fully breaking away from the embrace. She'd done it before she even realized it. An apologetic frown etched onto her face already before even seeing you.

That pit in her stomach hit deeper than ever when she saw the hurt and embarrassed look on your face, even if it was just for a second before you quickly masked it.

"Sorry," you said with a forced smile and a breathy laugh.

"No, I-" Jessie stammered, struggling to find her words. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and she could just picture the pathetic look she was giving you. You forced another chuckle and tucked your hair behind your ear self-consciously.

"No, no. I'm sorry. Must be that heavy pour," you faintly joked, forcing a fleeting look. You straightened your posture and seemed to recenter yourself. You looked to her, earnest. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have pushed. I think I just-" you paused, collecting your thoughts, "I think I just thought you were being, I don't know, really...chivalrous? Or just shy. I don't know." Your face fell briefly before offering her a brave, half-hearted smile. "You clearly want to take it slow, and I should respect that. I do respect that."

Jessie turned to you, shifting on the couch to face you more fully.

"Hey, don't apologize. Seriously. It's completely okay," she assured you. You looked far from comforted, so she reached out and took your hands. Your grip was nearly non-existent until she gave you a squeeze and you mustered up a soft smile and squeezed back.

"Y-yeah, I do want to take things slow, and it doesn't help that I'm super awkward and shy," she said self-deprecatingly. "But please don't feel bad. I'm just...I'm awkward."

You made a slight face at her.

"I made you uncomfortable," you countered.

"I liked it," Jessie said, and it was absolutely true. "I just," she looked away briefly as she found her words, "I just want you to know that I'm interested in more than just physical with you." That wasn't a lie either.

You frowned deeply and your mouth quirked up in a smirk. "I think I sorted that out," you said somewhat flatly. You seemed to contemplate your words, choosing to move forward. "You know. After going on five dates and having barely kissed."

Jessie could feel her face start to heat up and her mouth felt dry. While she struggled to figure out what to say, you scratched at the back of your neck and spoke further.

"I don't know. Maybe it's in my head. You seem less comfortable with me now than before we started dating." You relaxed your shoulders, taking a breath as you sat straight and gave her an earnest smile. "I really like you, Jessie. And I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, at all, so. If there's something I'm doing that's making you feel like that - you know, other than trying to make out with you unprompted-" you rolled your eyes, "please tell me. I don't want to push you away."

Jessie's jaw was clenched hard and she didn't realize her fingers were digging into her palms. She hated that she was making you feel this way and making you doubt yourself, and her.

"Y/N," she said your name imploringly, "I really like you, too. Please believe me. I really, really do." She searched your eyes, hating the hurt and uncertainty she'd sparked in you. Her shoulders fell and she thumbed the back of your hands softly. "I haven't dated in a long time. I don't really know what I'm doing. And I think I'm just in my head. I don't want to mess things up with you."

Your gaze softened and you gave her hands a light squeeze.

"You're not messing anything up. And, it's good that we're talking this through. I think that's really good and I'm grateful for it," you told her and she nodded readily.

"Hey," she said softly as she shuffled in closer to you. "I really like you. Please don't doubt that. Even if I'm being stupid. Thank you for being patient with me."

You gave a faint frown. "You don't need to thank me. Nor are you stupid."

"Mm, I'm kind of dumb," she said as she gave you a comical expression. You chuckled, but frowned further. She smiled at you. "I have this gorgeous, incredible girlfriend and I'm getting so stuck in my head that I'm making her think I don't feel the same way about her as she does about me."

You rolled your eyes briefly, but looked at her in thanks nonetheless.

"You're not dumb."

"Mm," she voiced further as she slowly leaned in. She whispered, "I kind of am," before her lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Though you reciprocated, it was passive. Tentative.

Jessie kissed you anew, deepening it. Something she hadn't initiated before. Your reaction was delayed. She could almost feel the confusion and hesitation, but she stayed the course. Her hand came up to the side of your face, her thumb caressing your cheekbone and she kissed you more. You met her briefly, but paused, your hand coming up to her cheek, your forehead resting against hers as you broke the kiss.

"Wait - we don't have to do this," you said, opening your eyes and looking at her.

"I want to," she assured you as she kissed you again. And she did want it. And she didn't want her fear and apprehension to control her.

This time, you returned her kiss fully. Whereas all of the kisses between you two had been relatively tame and mild, now, with Jessie opening up just so, things were heating up quickly.

Kisses deepened and grew hungrier, breathing was heavier; soft, subtle moans starting, and hands began to wander.

Jessie was immersed in the moment, in you, before a tightening sensation in her pants brought reality crashing back down upon her.

Her eyes shot open and she became keenly aware of your hand drifting up her thigh. She cleared her throat and did her best to gently pull back without it seeming too abrupt. She forced a smile as your eyes belatedly drifted open and you blinked at her, confusion settling on your brow. She shifted away, positioning her body as best she could to conceal the bulge that was threatening to reveal itself.

"That was really nice," she said, trying to somehow feign that the make out session had reached its natural end.

"Um, yeah," you said slowly, a subtle frown still on your face and Jessie could see your mind trying to process what happened. You eventually offered a smile of your own. "Yeah. That was nice," you reciprocated. Your eyes studied her.

"Do you want something to drink?" Jessie asked as she got up from the couch and turned her back to you, already retreating to the kitchen. She released an inaudible sigh of relief as she rounded the counter and out of your view. She opened your fridge and glanced down. She ground her teeth together upon seeing the bulge in her pants.

"Fuck," she mouthed, upset with herself.

She peeked up over the fridge door to look at you again. You were looking vacantly at the wall before you realized she was watching you. Your expression immediately brightened and you gave a small shake of your head.

"I'm okay, thank you."

Guilt washed over her again.

The night wore on and though you both cuddled and it was less awkward than before, there were still hints of unspoken tension. That aside, it was a nice evening and Jessie was glad to have this alone time with you. It was just different than being out together.

At some point, you were both stifling yawns. She was keenly aware of the time and knew another key point in the night was fast approaching.

"If I'm exhausted, I can't imagine how tired you must be," you said as you covered your mouth as another yawn forced itself up. "You just got back into town on Monday, training all week, game yesterday and now today."

"I'm good," Jessie dismissed, despite the yawn yours pulled out of her. "But I should probably go."

You watched her quietly for a moment, before giving a nonchalant shrug.

"It's really late. I don't want you to have to bike home at this hour. Why don't you just spend the night?"

Jessie was shaking her head already and stood up by the time you were even done speaking. She waved off your offer.

"It's totally fine," she assured you.

"Babe," you beseeched, giving her pause. It still caused a small flutter in her chest when you called her that. She faltered, rubbing the side of her face briefly. You rose. "I can sleep on the couch," you offered and she shot you a withering look.

"Babe," she reciprocated. "You would never sleep on the couch on my watch. I would take the couch."

You didn't respond immediately and Jessie felt like you were going to say something else, instead saying, "Well, offer still stands. I really would rather you not go home this late."

She was tempted. God, she was so tempted. Again, it ate her up that you were paying for all of the baggage she now carried. In another time, she would've gladly taken you up on the offer. Hell, you two probably would've slept together by now - assuming you wanted to. She'd certainly dreamt of it enough and you seemed keen to move things forward. Instead...

"Thanks baby. But it's okay. Really. I'll text you when I get home." She tried to ignore the expression that flashed across your face before you gave a small smile of resignation.

"Be safe," you warned.

She put on her shoes, grabbed her helmet and jacket, but was fully distracted with how quiet you'd become. She put on a bright smile for you.

"Thank you for an amazing night," she said as she wrapped your arms around your waist. You reciprocated, wrapping your arms around the back of her neck, but you hesitated for just a moment. It was subtle, but Jessie noticed it. She gave you a kiss in hopes of bridging whatever thoughts you were having.

"Thanks for being okay just staying in. I enjoyed it," you said once you pulled back. Your gaze flicked away and a faint smirk crossed your face. You looked back to her, your cheeks growing rosy. "I swear I didn't invite you over just to try to make out with you or to try to convince you to spend the night." You shrugged. "I just like spending time just the two of us at home. It's more relaxed." Jessie nodded.

"I know. Me too," she agreed. Her tactic of booking dates around town had expired; she'd have to let it go. She gave you an encouraging smile. "We can do this more often."

"Okay," you accepted with a nod. You gave her another quick kiss. "Well, you better go."

"Okay," she said. She started to thumb the small of your back and stopped immediately. "Goodnight." She stepped out of your embrace and opened the door, taking a step out into the hall before pausing and turning back. "Raincheck on spending the night?"

Your smile reached your eyes this time. You nodded. "Of course."

A/N: Forgot a couple of folks asked to be tagged. @multifandomlesbianic @marvelwomen-simp

[austinbutlerslovers]

Benny Cross The Bikeriders Fantasy Part 5

Label Mature 18+

One shot/ Story Continuation

Chapter 5 Broken Promises

🔗 chapter 1 🔗 chapter 2 🔗 chapter 3 🔗 chapter 4

Summary When Benny is beaten to near death you tend and care for him night and day. The confident and strong man you once knew now seems lost forever in the unsure and frail Benny leaving you to put all the pieces back together.

♠️ Passionate Smut ♠️ Benny injured kink •fingering you while he’s hurt •oral on Benny for ego• riding Benny while he’s in pain • size kink• clit play • nipple play •Benny pushing his limits with sex• Benny claiming you • breeding kink • multiple orgasms •multiple creampies • aftercare

📖 Proof reader @purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia

Heavily Based on the Bikeriders Movie 🩸 Mentions of Blood (Benny beaten severely)

🏍️ Inspo: Anonymous Requests Combined • Benny injured weak & helpless • Benny needing constant care/ depending on you entirely •Benny whimpering and begging •Oral on Benny to make him feel better •Sex with Benny while he’s hurt to make him feel better •Benny pushing his limits during sex while while injured

Broken Promises

Benny drives his bike aimlessly, the roar of the engine and the rush of wind barely dulling the ache in his chest. There’s no plan, just the need to escape the storm of regret swirling inside him. He fucked up—like he always does. The thought gnaws at him, relentless and cruel. You’ll leave him, he’s sure of it, and he’ll be nothing more than a fleeting mistake in your otherwise perfect life.

He shakes the thought away, trying to convince himself that you love him, that you have to be completely in love with him. But deep down, he knows he’s messed up in the worst possible way.

He exposed you to the side of him that’s driven others away, and what’s worse is the realization that you deserve better—someone with a respectable life, someone who could offer you stability, not a rough-edged fucked up biker like him.

Benny’s mind races, but he doesn’t want to think anymore. He just wants to drink, to drown out the sorrows that threaten to swallow him whole. He’s been riding aimlessly for so long that he doesn’t even know where he is.

He finally pulls up to an unfamiliar bar and dismounts his bike, his legs heavy, the pain from the fight at the rally taking its toll.

He glances down at the bandage on his hand the pain of it dull compared to the hurt in his chest.

You would’ve taken him to the hospital gotten him fixed him up, cared for him tenderly. But he’s sure that’s over now. He looks at his wedding band, the images of you smiling radiantly in your wedding dress flash through his mind, the happiest day of his life. Tears almost well in his eyes but he blinks them back he doesn’t deserve you he knows it he has to let you go.

He slams the bar door open, the force of it matching the turmoil coursing inside him.

“Whiskey and a beer, and when I’m done, keep em coming,” he orders at the bartender, who nods silently.

Benny slumps down onto a stool, once settled, he quickly downs the whiskey, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction, and chases it with a cold beer that does little to quench the fire in his gut.

As the bartender goes to refill his drink, two men approach. The scent of sweat and stale beer hits Benny’s nose as one of them snarls, “Hey, shithead, you can’t wear that jacket in here.”

Benny barely glances at them, but the second man steps closer, his voice louder, more aggressive. “Hey, shithead, you hear my brother? You can’t wear that jacket.”

Benny’s eyes narrow as he looks at one, then the other. He’s itching for a fight, and if proving his loyalty to the club will numb the ache in his heart, he’s ready. Anything to take his mind off you. His blood pressure rises as he calmly sets his glass down. “You’d have to kill me to get this jacket off,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Without warning, Benny feels a sharp, heavy blow to his back, a cheap shot that knocks him forward, sending pain shooting through his spine as he sees the broken wood from the barstool that was used.

He stumbles from his seat with the breath forced from his lungs, kneeling on the floor. Before he can recover, another vicious kick slams into his stomach. The force of it bends him double, his insides twisting in agony.

“Fuck,” he gasps, trying to suck in air, but there’s no time. A third kick lands hard against his ribs, a sickening crack reverberating through his body. The pain is blinding, his vision blurring as he goes down, his cheek scraping against the grimy floor. The scent of sweat, beer, and blood fills his nostrils, mingling with the sharp, metallic taste in his mouth.

He tries to crawl, his blood soaked palm slipping against the wooden floor, but the two brothers aren’t done. Benny feels a brutal kick connect with his side, the impact sending him sprawling against the barstools. His body spasms as he spits up blood, the taste of copper thick on his tongue.

The bar is spinning around him, the dim lights flickering as his head throbs in time with his heartbeat. The next thing he knows, rough hands are gripping his jacket, lifting him only to be thrown toward the front door. He crashes to the pavement outside with a bone jarring thud, the breath knocked out of him again.

“He won’t stay down!” one shouts in disbelief. Before he can even think to defend himself, another boot kicks into his face. The pain is explosive, a white hot flash that leaves his vision swimming. He knows they’ll kill him if this keeps up, they’ve gone too far.

Benny’s pushes himself up, only to collapse again under the crushing weight of his injuries. Blood drips from his mouth as he struggles once more, his body trembling with the effort. This time he manages to get one knee under him.

“He’s getting back up!” one of them shouts in frustration as he looms over Benny.

“I’ll keep him down“ the other snarls off to get something to maim him with. The taste of blood is sharp on Bennys tongue, his vision wavering with the strain to stay conscious.

Desperation surges through him, adrenaline cutting through the haze of pain. Bennys hand scrambles to his boot, fingers wrapping around the handle of the knife hidden there.

With a wild burst of energy, Benny pushes himself to his feet and slashes out, the blade slicing across the man’s face in front of him. The man screams in agony, clutching at his bloodied cheek.

“Oh shit, Henry!” the other man yells, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of his brothers mangled face.

But that horror quickly twists into fury. His gaze locks onto Benny with murderous intent, and he grabs a nearby shovel, his knuckles whitening around the handle as he barrels forward.

Benny finally feels a surge of triumph grinning as the man wails in agony clutching his blood streaked face. The small victory doesn’t last long. The second man crashes something heavy against the back of his skull.

The impact rings through Bennys head, disorienting him, and he drops to his knees, the world spinning violently as he slips to the ground clutching his head wet with fresh blood. “This’ll keep him down!,” he hears the man sneer.

Before Benny can react, the spade of a shovel sharply snaps through his ankle, the bones crunching beneath the weight. The pain is excruciating, a bright, searing agony that radiates up his leg as he groans seething through gritted teeth. it’s the final blow for his battered body as he begins losing consciousness.

The last thing he feels is the cold, hard pavement beneath him and the taste of blood in his mouth with all the pain of his injuries. Just before the darkness claims him, fleeting thoughts of you cross his mind, your smile, your touch, your voice but it’s all too late. The world fades to black, and his tormenting pain finally recedes into nothingness.

Decisions

You burst through the hospital doors, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps. Fear gnawing at your insides, pushing you forward. Your eyes dart frantically across the lobby until they land on a group of bikers huddled together, faces grim. Spotting Corky you rush over, your voice cracking as you blurt out, “Where’s Benny!?!”

Corky exchanges a glance with Wahoo, who sighs heavily. “They won’t let us in, only family,” Corky says reluctantly.

Without a second thought, you practically sprint to the front desk, the words spilling out in a frantic rush. “I’m Mrs. Cross—I’m here for my husband, Benny Cross!” you almost shout, your voice trembling and rising, barely holding back the storm of panic threatening to overwhelm you.

The receptionist behind the desk gives you a sympathetic nod and quickly checks you in.

Within minutes, a nurse leads you down a long, sterile hallway, the fluorescent lights flickering above as you pass. Your hands instinctively cling to your arms, as if trying to physically hold yourself together.

The dread sits like a heavy weight in your chest, tightening with each step, but there’s also a fragile hint of relief—Benny is stable, he’s alive.

When you finally reach Benny’s hospital room, the nurse pulls his clipboard from the wall and begins reading his list of injuries, her voice low and clinical.

“Mrs. Cross, when your husband was brought in, he was severely attacked. He suffered fractured ribs, a fractured orbital socket, internal bleeding, blunt force trauma to the head resulting in a concussion, and the most pressing of his injuries—a severed Achilles tendon with a broken talus bone in his right ankle due to blunt force trauma. The injury is so severe that the surgeons are discussing the possibility of amputation.”

Her words hit you like a sledgehammer. Your breath catches, and a sharp pain stabs through your chest as you clutch the wall for support. The hallway spins, nausea threatening to overwhelm you, but you force yourself to stay upright. You can’t afford to be weak, not now.

The nurse continues, her voice gentler as she sees the look of shock and devastation across your face, as you struggle to process the gravity of the situation.

“Your husband is on a heavy medication for the pain now and has been treated for his injuries. The surgeon will discuss the options with you both regarding how you would like to proceed with his amputation in the morning.”

You nod, barely registering her words, your focus solely on the door as she pushes it open for you. With a deep breath, you gather your strength and step inside.

The room is dimly lit, the only sounds the steady beeping of monitors and the soft hum of medial machinery. Your eyes fall on Benny, lying motionless in the hospital bed.

His once strong, commanding presence now looks so fragile, covered in bruises and bandages. His face, usually so ruggedly handsome, is almost unrecognizable swollen and discolored under his right eye. His right leg is encased in a heavy white cast, elevated slightly above the bed, and you can see the bulk of bandages peeking out from under the sheets.

He looks so vulnerable, so different from the man who always seemed indestructible. The sight of him like this breaks your heart all over again.

You approach him slowly, your footsteps silent on the cold, tiled floor. As you get closer, Benny stirs, his eyes fluttering open. When he sees you, a flicker of something crosses his face relief, happiness, maybe even disbelief. He weakly smiles, twisted by pain.

“Benny,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

He shivers, his battered body tensing as he tries to shift, to reach for you. But the pain is too much, and he winces, his breath hitching in his throat. Seeing him like this, struggling even to move, brings tears to your eyes, but you push them back. He needs your strength now, not your tears.

Carefully, you search for a place to touch him, a spot not covered by bruises or bandages. Finally, you find a small patch of uninjured skin on his arm and gently place your hand there, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I’m here,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his skin.

He closes his eyes in relief as he exhales shuddering a breath. “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t come,” he rasps, his voice hoarse from pain and medication.

“Of course I came,” you reply, your voice heavy with emotion. “I’m here, Benny. I’m not going anywhere.”

Benny’s eyes open again, and he looks up at you with a mix of guilt and gratitude. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I fucked up….I let you down …and I left you.” He chokes out.

You shake your head, blinking back tears. “No, Benny. You didn’t let me down. You’ve never let me down, and Im still right here for you.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes searching, desperate to believe your words. Then, slowly, he reaches up with his good hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your own, and despite everything, it gives you comfort.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, his eyes closing as exhaustion takes over.

“You deserve more than you think Benny,” you reply softly, your voice barely a whisper.

As the minutes pass, Benny drifts in and out of consciousness, the pain and medication pulling him under. You stay by his side, holding his hand, careful not to disturb the IV line or the bandages. You watch over him, your heart aching with love and worry.

Morning breaks with a muted glow through the hospital blinds, casting long shadows across the sterile room. You haven’t slept a wink, your eyes never leaving Benny as he lay beside you, his face pale and drawn with pain. You’ve spent the night doting on him and holding his hand, determined to be there for him, no matter what comes.

A gentle knock on the door draws your attention. You stiffen, knowing the doctor’s visit will bring the news he’s not ready to hear. Benny is sitting propped up with the help of pillows, his eyes closed as he rests against the headboard still groggy from the medication and pain. You squeeze his hand a little tighter to wake him as the doctor enters.

The doctor exchanges morning greetings as he walks over to Benny’s bedside, flipping through his medical chart in hand, his expression solemn. He takes a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before speaking in a low, steady voice.

“Mr. Cross, I’m afraid the injury to your ankle is extremely severe. The spade of a shovel penetrated deeply, causing extensive damage to your Achilles tendon and the surrounding soft tissue fracturing your tibia and breaking the talus bone. The prognosis for functional recovery is poor, walking without significant assistance or support will be highly unlikely. After assessing all available options, the only viable course of action is to proceed with a below knee amputation.”

The words hit Benny like a physical blow. You feel his entire body tense beside you. His eyes widen in shock, disbelief washing over his face.

The doctor continues, explaining the necessity, the risks, the slim chances of saving the foot, but Benny’s face is frozen in that same look of shock.

Bennys lips part slightly, as if trying to form words, but nothing comes out. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable and utterly devastated. This man, who has faced down danger more times than you can count, is now staring down a future he never imagined possible.

When the doctor finally finishes, he gives you both a moment, quietly excusing himself to let you process the news. The room falls into a heavy silence. You’re still holding Benny’s hand, but he’s not gripping back, his eyes distant, staring at a point far beyond the hospital walls.

You watch as the reality of what he just heard begins to sink in. His strong, handsome face starts to crumble. Tears well up in his eyes, and before you know it, they spill over, down his cheeks. The sight of Benny crying, breaks something inside you. He’s never cried, not in front of you, not ever and it’s as if the weight of the entire world has come crashing down on him in this single, moment.

He lowers his head, unable to look at you, his shoulders trembling as he begins to sob covering his face. Not just a tear or two, but deep, gut wrenching sobs that shake his entire body. You can’t bear it and move closer sitting beside him on the bed, wrapping your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you can.

You stroke his hair avoiding the bandage there and hold him close to your chest as his fingertips weakly cling to your dress.

Minutes pass before the sobs start to subside, leaving Benny breathless and shattered. His face is streaked with tears, his eyes red rimmed and haunted. Finally in a voice that’s barely a whisper,he looks you in the eyes as he pleads, “Please… don’t let them take my foot off”

You meet his gaze, your heart breaking all over again as you see the depth of despair in those blue eyes, the same eyes that have always been so strong. You gently caress his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your fingertips as he struggles to say more. Finally, he chokes out what he’s really been dreading, “If they take my foot off I can’t ride any more,” he shudders, his words heavy with sorrow and fear.

His confession surprises you, the full weight of his words sinking in you as you hold him close. Benny’s loyalty to the club runs so deep that the thought of losing his brotherhood is more terrifying to him than the loss of his own limb. Above all else, Benny is a Vandal, and without that, he fears he will lose himself entirely.

Burn it down

Word spreads like wildfire through town, whispers and rumors reaching every corner until they finally land at the Vandals’ clubhouse where everyone gathered after the rally. The air inside is thick with smoke and tension, the usual hum of conversation hushed as the members sense something brewing beneath the surface.

Cal is the first to get the call. The landline phone on the wall rings sharply, cutting through the heavy silence. He picks it up, his expression growing darker as Corky’s voice crackles through the receiver from the hospital. The news hits him like a punch to the gut. Benny had been jumped by members of a rival gang at a bar in Lakeside. The beating was so severe that they nearly severed his foot, leaving him in a hospital bed, fighting to keep his leg.

Cal’s hand tightens around the phone, his knuckles going white as he listens to the details. His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flickering there as the full weight of the situation settles in. When the call ends, he slams the phone down, the sound echoing through the clubhouse, catching the attention of everyone around.

Without a word, Cal strides across the room to where Johnny is sitting, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. Cal leans in close, his voice low and laced with a dangerous edge as he whispers the confirmation.

Johnny’s face hardens immediately, his eyes darken, with a burning rage that simmers just beneath the surface his jaw tightening as he absorbs the full weight of the news. In his chest, he knows he’ll never let this go. One of his own was hurt, and someone was going to pay dearly for it.

Without a second thought, Johnny gathers the Vandals. There’s no need for words they can see the fury in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches, the barely restrained violence in his every movement. They mount their bikes, the roar of engines filling the air as they ride with purpose, their destination clear.

The bar comes into view, a building that now holds the weight of their wrath. The Vandals pull up in front, engines roaring as they line the street, the deafening sound echoing through the air. The bikers stay mounted, revving their engines menacingly, a warning to anyone inside that trouble has arrived.

Johnny dismounts first, his eyes narrowing as he strides toward the entrance, Cal and Brusy flanking him like shadows. The door swings open, and the atmosphere inside shifts immediately. The tension thickens, the air heavy with the unspoken threat as the patrons turn to see who just walked in. Everyone can feel the danger that now hangs over the room, knowing that the men standing in the doorway have come for retribution.

Johnny’s gaze sweeps the room before locking onto the bartender. His glare is enough to freeze the man in place. “I don’t want any trouble here,” the bartender stammers, fully aware of the reason for this unexpected visit.

Johnny pauses, already knowing exactly how he wants to exact revenge for Benny, as he steps closer to the bartender.

“Young kid got beat up in here real bad,” Johnny begins, his voice low and menacing, carrying the unmistakable promise of violence.

“I need you to tell me who did it. Write the names down, tell me where they live, and I’ll let you leave.”

The bartender, eyes wide with fear, doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a piece of paper and a pencil with shaking hands, scribbling down the names as quickly as he can. The presence of Johnny and the Vandals is overwhelming. When he finishes, he hands the paper over, his hand trembling.

Johnny takes it, glances at the names, then hands the paper to Cal. “Send a few guys, make sure they don’t walk again,” Johnny orders, his voice cold and unforgiving.

Cal exits the bar on his mission of retribution for Benny and gives the signal for the Vandals to head inside.

As the Vandals enter the bar and surround Johnny, their sheer presence amplifies the already building tension in the establishment. Sensing whats next the patrons begin to flee.

Johnny lights a cigarette, the flame flickering as he inhales deeply, the smoke curling around him.

“You can leave,” Johnny says to the bartender, his voice calm but filled with menace.

Desperate to save his livelihood, the bartender asks, “What about my bar?”

Johnny doesn’t even glance at the bartender, his gaze distant as he exhales a cloud of smoke. “Burn it down,” he orders to the Vandals coldly, flicking the lit match onto the floor.

The bartender barely has time to react before the Vandals spring into action. They trash the bar with ruthless efficiency, smashing tables, shattering glasses, and ripping bottles from the shelves. Liquor spills everywhere, creating a flammable torrent that they quickly ignite, setting the entire place ablaze.

Johnny, Cal, and the others step outside, lining the street as the flames take hold. The fire spreads quickly, its flickering light painting the night sky in ominous shades of orange and red. The heat intensifies, and the sound of crackling wood and shattering glass fills the air as the bar is consumed by the roaring blaze.

Johnny stands at the front, his expression unreadable as he watches the building burn. The flames dancing in his eyes, reflecting the rage that still simmers within him.

To his left, he notices the fire department arriving, their lights flashing. To his right, the police pull up, their cars blocking off the street. Yet, both the fire department and the police take no action as the building is consumed by the fire ignited by the Vandals.

Brusy, standing beside Johnny, glances nervously between the two groups. “Why aren’t they doing anything?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Johnny smirks, the corner of his mouth curling up as he watches the flames devour the building. He doesn’t take his eyes off the blaze as he replies, -“Because they’re scared.”

The fire rages on until the bar is reduced to nothing more than a pile of smoldering rubble. Johnny knows that the message has been sent. This is what happens when you mess with the Vandals. This is what happens when you hurt one of his own.

Long Road

When Benny is finally discharged from the hospital, he’s a shadow of the man you once knew. The powerful, confident presence he always carried has been stripped away, replaced by a hollow shell of uncertainty and pain.

His eyes, once so full of life and defiance, are now dim, the spark of confidence deadened by the trauma of his injuries. Benny struggles to navigate the world on crutches. His right leg remains, encased in a heavy cast with no promise that he’ll ever walk normally again. Each step up the stairs a painful reminder of how much life has changed for him.

You’ve already prepared the downstairs guest bedroom, anticipating that the stairs would be too much for him to handle. The room is decorated in deep, soothing shades of blue, with a large window offering a view of the garden.

All his clothing and medications are neatly arranged, and you’ve even brought a television into the space, knowing how much he loves to lose himself in movies and shows.

You wanted to create a space where Benny could feel comfortable, even if everything else in his life feels like it’s falling apart.

At first, Benny tries to hold onto some semblance of independence, but little by little, you watch as his dignity is stripped away. He can barely navigate the house without help, and you find yourself taking on the role of caregiver, administering his medications, changing his bandages, preparing his meals and changing the linens on his bed.

You help him every time he’s too weak to manage on his own, and each time you do, you see the shame flicker in his eyes.

When you dress him in the mornings he doesn’t even look you. With his body so tender and weak he does his best to pull his body through his clothing but always turns away in shame once you fully dress him, feeling unable to face you.

The hardest moments come when it’s time to bathe him. The once proud, strong man who could have easily overpowered you in the shower, now stands in silence, his foot propped on chair to keep his cast out. He watches you with a mixture of gratitude and deep, aching sadness as you carefully clean his body, avoiding the tender spots and bruises.

“You don’t have to do this,” Benny mutters one evening, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water. His head hangs low, his gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding your eyes.

“Benny, I want to,” you reply gently, wringing out a washcloth and carefully wiping down his arms. “You know I’m here for you, no matter what.”you warmly smile.

He swallows hard, his throat tight with emotion. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” he says, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Not like this… not like some goddamn invalid.”

You pause, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his words. “You’re still you, Benny,” you say softly, trying to meet his eyes. “This doesn’t change that. You’ll get through this, and I’ll be right here with you.”

He finally looks up at you, his eyes filled with a pain that’s deeper than any physical wound. “But what if I can’t?” he whispers, the fear and self-doubt he’s been hiding finally spilling out. “What if this is all that’s left of me?”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “We’ll face it together, Benny you’re not alone.”

Benny closes his eyes, his jaw clenched feeling his emotions they are inescapable. The strong, invincible man he used to be seems like a distant memory now, replaced by someone who’s been forced to confront his own fragility. And yet, even in his weakness, you see the man you fell in love with, the one who’s willing to fight, even if he doesn’t believe in himself anymore.

When the shower is over your dry his hair and body, wrapping the towel snugly around his waist. You help him out offering your hand as he struggles to step. The flickering memory of how powerful he used to be, how he used to pull you close, lifting you off your feet, flashes through your mind. Now, he’s unsteady, relying on your strength to make it back to bed.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as you guide him to the bed, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow.

You smile at him feeling a sense of comfort knowing how much he needs you. “I’m going to take good care of you Benny.” you promise him.

He doesn’t respond, just nods weakly, his head hanging low. You gently remove his towel and his hands rest on your shoulders for support as he carefully lifts his good leg stepping into his pajama pants. His other leg, encased in cast remains stationary. You kneel lower and guide the fabric over his foot, maneuvering it gently around the cast, ensuring not to jar it.

Benny bears most of his weight on his good leg, trying to keep his balance as you inch the pants up, past his thighs, and finally over his hips. His muscles tense with the effort, and you can see the strain in his expression as he tries to suppress the discomfort.

As you reach for his white tee, your eyes linger on the bruises expanding across his chiseled physique. The once smooth, unblemished skin is now a patchwork of deep purples, sickly yellows, and angry reds, the marks of his brutal attack etched deeply into his flesh. The bruises that spread across his ribs and abs are the darkest and most menacing you’ve ever seen.

You pull the shirt over his head, and as he lifts his arms, he winces, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. The severe pain is evident in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability that he tries to hide, but it’s there, unmistakable.

The simple task of bathing and dressing is exhausting, and he lowers himself onto the bed ready to rest. You pull the covers over him, smoothing them down gently, and sit beside him, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re still my Benny,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Nothing’s going to change that.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, letting himself believe you, letting himself hope. But the road ahead is long, and you both know it.

Days turn into weeks and the independence Benny once cherished seems like a distant memory now replaced by the reality of his current limitations. But slowly, very slowly, there are small signs of progress.

As the bruises gradually fade, little by little he begins to regain strength in his movements. With each task he manages to do on his own, a flicker of determination returns to his eyes. The Benny you know is still there, fighting to reclaim his life, one small victory at a time.

One afternoon when he’s feeling able, you take him for a walk in the garden. The sun is warm on your skin, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, and the scent of blooming flowers fills the air. You hold his arm, guiding him carefully with his crutch along the stone path. His steps are cautious, but he’s moving, and that alone fills you with hope.

As you walk, Benny’s eyes scan the garden and his gaze falls on a patch of overgrown weeds, beginning to overtake the roses. You can see the frustration flash in his eyes. In the past, he would’ve bent down and yanked those weeds out without a second thought, his strong hands making quick work of the task. But now, he just stands there, his hand tightening on your arm.

You see the pain in his expression, the way his jaw tightens, and you reach up to lovingly touch his face, whispering softly, “Soon enough, Benny.” You smile, trying to reassure him, but his gaze remains fixed on the task he can no longer fulfill.

You gently pull him close, resting your head against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent comforting and uniquely him.

You run your hand softly down his arm, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. For a brief moment, he looks down at you, his eyes meeting yours and catching the warmth in your gaze. But then he quickly looks away, his eyes growing distant again.

Your heart sinks, aching for the intimacy you’ve lost. You miss the way he used to hold you, the way his hands would roam your body, claiming you with a passion that left you breathless. Now, his touches are faint and suppressed as if that piece of him is missing.

Still, you cling to the small signs of his returning strength, feeling a thrill each time he manages something on his own. But the distance between you remains, a silent barrier that grows with each passing day.

At night, he sleeps with his back to you, the warmth of his body just out of reach, and you lie there, staring at the ceiling as you have for weeks, yearning for the connection you once had.

Your mind often drifts to those intimate moments in the dark, when his body would press against yours, his breath warm and reassuring against your neck. You remember the way his hands would roam over your skin, tracing every curve of your body seeking you out with a need that matched his own. His kiss, once so erotic and all consuming, would leave you breathless.

Even now, with him only inches away, lying with his back to you, those memories stir something deep within. Your breathing becomes unsteady, your heart racing as the desire forms, the familiar ache building with every thought of how he used to take you.

Without thinking, you suddenly reach out toward him, your hand hovering just above the space between you. The temptation to touch him is almost overwhelming. But then you notice the unevenness in his breathing, labored as he sleeps in pain.

You know all too well how damaged he is, barely able to move without wincing, and the thought makes you pause. The urge to touch him is strong, but the memory of his pain holds you back.

You remind yourself that he needs rest, not another reminder of what he can’t fully engage in right now. With a deep breath, you pull your hand back, feeling the ache of unfulfilled desire settle in your chest.

Whimpers

The next evening, as you prepare to bathe him, Benny catches your hand. “I can do it,” he insists, his voice firmer and there’s a look in his eyes that you haven’t seen in a long time. You hesitate, unsure whether to push back or let him try.

You nod slowly, watching as he stands inside the tub, his knee bent to keep his casted foot elevated on the chair placed just beside it. He’s determined to prove something, to you, and to himself. You know you should leave him to it, give him the privacy he needs, but something keeps you there, lingering just out of sight and you slowly realize you want to do more than just care for him.

Benny begins to wash himself, his movements slow and deliberate, the warm water cascading over his body, highlighting every ridge and curve of his muscular frame.

His broad shoulders, marked by dark bruises of purple and yellow, glisten under the light, the water tracing the powerful lines of his torso.

As he runs the cloth over his chest, the defined ridges of his abs become more pronounced, slick and firm beneath the sparse bruising.

His strong arms, glisten with water, his biceps and triceps flexing slightly as he carefully cleans around the tender areas. The water flows over his skin, accentuating every hard line of his muscles, making his body look both powerful and vulnerable in its raw strength and beauty.

Your breath catches as you watch him, a rush of arousal flooding through you making you quickly turn away, trying to suppress the heat rising within.

The memories of how powerful he used to be in bed flood your mind, the way he would take control, leaving you weak and trembling beneath him. The feel of his mouth on you, the way his hands would explore every inch of your body. You squeeze your knees together, your breaths coming faster unable to suppress your overwhelming arousal.

“Hey,” Benny’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn back to see him struggling to reach the towel. “Can you…?”

You’re at his side in an instant, handing him the towel. Once he’s dried off he wraps the towel around his waist and you help him to the sink.

He stands on his own, bearing more weight on his good leg while holding the counter’s edge. You watch as he brushes his teeth, the mundane task somehow taking on a new significance.

You join him, the two of you side by side, as you spit and rinse. He leans down to wash his face and you reach out, placing your hand soothingly on his back. You can feel the muscles flexing beneath his skin, still strong despite everything else, and you trail your fingers along his spine, lingering longer than you should.

When he dries his face and stands up, you both look at each other in the mirror. Benny’s hair is slicked back, still damp from the shower, and though his tan skin has paled from weeks spent indoors, he’s still so handsome that takes your breath away. The sharp lines of his face are softened by exhaustion, but there’s a ruggedness to him that you’ve always loved.

“You look very handsome, Benny,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turns to you, and you stare at each other in the intimate space. The words he wants to say make his breath catch in his chest as if the thought of speaking them aloud is too much to bear.

His eyes flicker with uncertainty as he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly. He places it gently on your chest, his thumb lightly tracing over your skin in with a reverent touch, and before you can reach out to touch him, he lowers his eyes and pulls his hand away, the moment slipping through your fingers like sand.

The brief contact leaves you aching for him, a deep all consuming longing settles in your chest. When Benny reaches out to you again, your heart flutters, hope surging through you. But his voice soft and filled with hesitation as he breaks the silence. “Can you help me to bed?”

For a moment, dismay flickers through you, quickly replaced by a wave of guilt as you hear the tenderness in his request.

You push your physical thoughts of desire aside understanding how wounded he is and gently take his arm, guiding him with care toward the bed.

His weight bears heavily on you, the strain in his muscles evident as he struggles to maintain his balance.

He places one hand on the nightstand for balance as you hand him his soft pajama pants and a thin white undershirt. You watch for a moment as he pulls them on with slow, deliberate movements. A small smile tugs at your lips, seeing that he doesn’t need your help this time. Satisfied, you turn and head to the dresser, quickly slipping into your silk nightie.

You return to his side, carefully picking up each vial of his medications from the nightstand and dispensing the correct dosages into your palm.

Once he’s dressed, you bring him a glass of water, holding it steady as he takes his pills. You watch him swallow them down, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drains the glass. There’s a quiet intimacy in the moment, a routine you’ve fallen into, yet an aching distance lingers between you, a gap you can’t quite bridge.

Once he’s finally settled on his side with the covers pulled up to his waist, you climb into bed beside him, reaching over to click off the light.

As you’ve done all month, you lie back, staring at the ceiling. The guest bedroom is directly next to the garden, so you can watch the shadows of the trees sway above you. Their branches move gently in the night breeze, creating a dance of light and darkness across the ceiling.

The room is filled with the soft swaying of leaves outside, a sound that usually calms you, but tonight it only amplifies your desire for Benny.

You glance over at him, his back turned to you, his body tense even in the darkness. Your heart aches as you reach out, and this time your hand hesitantly touches his shoulder. His skin is warm beneath your fingers tips, his muscles tight and tense.

He doesn’t turn to face you, but his voice breaks the silence, low and heavy with an emotion you can’t quite recognize. “I don’t want to be like this anymore,” he whispers, his words so soft they almost disappear into the air.

You keep your hand on his shoulder, feeling the conflict within him, the war between his pride and his vulnerability. You know what you’re about to do is impulsive, but you can’t stop yourself. The need to reconnect with him, to feel that intimacy again, the thought is overwhelming. Slowly, you slide closer, turning and wrapping your arms around him from behind.

You press a soft kiss to Bennys neck and his body tenses at your touch, his breath catching in his throat. “…Baby...” Benny whispers, his voice shaky, filled with uncertainty and apprehension.

“Shh,” you whisper softly, pressing your lips to the back of his neck again feeling the slight tremor that runs through him “Let me take care of you Benny.”

Your hand moves down, sliding beneath his waistband, your fingers brushing against his warm skin as you reach between his legs. You find his thick shaft, soft and unresponsive gently curling your hand around it. As you begin to stroke him softly, his hand suddenly rests on top of yours, stopping you.

“I can’t..” he whispers, his voice breaking, the words filled with so much pain and defeat that it tears at your heart. You can almost hear his pride shatter, the sound of it reverberating in the stillness of the room.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper softly feeling the depth of his anguish. You withdraw your hand, placing it instead on his back, rubbing soothing circles over his tight muscles, trying to comfort him the only way you can. “It’s alright, Benny. We don’t have to do anything. I’m here for you, no matter what.” You say reassuringly.

Benny doesn’t respond, but you can feel how he shakes slightly with each breath. The vulnerability he’s showing is both heartbreaking and precious, a side of him he’s never allowed anyone else to see.

You continue to rub his back, your touch gentle and soothing gradually feeling the tension in his muscles begin to ease under your hand as his breathing starts to slow.

The warmth of his skin under your fingertips and the scent of him so close stir something deep within you, the familiar ache forming involuntarily between your legs.

You quickly lay back, squeezing your thighs together, a soft sigh escaping your lips trying to calm yourself. But in the heat of the moment, driven by impulse, your fingers slip over the silk of your nightie and reach into the lace of your panties.

You find your aching clit, swollen and sensitive, and begin to circle it with a feather light touch. Each gentle stroke sends waves of pleasure through you, blending with the soothing caress of Benny’s back.

Your breaths grow rapid, heart pounding as you chase the edge of release, your fingers dancing over your sensitive skin. The weight of your emotional turmoil heightening your desire, leaving you craving the sweet relief of climax.

You keep your movements soft and quiet, not wanting to disturb Benny but the need is all consuming.

Benny shifts slightly, and at first, he seems oblivious, lost in his own pain. But then, you feel him turn over, his eyes locking with yours as he notices the subtle movements beneath the sheet.

Your hand slows to a stop feeling the uncertainty creeping in. For a moment, the room falls into a hush, the tension undeniable as you take a breath. His gaze lingers, full of curiosity and something deeper, as he takes in the sight of your flushed cheeks and the delicate rise and fall of your chest.

Without a word, Benny slowly pulls the sheets down, exposing your body to the cool night air. His gaze dark and intense as his eyes fixate on your hand nestled between your legs.

He looks back into your eyes searching and understanding what you need. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reaches out, his hand hovering just above yours for a moment, the anticipation building between you.

Then, with a delicate touch, he guides his hand gently slipping it over yours within your lace panties.

The warmth of his touch sends a wave of arousal through you and your heart skips a beat as his fingers press lightly against yours, guiding your movements and urging you to continue.

You feel a sense of surprise and relief as his hand squeezes yours, intensifying the pressure on your clit.The room fills with the soft, slick sounds of your wetness, his fingers moving seamlessly over yours feeling the rhythmic thrust of your fingers into yourself as your arousal spreads across your inner thighs.

Your heart races, and your breath hitches as he begins to guide your hand faster, pressing your palm against your swollen clit harder. Soft moans begin to escapes your lips and the sound ignites something deep within Benny.

With a steady hand, he gently removes your fingers, and replaces them with his own. His fingers glide up and down your soaked folds until they are slick with wetness then he slowly eases them deep inside of you.

A desperate moan falls from your lips being deprived of his touch for so long, the feeling of his fingers is profound as they fill you with a satisfying depth that makes your breath catch.

Your wetness coats his thrusting fingers as he moves them expertly within you , his touch is steady despite his injuries and the sound of your slickness fills the room, mixing with your pleasurable soft moans.

Benny is fully focused on you and slowly moves closer pressing his body against yours. You can feel the heat radiating from him, intensifying the connection between you even more.

His fingers glide in and out of you with deliberate firm strokes, expertly teasing, and coaxing you toward release. Your core throbs with need, tightening with each pass of his fingers, until you’re overwhelmed by the way he knows exactly how to bring you to the brink.

You moan loudly feeling your body quivering as the pressure builds inside you and Benny moves his fingers faster.

He is focused entirely on you and the way your body responds to him, driving him to push you even further, making you feel everything you’ve been missing.

He presses his thumb to your aching clit and circles it with relentless precision building the pleasure so high it’s almost unbearable.

Your legs tremble as your hands clutch the sheets, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you endure the overwhelming sensation. The pressure inside of you coils tighter and tighter, until you’re at the brink of inevitable release.

“..Come for me baby ” Benny finally says having a surge of confidence knowing he’ll be able to satisfy you. “Show me how much you need me” he says craving your pleasure to rebuild his own.

And with a final, expert thrust of his fingers, you shatter. Your climax hits you like a tidal wave, crashing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Your body convulses, your core tightening around his fingers as you cry out, the sound echoing through the room.

You pant heavily, your chest heaving as you come down from the high, your body trembling with aftershocks. The release is so powerful, you feel lightheaded, your mind spinning from the intense pleasure.

Benny withdraws his fingers slowly, his touch gentle as he pulls them from your throbbing core and he looks at you, his eyes dark with a desire you haven’t seen in a long time.

For a moment neither of you move, the silence only being broken by the sound of your labored breaths.

Benny’s eyes lock onto yours, a silent plea lingering in their depths as he glances down at your lips. The intimacy undeniably as he leans in, closing the distance with a slow, deliberate kiss.

His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving hesitantly at first, almost cautiously, as if he’s rediscovering something precious. His kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slide gently into your mouth, coaxing a moan from you as explores with a slow, deliberate rhythm making your heart race.

The taste of him, and the way his lips and tongue move against yours, send sparks of pleasure racing down your spine.

Your hands finally reach him, roaming over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his skin and you find yourself wanting to give him back the pleasure he’s just given you.

Your hand moves lower, slipping beneath his waistband, seeking out his cock. Your touch is gentle at first, your fingers wrapping around his thick shaft with a tender reverence. He’s only slightly hard, a stark contrast to how he used to be fully erect at the mere sight of you.

You can feel the hesitation in his body, the way he tenses, the lingering effects of pain and doubt clouding his response. You stroke him softly, trying to coax him to full arousal, but his cock remains the same, the weight of his injury hanging over him, holding him back.

Benny breaks the kiss, his eyes searching yours, trying to find the right words, the right way to explain why he’s not quite ready. You meet his gaze, your voice soft and filled with understanding, “Teach me how to please you with my mouth, Benny,” you say with a blend of tenderness and desire.

His eyes darken with a mix of conflict and lust. For a moment, he hesitates, then slowly nods, the need in him beginning to overpower his reservations. “Yeah,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’ll show you.”

Benny sits up, easing himself back to rest against the headboard. You gently slide your fingers to the hem of his undershirt, slowly lifting it over his head. As you pull the shirt off, your eyes trace the contours of his muscled body, each bruise telling a story of his pain, but also stirring something deeper inside you, a desire to make him feel good again.

The sight of him, strong yet vulnerable ignites a longing in your core. You place a pillow behind his back and with gentle hands, you begin to remove his pajama pants, easing them over his cast. Once fully naked Benny spreads his legs apart, making room for you as you settle between his thighs.

His body tenses with anticipation as you take in the sight of his cock, long and thick, though not yet fully hard, resting with an impressive weight between his legs. When you look up at him, there’s a mix of vulnerability and desire in his eyes, a silent plea for what’s to come.

You start slowly, kissing the sensitive skin along his inner thighs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles as he reacts to your touch. Your lips trail closer to his cock, building the anticipation.

Benny watches you intently, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you finally kiss the head of his cock. Your warm tongue swirling around the tip, teasing him as you glance up at him through your lashes, silently asking him to guide you.

“That… feels good” he praises, his voice low and breathy. “Keep going…” he urges, his eyes filled with a raw intensity experiencing pleasure for the first time in what feels like forever.

You take his cock into your mouth feeling him harden against your tongue. His hips twitch involuntarily as you create a delicious suction, making him groan. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting a hint of saltiness that quickly dissipates, and he groans again, louder this time, the sound desperate and raw making your core throb with need.

“That’s it…” Benny mutters, his voice filled with satisfaction as his hand rests gently on your head lacing his fingers gently through your hair.

He lifts his hips slightly, wanting to push himself deeper into your mouth and you can feel the power shifting within him, his desire overtaking his initial hesitation.

“Take it …deeper” he urges, his hand tightening in your hair, guiding you as his cock fills your mouth completely causing an ache in your jaw.

You continue to glide your mouth along his heavy cock and it throbs against your tongue, growing harder with every suck.

“K-keep going, baby…” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, his need evident in every word as he savors the way you suck him off.

His tip brushes the back of your throat, and you slightly gag, the sensation causing your throat to tighten around him. The feel of it draws a deep groan from him, the pleasure undeniable.

Staring down at you, his eyes darken with lust as you try to take more of his cock and he groans in pleasure, savoring every gag of your inexperience as you keep going.

His grip on your hair tightens his breathes sharp as he begins to guide your head up and down on his throbbing cock.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you struggle to keep up, driven by the need to satisfy him, to give him everything he’s silently demanding.

His cock swells even harder and the pressure becomes too much, making it difficult for you to go on. A desperate whimper escapes your throat that vibrates his shaft and he groans in pleasure watching your body begin trembling with every effort.

His grip on your hair tightens as he fights the urge to take more from you realizing you’re giving him everything, pushing yourself to your limits and it makes his cock throb with an almost painful intensity.

His eyes go dark with a deep, simmering arousal craving more than just the pleasure of your mouth.

The thought of claiming you, of burying himself deep within you, overtakes him, and with a sudden, urgent need, he pulls your mouth all the way off his cock.

“I want all of you,” he confesses, his voice weaker and filled with urgency. You’re so desperate to feel him inside of you after pleasing his cock , that you don’t hesitate for a second.

His breath catches in his throat as you eagerly climb from between his legs, your excitement and longing undeniable as you straddle his lap feeling how wet you are as you position yourself on him.

He winces from the sudden movements and you see the pain you’ve caused, but your desire for him overtakes everything as you capture his mouth in a heated kiss.

He whimpers against your lips as your fingertips glide down his ribs over his bruises.

His body weakened from the beating he endured, makes every movement take more effort than usual, but having you like this, so eager and willing, makes him feel something special something powerful despite his condition.

It’s more than just desire, it’s the realization that even in his vulnerable state, you still want him, you still crave to have him.

You begin slowly grinding against his hardened cock, feeling the friction through the thin fabric of your panties and it makes Benny moan in your mouth.

He tries to continue kissing your lips, but the sensation of you moving on top of him is almost too much to bear and his body trembles slightly beneath you.

His hands slide up your sides, creeping under your nightie. He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull the nightie over your head, tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist. His eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of your breasts cupping each one with a tender squeeze. His fingers linger on your skin before they trail down, finding the waistband of your panties

Without a second thought, he digs his fingers into the lace and rips them apart. The sound of the fabric tearing makes you gasp, his lust for you intensified by his unrestrained need to take you.

He pulls you back into a searing kiss, wincing briefly as his battered ribs protest, but he doesn’t let it stop him. The intimacy between you is intense with the blend of vulnerability and raw desire making every touch, every kiss, feel profound and deeply intimate.

You break the kiss and rise slightly, allowing his hard cock to spring free and you both look down to watch it sway. Now painfully hard and thick it stands proudly. His shaft taunt and veiny, throbbing with need his tip red and swollen with arousal.

He shudders suddenly feeling his blood coursing so quickly, his breaths heavier, each one a mix of anticipation and the lingering pain from his injuries.

“I don’t want to hurt you Benny,” you say softly, your heart pounding with a mix of longing and regret.

You can hear his uneven breaths as his chest rises and falls, fighting to push past the discomfort. The strain in his eyes is evident, one still darkened by a bruise, revealing the toll his injuries are taking on him.

You reach up gently and lightly rub your thumb over the bruise, your touch tender as you try to soothe him, offering a silent comfort in the midst of his struggle.

“You won’t hurt me, baby,” he promises, and there’s a determination in his blue eyes that tells you he’s not backing down. He wants this as much as you do.

“Alright, Benny,” you whisper, surrendering to the pull of your desire. You cup his jaw, your touch gentle but filled with an urgent need as you bring your lips to his. The kiss is both tender and consuming, and you can feel the heavy breaths of exertion spilling into your mouth as his hands slide up to your waist.

Despite the pain radiating through his body, Benny’s resolve doesn’t waver. He’s determined to fulfill both your needs, to reclaim what you’ve both been missing.

His hands slide down your hips grasping firm, as he slowly begins guiding you down onto him.

His cock presses against your entrance and the resistance is immediate, your body sealed tight without him for so long. You can feel his breath hitch as he tries again, this time with force. His hands shake on your waist as he pushes into you with raw determination.

A shared moan tears from both of you, the sound raw, and desperate, as his cock finally penetrates, solid and unyielding, your walls gripping him with an unforgiving tightness.

You bury your face into his neck, moaning as his grip on you tightens, his hands steadying you as he pushes deeper, breaking himself into you, inch by inch.

“It’s alright, baby,” he breathes, his voice strained but reassuring, each exhale warm against your skin. His body trembles beneath you, his muscles tensing as he fights through the pain, but he refuses to stop. There’s something driving him, a need to claim you, to bury himself inside you until the pain is a distant memory.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pushes deeper. A loud moan spills from your lips as he finally fills you completely, holding you firmly in his lap, his control relenting as he waits, letting the initial discomfort melt into a wave of intense pleasure. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, every pulse sending jolts of sensation through your core

“I missed you baby,” Benny confesses, resting his forehead against yours, his breaths ragged and uneven as he feels your walls pleasurably tighten around his cock.

“I missed you too, Benny,” you pant, your lips brushing soft kisses against his, enduring the throbbing ache and the intense fullness of having him deep inside you again.

His hands move down to your hips, his grip firm and steady as he guides you in a slow, deliberate rhythm pulling you against him pressing you deeper into his lap as he curses under his breath.

“Fuck ….you feel good,” he whispers, his words heavy with raw desire as his blue eyes meet yours, filled with a vulnerability and intense yearning.

You bring your hands to his jaw, cradling his face as you kiss him softly. Your lips brushing over his filled with longing and he guides your hips to roll down in his lap harder, making you take every inch of his cock deeper.

You both moan into each others mouths feeling the waves of ecstasy surge through your core and Benny feels every inch of him consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of gliding tightly inside your walls again.

His moans turn into soft whimpers as you increase the pace, riding him harder clinging to the back of his neck. You pull him closer, using him for leverage as you glide down faster and harder on his cock.

The sharp sting of his injuries and the soreness of his bruises intensify each time you settle on him, but he holds on to the overwhelming pleasure wanting more despite the pain.

His breaths come in short, shallow gasps as he looks at you with a mix of desire and vulnerability in his eyes, his body protesting, strained from each painful effort.

“Don’t stop,” he pants, his voice weak, almost pleading, as his hips push up against you, his body chasing the pleasure you’re giving him. His cock is rock hard and throbbing with need as he grabs your hips, pulling you deeper into his lap, making you take him fully.

“Yes, Benny!” you cry out, your body arching into him as he guides you to ride him harder, his hands gripping your hips almost painfully, driving his cock deeper, claiming you completely.

The sound of his light breathy and whimpers resonate within you, sending a thrill through your entire body as you watch him trying not to lose himself.

You lean in kissing him deeply and his whimpers are muffled against your mouth as you feel the pleasure of his thick cock gliding in and out of your walls.

His grasp tightens on your hips his fingers digging in desperately, determined to stay with you despite the pain, his need for you overriding everything else.

You grind down on him with force, feeling his cock push deeper inside you and a loud, desperate moan tears from his throat

His heart pounds wildly as he struggles to hold on, the pleasure of being inside you driving him to the very edge.

Every thrust, every touch, every gasp shared between you feels like a reclaiming of something lost. You feel the press of his chest against yours, the frantic beat of his heart, and the desperate way his hands grasp your body.

“I-I’m close… n-need to come…,” he pants, his voice trembling, each word filled with the sound of his struggle to hold on just a little longer.

You hold him closer, your breath warm and seductive against his ear. “Come for me Benny,” you whisper pressing your body closer, moving in perfect rhythm with him, intensifying his pleasure and urging him toward release.

His touch lightens momentarily, his hands guiding your movements to ride him slower, the weakness in his body clashing with the desire raging inside him.

But then, with a deep, guttural groan, he tightens his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fights to reclaim control.

“I wanna… feel you come for me,” he breathes, his voice rough with determination. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he places one hand on the bed for stability. He bends his un-injured leg for support and thrusts his cock into you such precision it sends shockwaves of pleasure surging through your core.

“Benny oh god!” you scream in pleasure your walls clenching with every thrust of his cock, driving him to push you further.

“Fuck!” he cries out, his hands gripping you tighter as he drives his cock even harder, reclaiming a depth that makes your eyes roll back in pleasure. “That’s it…” he says through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “Take it all,” he says with effort, his voice thick with intensity.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you moan loudly against him, pulling him closer as he fills you over and over again with a depth that has you seeing stars. His breaths are shallow and ragged against your neck filled with every effort it takes for him to keep going.

His eyes remain locked on you, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face, his own need to see you unravel consuming him, pushing him to hold on just a little longer, to push you over the edge.

You can hear the change in him, the way his voice catches with every thrust, his moans breaking into breathless pants. The deep, primal groans and the whimpers of pleasure that slip out when he can’t hold back.

“Let me feel it,” he pleads, his voice strained, his blue eyes locked on yours with a desperate intensity. “I need to feel you come.” He breathes, the need in his eyes is unmistakable he’s silently begging to be taken with you.

Your pleasure builds to a peak, and with one final thrust, he hits that perfect spot deep inside of you, sending you spiraling into an intense orgasm.

Your body tenses, your nails digging into his shoulders. You cry out his name, your muscles clenching rhythmically around his cock.

Benny can feel every pulse and shudder of your release, and his groans become louder, more uncontrolled against you, the pain that once held him back replaced by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure.

His cock throbs inside your walls, and you can feel his entire body tensing, every muscle coiled tight as he nears his release.

With a final, broken moan, Benny gasps, “I’m gonna—” his words are cut off by a strangled moan as his orgasm crashes over him. His hips jerk violently against you and he releases, his cock pulsing as he spills into you.

You moan loudly, feeling the warm rush of his cum flood your walls and his body trembles with the intensity of his climax, every ounce of pain gone, replaced by the addictive high of pleasure.

His breaths come out hot and ragged against your neck, each exhale trembling with the remnants of his pleasure. He buries his face there, nuzzling against your skin as he softly pants and whimpers next to your ear.

You stay there, still connected, as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your bodies, entwined in a profound connection of intimacy. Every exhale of his breath against your skin a testament to his determination, a silent promise that he gave you everything he had left.

You gently trail your fingertips along his shoulders, feeling the tension slowly melt away as he rests into you, his body still trembling slightly from the exertion.

As he holds you in his lap, you can feel the rapid, wild beating of his heart against yours, his sharp breaths the only sound in the quiet room, echoing softly against your neck.

“I love you so much Benny,” you whisper, your voice tender and filled with emotion as you feel him relax even more, his grip on you softening as he sinks deeper into the comfort of your embrace.

“I love you too, baby,” he murmurs softly against your skin, his voice warm and affectionate, his breaths weak uneven. With a gentle exhale against your skin he places a soft, lingering kiss on your shoulder.

His body rests heavily against yours as his breaths become softer and the weight of him begins pressing down on you as he struggles to stay awake.

“Benny, you need to rest,” you whisper gently, trying to rouse him from exhaustion.

“Alright,” he relents and his voice barely audible as every muscle in his body seems to weaken, the weight of fatigue pressing down on him.

Carefully you sit up, feeling the lingering warmth of his embrace as you place your hands gently over his chest. You slowly lift your hips up sliding his large cock from deep within your walls, hearing a faint slick sound as the tip finally slips out making both of you moan softly from loss of contact.

He gazes up at you affectionately, and you notice a look of deep satisfaction in his eyes one you haven’t seen in a long time.

“You feel good, Benny?” you ask with an affectionate smile. His blue eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you, his full lips parting as he pants for breath.

“Yeah” he breathes with a smile. You grin gently threading your fingers through his hair cradling the back of his head in your hands. You lean in and place a kiss on his forehead filled with pride and deep satisfaction.

The warmth of your touch and the gentle press of your lips make his eyes flutter closed as a soft sigh escapes his lips relaxing completely.

His arms hold you close as he presses his face against your chest, savoring the safety and comfort you bring him. The connection between you feels deeper than ever, a silent understanding that speaks volumes of your love for each other.

As Benny slowly releases you from his embrace, his arms tremble slightly with exhaustion. He shifts his body lower, his movements slow and unsteady as he places his palms on the bed for support.

You give him space as he lowers himself down, the effort leaving him almost too weak to move as he settles on the bed next to you.

With his final moments of strength, Benny pulls you into his strong arms, wrapping them around you in a protective embrace. You can feel the strain on his muscles, the way they tremble slightly, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels through the simple act of holding you close.

His chest still rises and falls with soft breaths, a reminder of how much he’s given, how deeply he’s pushed past his own limits just to be with you.

“It’s okay, Benny,” you whisper softly, your thumb tracing comforting patterns along his cheek. “Just rest now… I’m not going anywhere.” You say softly, hoping to soothe the lingering tension in his body.

A soft sigh escapes his lips as he relaxes against you, his body slowly giving in to the exhaustion. His eyes flutter closed as sleep finally overtakes him. His grip on you loosens but his hands still hold you close, even in sleep.

The tension and pain that had been etched on his face gradually turn into peaceful serenity, and the faintest hint of a smile forms on his lips, a quiet sign that tonight a part of Benny has been reclaimed.

His Resolve

You and Benny are fully aware of Johnny’s fiery retribution with the Vandals after the injuries Benny sustained, it was impossible to miss.

The news had been plastered all over the papers and television, detailing how the Lakeside bar had been burned to the ground while Benny recovered in the hospital.

As Benny lay in bed, fresh out of surgery, it was the first time you heard him laugh since his injuries. The sound was weak and raspy, filled with a mix of satisfaction and respect for what his brotherhood had done on his behalf. It was a glimpse of the old Benny shining through.

Now, with Benny slowly regaining his strength over the past few weeks, it’s no surprise when you hear the faint rumble of a motorcycle in the distance as you wash the dishes.

You quickly go to collect Benny’s plate from lunch in the living room. He’s resting back on the couch, his leg propped up comfortably on an ottoman as he watches I Dream of Jeanie.

As you reach for his empty plate, you pause to observe him. The moment Benny hears the familiar rumble of a motorcycle approaching the house, he sits up, his eyes lighting up with unmistakable excitement.

“That has to be Johnny,” Benny says, a grin spreading across his face. You manage a weak smile, but inside, you can’t shake the resentment that’s formed, knowing Benny’s injuries were caused because he was beaten for wearing his colors.

Benny quickly tries to get up, grabbing the couch for support, but he struggles to gain his footing, his heart racing with too much excitement. In his haste, he knocks his crutch to the floor, reaching for it in futility, unable to pick it up.

“Benny, sit,” you say warmly, guiding him back down onto the couch. “I’ll bring him here. You’ll have plenty of time to run around once you’re fully healed,” you add, placing his crutch to rest on the arm of the couch.

“Alright, baby,” he says, and you look into his eager blue eyes as he tries to contain his excitement.

You reach the front door just as Johnny knocks. He grins as soon as he sees you. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, his voice carrying that familiar teasing tone. “Where’s the crippled old man?” he adds playfully.

“He’s in the living room,” you gesture with a warm smile. Johnny follows you inside, his boots echoing softly against the floor as he makes his way down the hall.

As you both enter the living room, Benny is relaxed with his arms spread across the back of the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. He’s trying to play it cool, but you can see how much he’s been looking forward to this moment.

“Look at you, all propped up like the queen,” Johnny teases, his eyes flicking to Benny’s casted foot resting on the ottoman.

“Who you calling Queen?” Benny shoots back, grinning broadly, his tone playful but carrying a hint of the old fire that’s been missing.

Johnny grins as he plops down next to Benny, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. He hands one to Benny and places another between his own lips. With a flick of his lighter, they’re both soon smoking together, the air quickly filling with the familiar haze.

“You look good, Benny. You look alright,” Johnny compliments, but then he notices you still standing in the entryway.

“Oh, you mind if we smoke in here, seeing as Benny’s all fucked up?” he asks, glancing at you.

“That’s fine, Johnny,” you reply, feeling a bit out of place. You walk over to the television and turn the volume down, trying to make yourself useful.

Johnny quickly turns his attention back to Benny. “The guys thought you might be really out of it,” he says, nodding toward Benny’s cast.

“He is out of it. He can’t walk, Johnny,” you interject, crossing your arms.

“What did the surgeon say?” Johnny asks, completely ignoring your comment.

Benny takes a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up as he exhales. “They cut through a tendon,” he says, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

“Jesus,” Johnny exclaims. “They tie it back together or what?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Benny replies, exhaling a stream of smoke.

The tension of feeling unwanted in the room makes you uncomfortable, especially as you see them both deep in conversation. With Benny clearly not needing you for anything you quickly excuse yourself, heading to the kitchen to make them drinks and give them space to talk.

The banter between Benny and Johnny flows easily and naturally, you hear Benny laugh loudly several times the sound echoing through the house as he has a fit.

You smile hearing him so happy and then feel a bitterness rising that you’ve never made him laugh that way.

The thought gnaws at you, and before you realize it, you’re squeezing the lemons more aggressively, the juice splattering as you make the lemonade.

When you enter the living room with the two glasses, the air is now thick with smoke. Johnny and Benny are just finishing their conversation as you hand Benny his fresh lemonade.

“We’d sure love to see you out there. It’s gonna be a big one, maybe the biggest one yet!” Johnny says enthusiastically.

“Biggest what?” you ask, curious, as you offer the other glass of lemonade to Johnny.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says, waving it off, still engrossed in their discussion.

“It’s a picnic,” Benny explains to you. “Johnny says they’re going all out for the Daytona one,” he continues, before turning to Johnny. “How long is that, eight weeks away?”

“Yeah,” Johnny confirms.

“I mean, I’ll still be in a cast by then, but—”

“A cast?!” Johnny interrupts. “Nah, nah, you can shift with your left foot. You can always use your front brake if ya can’t put no pressure on it,” he says, gesturing to Benny’s cast.

Benny thinks it over as he takes a drag from his cigarette and Johnny seeing his hesitation uses the brotherhood to lure his decision.

“You know the guys..the guys would love to see ya out there. They’re all really worried about you.”he says earnestly

Feeling irritated by the smoke and being ignored, you place Johnny’s untouched lemonade down on the mantle harder than you intended, the glass clinking sharply.

You walk to the window, sliding it up forcefully and hitting it into place with several loud whacks as the fresh air immediately rushes in.

Hearing their conversation halt mid-sentence, you turn to see both Johnny and Benny looking at you with their brows raised in concern.

The weight of their gaze makes you feel exposed, as if they’ve noticed the frustration you’ve been trying to hide all along.

Benny then turn to Johnny and makes his decision without you. “I’ll be there,” he says with certainty, his tone final.

“Alright” Johnny says with a wide grins clearly pleased with Bennys decision. “ I’ll get out of here,” Johnny says as he gets up. “You rest,” he adds, pointing at the cast. Benny smirk as he takes another long drag from cigarette.

Johnny gives you a brief nod, “sweetheart” he says his eyes barely meeting yours before he turns and heads for the door. He leaves without another word, his abruptness toward you making you feel slighted.

The front door slams shut, the sound grating on your nerves, amplifying the irritation that’s already boiling inside of you.

You stand there for a moment, piecing together the conversation and the choice Benny made without consulting you. The tension in the room thickens, your earlier discomfort now edged with frustration.

You walk closer to Benny, crossing your arms as you look over him relaxed against the couch smoking his cigarette with a careless ease.

“You wouldn’t really ride your motorcycle injured with a cast would Benny?” you ask, concern lacing your voice.

“I dunno,” he replies, waving his cigarette hand through the air dismissively. “Turn up the TV, would you?” He says in irritation hating that his injury prevents him from doing the simplest things himself.

But you stand firm, unmoving. “I don’t want you riding, Benny,” you say sternly.

He slowly glances over at you, raising an eyebrow at your firmness.

“Yeah, it scares me especially this soon after surgery. I don’t like it,” you continue, doubling down on your resolve.

Benny’s eyes narrow, his head tilting slightly. “You don’t like it?” he repeats, his voice carrying an edge as he squints at you.

“I get worried!” you say louder, the thought of him permanently injuring himself just to prove something to Johnny and the Vandals making your heart pound with anxiety.

The silence that follows your words is heavy with tension, and you can feel the growing distance between you and Benny with each passing second.

Benny takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring off into the distance, lost in thought as he weighs his options. His jaw tightening as you watch the internal struggle playing out in his mind.

“I should just go,” he finally says, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, his voice steady tinged with an underlying sadness.

His eyes flicker with a cold, distant determination, as he nods slightly. “I should just leave,” he repeats, the words heavy with finality.

His words hang in the air, and you feel your heart drop, the realization hitting you hard that he’s considering genuinely leaving again.

“What?” you respond, your voice rising in pitch as your resolve begins to soften.

He nods his head, a look of realization crossing his face as he stares off blankly into the distance.

“It’s better this way. You’d be better off,” he finally says, his voice low and steady. He raises the cigarette to his lips with a deliberate slowness, taking a long, drawn out drag, the smoke lingering as he exhales, solidifying the weight of his words.

“Stop it! Stop it!” you cry out, your voice trembling with desperation as the fear creeps in gripping your heart.

The memory of the last time he abandoned you abruptly flashing through your mind, he left you without a second thought once his mind was set, leaving you shattered and utterly alone. The panic begins to set in, a cold, suffocating sensation that makes it hard to breathe.

Benny continues, the hurt in his voice becoming more evident, “You wouldn’t have to take care of me, worry about me…”he says revealing the truth he’s been harboring.

You shake your head frantically, tears welling up in your eyes as you tremble at the implications of what he’s saying.

He takes a long drag from his cigarette, letting his words sink in before exhaling slowly.

“When I heal up, I’ll leave,” he says with cold finality, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, as if the words are a sentence he’s already decided on.

The statement hits you hard, knocking the breath out of you, and you take a moment to gather your resolve.

Benny doesn’t say anything more and leans forward to stub out his cigarette, the action slow and deliberate, like he’s putting the final seal on a decision that’s been weighing on him for far too long.

He leans back, arms outstretched, a look of painful acceptance on his saddened face, torn between what he feels is right and what he desires.

In a moment of quiet understanding, you slowly sit on the couch beside Benny, finally able to see what he has always needed most of all. Your acceptance of his resolve, the need to do what he feels he must even when you don’t agree with the decision.

As you look up at him, your eyes are filled with a mix of sorrow and reluctant understanding, fully grasping that he’s been struggling with.

Benny meets your eyes with a look of determination and coldness, his emotions buried deep behind a wall of detachment.

Knowing exactly what he needs in this moment you lean against him and wrap your arms gently around his torso holding him closely and providing him the love and comfort he so desperately needs.

You nestle into him and press your face gently against his chest as he looks down at you with a sternness and confusion in his gaze but then, gradually, his expression softens and he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you close with a grip that is both possessive and protective.

His face buries into your hair, and you can feel the tension in his body slowly begin to ease, knowing that even though you don’t agree with his decision, you still accept him for who he is.

His hands thread through your hair, cradling your head as he holds you against his chest. The silence between you is heavy with unspoken words until you finally break it.

“Benny, I don’t want you to go,” you relent, your voice soft, filled with a final act of surrender, understanding that he will do what he feels he must.

He plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering as he deeply inhales your scent, something so beautiful and sweet, something that anchors him when he feels lost.

His thumbs gently trace reassuring circles on your back as he rests his head against yours, no longer torn between his loyalty to the brotherhood and his love for you.

In this moment, the conflict within him fades away,and he feels completely at peace in your embrace more grounded and connected than he has ever felt before in his life.

Just you

At night, as Benny stands in the shower, the warm water cascading over his tired muscles, he has only one thing on his mind…you. The steam fills the small bathroom, clouding the mirror as he steps out, dries off, and brushes his teeth.

He uses the door frame to steady himself as he makes his way to the nightstand, his movements slower as he balances on his uninjured leg but he’s determined to do everything himself to prove himself to you.

He quickly takes his medications, and climbs into bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief against his warm skin.

When you enter the bedroom, Benny’s heart skips a beat at the sight of you. You’re wearing a silk robe, which you slowly slip off to reveal a delicate nightie underneath. The fabric clings to your curves in a way that stirs something deep within him, awakening a longing to create something passionately between you.

As you glance around the room, you notice that Benny has already taken care of himself. He’s brushed his teeth, taken his medications, and is already tucked in, waiting for you.

“Do you need help with anything, Benny?” you ask softly, your voice tinged with pride, knowing he managed to take care of everything on his own.

Benny’s eyes lock onto yours from where he’s resting in bed. For a moment, you see a flicker of something …lust, perhaps, but then it’s gone, replaced by a steady, confident gaze. “Just you,” he says, his voice low, the words laced with an undertone that sends a thrill through you.

A smile plays on your lips as you nod feeling a sudden blush creeps up your cheeks from his words. “Alright, Benny, I won’t be long,” you say sweetly, heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face for the night.

Benny watches you go, a spark of desire igniting in his chest, seeing the soft sway of your hips, the gentle curves of your body. He aches with longing, his eyes following your every step, craving the closeness that’s just out of reach.

He lays back against his pillow, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to show you how much he needs you, how deeply he loves you. His cock is already swelling with desire, hardening at the mere thought of you.

When you return and climb into bed with him you reach over and click off the light, plunging the room into the darkness of moonlight. With a small, sigh, you settle in, your body turned from Benny as you prepare for the usual nights sleep.

But Benny shifts in bed moving closer, his hand reaching out gently brushing against your hip. His touch soft and tender, a silent request for intimacy as he waits for your response.

You feel the eagerness in his touch and feeling a bit slighted from your argument earlier you teasingly ignore him.

He grows bolder, his fingers gripping your hip with a firm but gentle pressure, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles along the curve. Despite his advances, you stay unyielding.

“Baby,” he finally says softly, his voice low and pleading with desire. “I need you…”

His hand lingers poised on your hip awaiting for your response and you cover your mouth unable to stifle the soft unmistakable sound of a giggle that escapes.

Benny smiles understanding your playful challenge.

“You gonna make me work for it tonight, hm?” he asks, his voice low and teasing as his hand trails slowly along your side, the warmth of his touch sending a thrill through you.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you nod, feeling the spark of anticipation growing between you. You bite your lip, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. “Mm-hm,” you confirm with a nod.

Benny’s smiles slowly trailing his finger tips down your shoulder, his touch tantalizing and deliberate, sending a warm shiver through your body.

“I can’t get enough of you, baby,” he murmurs, his voice filled with longing. “Seeing you in your little nightie and now you teasing me like this..,” he says, pulling gently at the silk strap, his fingers brushing against your skin.

“Now I need you, more than anything,” he confirms, his voice thick with desire as he leans in closer. His breath is soft against your neck. His chest presses firmly against your back as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you intimately against him. “Don’t tease me like this baby,” he breathes into your ear, his lips grazing your skin.

You close your eyes, trying to hold onto your resolve, but the heat of his body and the intensity in his voice start to warm you up to his touch as you slowly give in. “Benny…,” you begin, your voice soft and breathless, but he shushes you with a quiet “shhh,” his breath warm against your ear as his hand slides down your side, the silk of your nightie gliding smoothly under his fingers as he teasing the edges of your panties with a feather-light touch.

“Mm Mmn, you wanted to tease me remember?” he says, his voice laced with a hint of satisfaction. “Now it’s my turn,” he continues, his tone deepening as his fingers widen their grasp, exploring your body with a possessive touch keeping you on edge. He draws out your anticipation with every firm deliberate squeeze. “Let’s see how much you can take,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine

His words break through, and you can feel the wetness increasing between your legs. You glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze, the heat in his eyes making your heart race. “You’re not playing fair Benny,” you whisper, your voice breathless.

Benny’s lips curve into a knowing smile as his hand continues its slow exploration, sliding under the silk of your nightie. “Who said I was playing?” he whispers, his voice heavy with desire. The look in his eyes is one of pure, unrestrained lust, and it sends a wave of heat through your body, making you ache to give in to him completely.

“Benny…” you begin softly, your voice tinged with need, but he silences you with a kiss on your lips, slow and deliberate. The tip of his tongue teasing yours, sending waves of heat through your body. You moan into his mouth, unable to contain the pleasure building inside you.

His hand slowly slips under your nightie, gliding over your heated skin. He finds the edge of your lace panties, his fingers slipping inside to explore the slickness of your arousal. His touch is teasing and slow, his fingers glide through your wetness, each stroke making you crave him even more.

Benny’s lips leave yours, trailing a line of kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers continue their exploration as he slips them deep inside of you, finding that sensitive spot within and stroking it with a rhythm that makes your body tremble. Your whimpers mix with your gasps, each sound growing more desperate as the pleasure builds inside you.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispers against your neck, his voice low with desire. “I love feeling you like this baby,” he praises.

As his fingers curl inside you, he increases the pressure, his thumb circling your clit in time with his strokes. The sensation is overwhelming, every touch sending you closer to the edge. Your hips begin to move against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction, your breath coming in short, heated pants.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice filled with encouragement. “Let go for me baby. I want to feel you come.”

The combination of his skilled fingers and his his words send you spiraling closer to the edge, the pleasure mounting with each passing second. Your body quivers in anticipation, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch.​

Benny’s kisses travel down your throat, his tongue flicking against your pulse point as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm.

You feel every nerve in your body lighting up with desire, your whimpers turning into needy moans as you get closer and closer to release.

Your breathing quickens, your body tightening around his fingers as you teeter on the edge of release. His other hand moves to your breast, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, sending even more sparks of pleasure through you. The intensity is almost too much to bear, and you can’t help but moan loudly as the tension coils its tightest within your core.

“Benny-!” you cry out, your voice breaking with pleasure as your walls clench around his fingers as you moan feeling the intensity so powerful it makes you see stars.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Come for me… soak my fingers, just like that.”

His words push you over the edge, and with a final stroke, you shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing with waves of pleasure that seem to go on forever.

Your moans are unending, filling the room as Benny holds you close, his fingers continuing to coax every last tremor from your body. Your panting and whimpers become breathless gasps, your entire being lost in the overwhelming ecstasy that courses through you.

He presses his lips to your neck, whispering softly, “That’s it, baby… so good for me ” his voice full of satisfaction knowing he’s given you exactly what you needed.

You come down from your high, your body trembling and weak and Benny withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips with a satisfied smile. He licks your arousal from his fingers, savoring the taste with a look of deep satisfaction.

Then, with a gentle yet insistent touch he guides your lips to his for a soft, lingering kiss.

The taste of pleasure on your lips sends a thrill through Benny as you struggle to catch your breath, feeling completely spent and utterly fulfilled. But the lingering intensity in his gaze tells you he’s far from done.

His hand slips under your nightie, his fingers tracing slow, sensual patterns around your navel. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “I want to fill you up baby,” his voice heavy with desire, sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

“I want to create something lasting with you,” he reveals, his voice laced with intent. He lets the gravity of his words linger between you, his breath warm against your neck as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles just below your belly button, lingering there with purpose.

His lips graze your ear as he leans in closer, “I want to have a baby with you,” he confesses, his voice tinged with longing, a deep need to create something permanent, something that binds you both in a way that nothing else can.

His touch feels different now, more intimate, as his hand moves gently across your stomach. The thought of carrying his child, of creating something lasting and beautiful with Benny, fills you with a deep profound sense of connection and love.

You turn your head slightly, your lips barely brushing his as you whisper, “I want that too, Benny.” Your voice is breathless, filled with anticipation and desire. You place your hand over his, pressing it more firmly against your stomach, silently encouraging him, letting him know you’re ready.

Benny’s eyes darken with intensity at your response, his fingers tightening their hold on you. “It’s all I want now,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with raw emotion. He leans in, kissing you softly at first, savoring the warmth of your lips. Then, his kiss deepens, growing urgent and passionate, making your heart race.

He pulls back just enough to say, “I’ll show you how much I want you,” his breath hot against your lips. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pulls you closer pressing his hard insistent cock firmly against your thighs. The sudden, powerful contact makes you moan, revealing in the strength of his desire that he’s been holding back, waiting until this very moment to let you feel just how much he needs you.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Let me show you how much I love you,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with longing.

His hand glides up your side, fingers tracing lightly over the silk of your nightie and he hooks his finger under the strap, slipping it off your shoulder.

You help him with the other strap, feeling his breath warm against your neck as he guides the fabric lower. He presses soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder, each one more tender than the last, as he pulls the nightie down as far as he can.

You lift your hips, allowing him to hook his thumb into your panties, sliding them down along with the delicate nightie. He glides the fabric over your legs slipping everything off completely, leaving you naked and exposed beneath his gaze.

His hand finds your arm guiding you from your side onto your back and the away his hands move with such reverence and desire, makes your heart race.

“I know we can’t have a baby yet,” Benny says, his voice tense with lust, his eyes roaming over your body.

“But I’m going to practice tonight like it’s for keeps,” he promises.

Benny lifts himself over you, his movements controlled and steady. His body hovers above yours, the intensity in his eyes never wavering as he positions himself to take you completely

You reach up, trailing your hands along his broad shoulders holding them for support.

“Benny, I’m going to make sure we have that baby,” you promise him, your voice filled with resolve. “I’m stopping my pills tonight.”

His eyes gaze into yours with a strong sense of fulfillment and a slow satisfied smile forms at the corners of his lips.

With his strong arms braced on either side of your head, he lowers himself down, his lips capturing yours in a deep, sensual kiss, savoring every second, every touch, as if he’s determined to make you melt beneath him.

He settles between your thighs and his body is a delicious weight on yours. The sensation of his firm chest pressing against yours sends a thrill through you as the heat of his skin and the hard planes of his abs fit perfectly against your soft curves. It’s intoxicating, the strength of him surrounding you, making you feel both protected and utterly desired.

His hardened cock teasingly presses against your wetness,and the sensation makes you moan into his mouth which he captures in his heated kiss.

Your hands instinctively slide down his back, trailing over the firm muscles that tense beneath your fingertips. You reach down to the curve of your own hips, grasping the hem of your panties, desperate to remove the final barrier between you.

Benny’s lips trail down your neck, his kisses hot and lingering, and he helps you, his fingers brushing against yours as you tug at the delicate lace.

He grips the fabric firmly and there’s a brief pause, just enough time for you to feel the anticipation build, and then, with a sharp, satisfying tear, he rips the delicate lace apart. The sound of threads snapping fills the air, mingling with your soft gasp.

Benny slips the lace from your body and flings it aside, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss that is both raw and possessive. His body presses harder against you, his cock throbbing with need as he nudges it insistently against you.

His hands slide up your sides cupping your breasts as he circles your nipples with his thumbs, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You moan softly into his mouth, arching your back, pressing your chest against his hands, craving more of his touch, more of him.

Benny pulls back, breaking the kiss his breaths heavy and uneven as he presses harder against your sensitive nipples, rolling them slowly under his thumbs. He watches you intently, savoring every cry, every moan that escapes your lips, taking his time to draw out your pleasure.

“I want to hear more of those sweet sounds,” he rasps, lowering his mouth to take one of your nipples between his lips. His tongue flicks teasingly over the sensitive peak before he sucks gently, working his lips and tongue in unison as your moans turn into soft, breathless cries.

His free hand continues to knead and tease your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers and pinching with just enough pressure to make you gasp. Your walls clench around nothing in response to the sensations he’s pulling from you.

Every lick, every pinch is planned, deliberate, keeping you teetering on the edge as he takes his time, savoring the way your body responds to him.

He shifts his body against yours, his hardened cock sliding through your soaked folds, spreading your wetness across your thighs. The slick heat between you only amplifying your physical need for each other.

“Baby, you’re so wet for me,” he groans, his voice thick with desire as he feels the slickness coating his length. He nudges his tip against your entrance, making you cry out, your hips lifting in response, seeking more of him.

His hands slide down from your breasts, gliding over your waist and settling firmly on your hips. His grip is possessive as he spreads your legs into the perfect position.

His cock is hard, throbbing with an almost painful need as the tip presses against your entrance. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust as he slowly pushes his hips forward.

His large cock eases into your slick tight walls sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body, your moans blending with his low, guttural groans as he pushes you to take it deeper.

He moves with deliberate slowness, savoring every inch as he fills you up. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that has you arching into him, craving him as he continues to push. Benny groans, the sound deep and primal, as he buries himself into you completely his body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Your moans fill the room, mingling with his ragged breaths as he begins to move, each thrust measured, designed to push you closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tight, guiding you to meet each of his thrusts , the rhythm between you building, intensifying with each passing second.

“Baby.. you feel so good,” Benny pants, his voice rough with desire. His lips find yours again, capturing your moans as his pace quickens, the pleasure coursing through you both. You can feel the tension building, the sweet, unbearable pressure signaling your impending release. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as you surrender completely to the overwhelming sensation.

He breaks the kiss, his breath warm and uneven against your ear.

“I’m gonna fill you up soon,” he whispers, his voice heavy with desire. “Gonna make you big and round, carrying our baby.” His hand slides possessively to rest on your stomach, his touch lingering and firm. “Everyone will know… how much I wanted this, how much I wanted you,” he breathes, his lips grazing your ear with each word

Benny’s other hand moves down, slipping between your legs his fingers brushing over your clit with deliberate, teasing strokes.

His fingers circle your clit, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through your body as his words sink in, heightening the intensity of the moment. “You want that, don’t you?” he breathes, his voice deepening with desire.

You moan in response, your breath hitching as you manage to say, “Y-yes!…Yes I want that Benny.”

“Good “ he says grinding his hips harder and pushing his cock deeper, as his hand continues its relentless assault on your clit. “I want you to come baby,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear, “come knowing what we’re going to make together… knowing how much I wanted to get you pregnant tonight.”

His words, his touch, and the deep, steady rhythm of his thrusts drives you to the edge. Your orgasm builds coiling the tension tighter and tighter until you can’t hold back any longer, it crashes through you, a tidal wave of pleasure that leaves you breathless, your body convulsing around him as you cry out his name.

“Take it deep for me” he groans with exertion feeling your walls tightening around his cock and a final, powerful thrust, Benny follows you into oblivion, his groans are guttural and raw, as he comes inside of you, his cock pulsing as his body trembles with the force of his release.

His breath comes in short, ragged pants as his hips gently grind against you, savoring every last moment of pleasure. Each spasm of his cock sending waves of warmth through your body.

He softly collapses against you, his breaths hot and ragged “The next one’s for keeps,” he says, his voice filled with exhaustion and excitement making a shared grin spread across both of your faces, knowing your mutual desire for the real thing.

He plants a tender kiss on your forehead, both of you spent but utterly satisfied, lost in the afterglow of a moment that feels like a new exciting path on your life adventure.

He’s Mine

After making sure Benny is settled in the morning, his breakfast finished and his medications taken, you sweetly kiss him on the forehead and tell him you’re going to make a quick dash to the grocery store.

As you get behind the wheel of your Mustang, you decisively head toward the Vandals’ club the grocery run was a rouse you had planned. The roar of the engine beneath you revs in the background of your focused thoughts. Your mind is set on a single goal: getting Benny out of the Vandals and claiming him all for yourself.

Once you arrive at the club you park the Mustang with precision, ensuring it’s securely locked before striding across the street. Dressed in a fitted crop top and high-waisted jeans, with a purse casually draped over your shoulder, you project confidence and determination. Each click of your heels against the pavement resonates with purpose as you approach the Vandal club.

With a deep breath, you push open the front door, your resolve unwavering.

The interior is dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of smoke and stale beer. Only a few members are scattered around, some lounging, others staggering with drunkenness. Their eyes follow you as you enter, faint whistles being heard some looking you over with curiosity and others something darker.

One of them, a long haired man with tattoos creeping up his neck, steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he gets a closer look. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he drawls, his gaze lingering on you in a way that makes your skin crawl. “You lost, little lady? Or maybe you’re just looking for some company?” he adds with a sly grin.

You don’t hesitate, your voice cutting through his sleazy haze like a knife. “Where’s Johnny?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest, your stance firm and unyielding.

The man holds up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, a smirk playing on his lips. “Easy pretty lady. Johnny’s in the back. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Within minutes, you find yourself sitting face-to-face with Johnny in his office. The tension in the room is thick. You are leaned back in your chair, arms and legs crossed, barely concealing your irritation. Johnny, with his elbows resting on the table and fingers interlaced, has a look of avoidance on his face as he tries to gauge your mood.

You lock eyes with Johnny, your gaze unwavering as his eyes dart around, deliberately avoiding yours.

Beneath the surface, your anger simmers, but you keep it in check, your voice firm and resolute.

“You can’t have him, the club can’t have him,” you state, each word carrying the weight of your decision, leaving no room for argument.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Who?”

Your voice sharpens, cutting through the tense air. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. Benny!” you snap, sitting up straighter as your arms cross tighter against your chest.

Johnny’s smirk fades, replaced by a cold, calculating look as he finally grasps your intent. Before he can respond, you press on, your voice steady but charged with emotion.

“He’s mine,” you declare with a possessive edge staking your claim on Benny with every ounce of determination you have.

Johnny’s eyes lock onto yours, recognition dawning that you’re not to be taken lightly. Benny was right you are tougher than you look.

Johnny remains silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of your words. A flicker of respect crosses his face as he realizes you’re not backing down.

You lean in further, frustration and fear making your voice rise.

“If he keeps riding his motorcycle for the club, he’s going to die one way or another. It’ll kill him, and you know it!”

Johnny meets your eyes with mock concern, his voice dismissive. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

You don’t back down, your eyes brimming with the intensity of your emotions.

Johnny looks away from you, thinking it over, trying to convey the nature of Benny’s independence.

“I don’t own Benny, just like you don’t own Benny,” Johnny says, his tone hardening to emphasize the point.

“Ain’t nobody can tell that kid nothin’,” he continues, as if the matter is settled but your eyes still lock onto his undeterred.

“He’s grown,” Johnny adds, his tone firm as if that finalizes everything.

As you continue to stare him down Johnny makes Bennys independence clear.

“If he wants to ride a bike, he’s gonna ride a bike,” Johnny says with a shrug, the finality in his voice knowing Benny’s choices have always been for himself.

You lean forward, your voice firm and pleading. “Not if you tell him not to. Not if you tell him he’s out of the club.”

Johnny scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “C’mon,” he mutters.

Your anger flares, your eyes locking onto his.

“I’m his wife, NOT you,” you snap, each word sharp and pointed.

Johnny’s eyes narrow. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he quips

You meet his gaze, unwavering and full of raw emotion. “Oh, I know you love him, I love him too,” you confess, your words hanging in the air. “That’s why you’ve got to help me.”​

For a brief moment, something flickers in Johnny’s eyes, something like hesitation or guilt, but it’s quickly replaced by his hardened expression. “Are you done?” he asks, his voice cold, his brows easing as if trying to brush off the weight of your words.

You shake your head, the tension still thick between you. “I don’t know, am I?” you retort, challenging him with your defiance.

Johnny leans back in his chair, his patience wearing thin, his eyes filled with a mix of frustration and something deeper, something he won’t name. “You got anything more to say?” he asks, his voice tight with barely contained annoyance.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. “No. I said it,” you confirm, your voice final.

The silence that follows is heavy, an unspoken showdown as you both stare at each other. Finally, Johnny looks away, his expression twisted with annoyance . You stand abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor as you push it back, your heels echoing in the small office as you head for the door.

Before you leave, you turn back one last time, your voice sharp and definitive. “You can’t have him. The club can’t have him. he’s mine”

The door slams shut behind you, leaving Johnny alone with the truth he doesn’t want to face: you’re determined to separate Benny from his life, as a Vandal and he can’t allow that to happen.

🏍️ To be continued 🏍️

Part 5: For Keeps

With every thing stripped from Benny he begins to understand what he really wants out of life, and after a fateful turn of events putting your life at risk, his decision is finalized changing both of your lives forever.

🔗 Master List

🏍️ Benny Cross Tag List 🏍️

@finley-08 @ashleybutler-26 @ifuckindontknow @landlockedmermaid77 @jvanilly @oceanablue @12joeywheelerfangirl @autumnleaves1991-blog @presley1992 @rose-deathman @sillylittlethrowaway @lillypink @faephoria @butdaddyilovehim99 @nostalgichoya @ausssbutlershortstories @fallout-girl219

🏷️Always Tags Me List 💌

@lindszeppelin @abswifey @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @jkdaddy01 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade

[areyouwell]

Athazagoraphobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of forgetting. Children or adults with this condition tend to experience nausea, raised heart rate or panic attacks when attempting to remember someone they don't.

Ch.5

Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, sexual content, talks of suicide, suicide attempt, descriptions of extreme bodily harm, needles, this chapter gets dark, reader discretion is advised

Word Count: 13.7k

A/N: i have been looking forward to this chapter for so long oh my GOD i am vibrating. this is the shit i love, although the absolute BATTLE i just fought to get this post off the ground was long and arduous so rip my formatting tumblr didn't like it :( god gives his hardest battles to his silliest soldiers. also kurt and hank are here because i felt bad leaving them out timeline WHAT TIMELINE?

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside

To say Logan hadn’t gotten much sleep was an understatement. Sure, he’d dozed off here and there, but he would jolt awake every time you held so much as a sleepy breath. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind. Seven of them. The way their heads cocked at an unnatural angle. The way they silently stared, faceless, voiceless, seemingly just watching. Waiting. The way they sank back into the shadows the moment you stirred. They must have been from you, some subconscious product of your mutation. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t creep him out a little. 

Though, he didn’t know what else he expected. You could manipulate and walk through shadows. You were bound to have some creepy quirks, as well as constantly looking tired, apparently. 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, dust mites floating in the golden beams filtering through the leaves of the various plants near your window. You’d told him a while ago you’d named them all, something about giving them a voice making them grow faster, or something else equally as ridiculous. He still didn’t quite know which one was Molly and which one was Dalia, but he could tell his Herberts from his Judases, which was a start, he supposed. 

Fucking hell he was down so bad.

You still slept soundly against his chest, occasionally a soft snore would melt his heart, or a discontented pinch of your brow only to smooth out when you nestled closer. Part of him wished neither of you ever had to move. Actually, scrap that, he wished you didn’t have to move with his whole being. He silently thanked whoever came up with the idea of Saturdays and the knowledge that the two of you could spend a lazy morning in bed without the approaching threat of teaching a class. 

Maybe he would take you out today, steal Scott’s bike and escape for one peaceful moment. There were a few lakes nearby he wouldn’t mind visiting with you, end the day at a bar or something. The image of you perched behind him on the bike, your arms wrapped around his middle, cheek resting against his back made up his mind. He was definitely going to take you out today. Get away from everything for a while. Away from teaching, training, the possibility that if you didn’t get your mutation under control you could be lost to the shadows for good…

That kind of thing. 

He gazed down at you, your mussed hair and twitching features. He loved you. Logan knew that. Two months and he was already certain. It was just saying it, he struggled with. Admitting it out loud. That’s where the problems started. It was like he was cursed, the moment he uttered those three words, some kind of catastrophe would strike and he’d lose everything for good. 

He hoped you knew. Fuck, he hoped you knew. Hoped you knew that with every waking moment, he burned to be near you, seared with the need to touch you. Even innocently. A hand on your knee, an arm around your shoulder, anything. Sure, he’d happily spend the rest of his life with his face between your thighs or his cock submerged in your cunt, but that didn’t seem realistic. And, if nothing else, Logan was a man of realism. 

A sigh escaped your slightly parted lips, eyes fluttering slightly as you started to wake. He brushed the stray hairs from your face, your features scrunching, blinking awake. 

“Good mornin’,” he smiled, and you groaned in response, closing your eyes again and hiding your face in his chest.

“No.” your response was muffled but audible, and he cocked a brow.

“Bad mornin’?”

You shook your head slightly. “No morning. Wake me when it’s midday.”

If there was one thing Logan had learnt about you, it was that you were not a morning person. ‘Too much light’ was your typical excuse, and he couldn’t say he blamed you. He used to drag himself out of bed with the promise of a strong cup of coffee before he became a teacher. He didn’t know why he was shocked to learn you were a night owl, it made a shit ton of sense considering your mutation. Though he chalked it down to the fact that your smile shone like the sun itself.

“Coffee?” He asked, and that silenced your protests. Your clock was still discarded on the floor, but flicking his wrist up in front of his face, he grinned seeing the time. 8 am. Oh, you were going to be furious. Especially since it was a Saturday. 

“What time is it?” you asked, raising your head from his chest and turning your head to your window as if the sun had personally offended you. You had half the mind to storm over to the curtains and snap them closed. If only you hadn’t been so comfortable, you’d really show the sun what for.

“A little after eight…” he said tentatively, and your head whipped back to look at him, face a picture of utter disbelief. 

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope, sorry sweetheart, the clock doesn’t lie.” he showed you his wrist with the time, and you groaned in frustration, your forehead hitting his chest in defeat.

“It’s a goddamn Saturday, not even Jubilee is up this early on a Saturday.” You lamented, pulling the covers up and over your head. Logan chuckled slightly, finding your detest for mornings amusing as you hid from the sun. “Fucking curtains not being closed for the fucking light to get in fucking god fucking damnit.”

“Yeah, you tell ‘em.” His hand rested on your covered head in faux protection, feeling you shift beneath the duvet, your angry huff fanning his chest. 

“I will.” He could almost hear your pout, shuffling forward to poke your head from the covers like the world’s most gorgeous groundhog, the duvet wrapped tightly around your head so he could see only your face. “Did you say coffee?” You asked, and even if you didn’t have the hope of a child being offered a lollypop dancing in your eyes, he still would have nodded. Though with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

Couldn’t appear too keen to bend to your every request.

“What’ll you give me for it?” He smirked, knowing full well there were very few lengths you’d go through to acquire a fresh pot of caffeine in the morning. And your narrowed eyes confirmed that knowledge. 

“I’ll suck you so hard you’ll see fucking stars.”

Logan choked on his own saliva. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. “Fuckin’ freak…” he muttered, failing miserably at hiding his smile. You flashed him a toothy grin, knowing you had him in a box. Honestly, you’d do it anyway just for fun and maybe to tease him a little. 

Logan threw back the covers on his side of the bed, waiting for you to move so he could sit up and start his coffee-making mission. Only, you didn’t move, just blinked at him expectantly. “You gotta move, hun.” 

“Why can’t you be telekinetic, so inconvenient.” You grumbled, reluctantly releasing him from your arms and rolling onto your other side, only to huff once again as sunlight invaded your eyes. “Fucking sun!”

Logan watched with no small degree of admiration as you angrily threw one of your pillows and the window, eyes tracking the trajectory as it hit the curtain with a slight thump before falling to the floor. “You showed him.” He quipped, receiving a small kick to his side. 

You looked over your shoulder as he stood, watching his naked body shamelessly. Shit, he was so fucking hot. Your mouth almost watered as he stretched his arms above his head, his back flexing, muscles tensing. You sat up a little against the headboard, sandwiching your thumb between your teeth as he flexed his back again, and this time you knew it was on purpose.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he didn’t even need to look to know your eyes were on him. He could feel them, for fuck’s sake. And your maniacal little laugh confirmed it all.

“You’re nice to look at, excuse me for finding you attractive.” There wasn’t even a hint of guilt in your voice. You really were a freak weren’t you? 

Logan slowly turned to face you, watching as your eyes dragged up and down his body, your mischievous smile only widening. He cast his gaze skyward, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Ya done?”

You clicked your tongue. “Not even close. But, I really want a coffee, so I guess I am for now.” You shrugged as if you hadn’t just been fucking the shit out of him with your eyes. Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head in fond disbelief. As if you couldn’t be any more endearing. Yes, you were a grumpy little shit in the mornings, but you were his grumpy little shit. And he had a sneaking suspicion you might feel exactly the same about him. 

You rolled your eyes as he shrugged on his singlet, pulling up his briefs and jeans before looking around the room, unable to locate his belt. He spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the floor. He swore it had fallen with his jeans. “Have you seen my–”

Hearing the telltale clink of metal, Logan looked back at you holding up the leather by his buckle. That was not where he thought he’d left it. He raised a brow of questioning, and you shrugged again. “I had it on hand. In case…” you trailed off and his eyes widened in scandal, brow furrowed.

“In case of what?!” 

“Just, in case.” You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide your filthy grin and failed spectacularly. Logan barked a laugh of disbelief, skirting around the bed and snatching the belt from your hands, tossing it on the covers as he trapped you in his arms.

“You,” he started, before pressing his lips to yours. “Are such,” he kissed you again. “A freak.” He finished, moulding his mouth against your own in a lingering, lingering dance. You giggled into his lips, your hands finding the soft strands of his hair. “Only two months in and you already want me to tie you up?” He drew back with a smirk, just far enough to see the perversity in your eyes.

“Who said anything about tying me up…?”

He blinked. How many fucking surprises were you going to spring on him this morning? “Hate to break it to ya darlin’, but if that’s your intention then a thin strip of leather ain’t gonna cut it.” 

Your irises sparkled with the realisation that he wasn’t saying no. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to get something stronger.” You murmured, closing the gap between the two of you once again before breaking it almost immediately. “Maybe some of those metal zip ties… or just a really thick wire. I dunno, how strong are you?”

“Real fuckin�� strong.”

Your brows furrowed in thought, and he ruffled the top of your head. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You gaped in mock offence. “So rude. Go get coffee, I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

“Weren’t sayin’ that earlier, were ya?”

“Yeah, but now your shirt’s on.” 

“Face not good enough for ya?”

“Not when it’s insulting me, no.”

“And when it’s doing this?” Logan leaned into your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the side of your throat, teeth gently nipping at your soft, bruised skin from last night. You gasped a strangled moan, still sensitive from where he’d left his marks on you. 

“That’s more forgivable.” You breathed as he drew back, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “Go, before I drag you back into bed and have my freaky little way with you, belt and all.” You wiggled your brows and he chuckled darkly, as if anything you said could be seen as a threat. But he acquiesced nonetheless, feeding his belt through the loopholes of his jeans, securing the clasp. 

“I’ll be back in a few.” He placed a kiss to your forehead and you hummed a soft, contented smile before he turned away and headed out down the hallway. You were right, it was far too early for anyone to be awake on a Saturday. As far as he could hear, nobody was up yet, which just meant he got a good few more hours to spend with you before the rest of the mansion started to think you were either dead or missing. You weren’t a morning person, but that didn’t mean you weren’t up most mornings, just with a face like thunder. 

He loosened a contented sigh, cracking open the door to the kitchen before crossing to the kettle and flicking the switch, listening to the low hiss of the water heating up before he pulled open the overhead cupboards to retrieve two mugs, a glass one for him and your favourite one for you. Logan realised with no small degree of shame that he didn’t actually know your birthday, and come to think of it, nobody else had mentioned it either. He hoped it hadn’t already been and gone, seeing your small collection of mugs had given him the perfect idea. 

He rifled around for a bit, before locating the larger, cáfetier. It was easily big enough for two cups and then some. Popping open the steel lid to the coffee grounds, he spooned four heaps into the glass, guestimating the correct amount. Two heaps each seemed about right…

It had been too long since his biggest worry was something as domestic as how many heaps of coffee should he put in a cáfetier for two. It gave him a sense of peace, despite the events of three days ago. And with nobody else up and about yet, it really did feel like the two of you were alone in the world. 

And honestly, he’d be fine with that.

At least, it did feel like, before the fantasy was shattered by approaching footsteps. Logan groaned internally, knowing that gait and heft anywhere. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Scott. Why, of all people, did it have to be fucking Scott.

“Logan… I didn’t know you’d be in here so early.” His tone was curt, stunted almost as if he was allergic to being nice. Logan simply grunted, pouring the freshly boiled water into the cáfetier and placing the lid on. 

“I was just leavin’.” He responded gruffly, hooking his fingers around the two mug handles and carefully lifting the coffee pot, making for a quick escape before Scott cleared his throat. 

“I uh… Look man, I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Logan paused, giving Scott a sidelong glance, a silent suggestion for him to continue. “About what happened the other day. The Professor was right, it wasn’t the time for us to fight.”

Logan grit his teeth. “That’s what you’re apologising for? Not for suggesting we should just get rid of her?” he snarled, his fingers tightening on the mug handles. Scott sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. 

“It’s not– It’s not that simple, Logan. She’s done this before, and last time it resulted in the death of one of our teammates. Jade was so kind. And she–”

“Loved her, yeah I know.” Logan finished, and Scott started in surprise.

“She told you that?” he asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

“I’m startin’ to think you’ve never actually had a conversation with her.” He bit, keeping his self-control intact. Though he didn’t know how annoyed you’d be if he told you he’d smashed your favourite mug over Scott’s head. 

“She was my teammate before you were, Logan. I– It’s not easy to be the one to make these decisions, or even suggest them. But sometimes we need to do things to protect other people. You know that.”

Logan nodded in confirmation. He did know that. He knew that better than anyone. “And you should know that there is nothing I won’t do to protect her. So you come at her again, spoutin’ bullshit about neutralising a threat, and there’ll be no Professor to stop me from tearin’ you apart. Got it?” He snarled, subconsciously baring his teeth. Scott sighed again. It wasn’t uncommon for Logan to threaten his life, when they first met it was almost on a daily basis. 

“I don’t want to neutralise her. I just want her under control,” he explained wearily. “Sure, the first time this happened and she killed Jade, I’d been the one to suggest that. But we were scared. We were damn terrified of her. It was only thanks to Jean that she came back.”

Logan paused for a moment. He knew Jean was keeping something under wraps. “How? What exactly did she say?”

Scott shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “No clue. She wouldn’t tell me. She told me to ask the Professor, but we were all a little caught up in grief to ask questions at that point, and by the time we’d all managed to move on, it didn’t seem to matter anymore,” Scott paused, evidently debating his next words. “But she responded to you. We all saw that. So, what I’m trying to say, is keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. None of us want her gone, Logan. We couldn’t help her, but maybe you can.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment Logan had ever received from the man, and he honestly didn’t know what to do with it. So he nodded in silent acknowledgement. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch, but something had definitely shifted in their dynamic. But before he could contemplate it further, Scott piped up again. “I’m happy for you two, by the way. You really complement each other. Or maybe I’m just happy you haven’t been making eyes at Jean for the last two months.”

Nevermind. He hated the prick. “Go fuck yourself, Scott,” he uttered with disinterest, and if he had either of his hands free, he would have flipped him off as he left. Heading back up the stairs, Logan wondered when it would ever just stop. When everything would finally come to a halt and he could have just one day for the two of you and not think about anything catastrophic happening. Yet here he was, climbing the flight of stairs up to the third floor, contemplating your mortality. He fucking hated it. 

And he was having such a nice morning, too. 

Shouldering open the door to your room, he was greeted by an empty space and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, steam rolling out of the small gap where you’d left the door open a crack. Maybe he could still salvage this morning after all. 

Settling down the coffee and mugs on your nightstand, he left the grounds to soak in the water before briskly stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a collected pile at the foot of your bed and slowly opening the bathroom door a little wider. It was like a sauna in there, steam fogging up the mirror, the walls sweating. You hummed a soft tune, one he recognised after a beat.

It was the same song he’d asked you to dance to. 

His heart inflated as he opened the steamed-up door to step in behind you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist to your small jump and gasp of surprise.

“‘S’just me, don’t worry,” he soothed, burying his face in the crook of your slick neck. Your hair hung limp, freshly washed as you leaned back into him, holding his arms against you.

“Mmm, was just thinking about you.” You hummed, and if Logan wasn’t already half hard at the sight of your dripping naked body, that low, sultry tone of your voice would have been enough. 

“Yeah?” he loosened his grip so you could turn around to face him, your arms slinking up his body and around his neck. “What about me?” he asked, biting back his groan as you swapped places with him, warm water cascading down his back. 

“‘Bout last night… all the things I didn’t get to do…” You teased his lips with whispers of kisses, barely making contact as you held his gaze hostage, your eyes darkening with each passing moment. He felt lightheaded already when you bypassed his mouth altogether, your teeth instantly biting down against his collarbone. 

“Like what?” he strained, his hands skirting up and down your waist, your lips trailing up the hollow of his throat, over to the side of his neck where you sucked a harsh bruise that, to your irritation, faded instantly. You knew doing it again was a losing battle, but that didn’t stop you from sinking your teeth into his flesh, feeling his rising groan on your tongue as you smoothed over the unmarked skin. Your hands braced against his chest as you rose up on your tip toes to breath into his ear.

“I wasn’t joking earlier.” Was all you muttered, nibbling at his earlobe and leaving the side of his head tingling before you travelled lower down the curve of his fuzzy jaw, back down the path you’d carved for yourself, pressing kisses down his chest, your nails lightly scratching down either side of his ribs, following the curve of his hip bone and to his hard cock. 

Logan inhaled as you took him in your wet palms, squeezing around his shaft, delivering pinches with your teeth around one of his nipples, clamping down around when you teased his already leaking tip.

“Shit…” he gasped as you sucked against his shockingly sensitive bud, the scent of your own arousal heightened in the steamy heat, driving him mad with need. Releasing him from your mouth, you giggled softly as he thrust into your grip, his hands sliding from your waist to your hair as you sank to your knees before him, making sure you kept eye contact. 

  Sticking out your tongue, you waited for what felt like an eternity to him, before you delivered a small kitten lick to the underside of his cock. His jaw fell open as he watched you, all your attention now stuck on teasing the fuck out of him, not going any further than small, short swipes. He didn’t want to push you but holy shit were you testing his self-control. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He huffed, gritting his teeth when your malleable tongue traced one of the thick, pulsing veins down the side of his shaft. His fingers tightened in your hair, though not to move you, rather just to feel you beneath his fingertips. 

Logan’s head fell back as your lips enveloped his sensitive tip, and he realised he would happily drown in this shower if it meant you didn’t stop, water washing away the sweat from his brow, bouncing off his closed eyes. A gravelly moan bubbled from his chest, echoing slightly off the walls. “Jus’ like that, baby,” he whispered almost to himself as you took him further, your pointed tongue dragging down the underside of his cock, one of your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, the other braced against his hip to hold him still. 

You bobbed your head slowly, tasting the distinct musk and salt of his ecstasy as you flattened your tongue, hollowing your cheeks and humming lowly. The bathroom became an orchestra of gravelly groans and airy gasps, all drowned out from the outside world by the running water. Sinking into a comfortable rhythm, you looked up at his head thrown back, one of his hands had moved from your hair to the wall as he all but leaned against it.

Opening your throat, you slipped him further in your mouth until your nose was nestled comfortably against the coarse hairs at his naval. There you held him for a moment, swallowing around his cock and he fucking whimpered at the feeling of your throat squeezing him. You gagged slightly, and Logan looked down, his jaw slack as he took in possibly one of the hottest things he’d ever seen in his over a century of being alive. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and he made to pull away to give you a moment to breathe. But the moment he shifted, your nails dug sharply into either side of his hips, holding him against you. 

He stuttered moaning of your name and you knew he was close, so you hummed around him again, the vibrations of your voice travelling his throbbing length. The hand in your hair tightened as he slowly thrust his hips into your wanting mouth, gently fucking your face. 

“Jesus Christ you feel good…” he uttered breathlessly, tensing his jaw as he approached his peak. You smiled wickedly around his cock, dragging your slick tongue down that same vein you were paying attention to earlier as he moved back, your teeth ever so slightly scraping atop his length, and it was his undoing. 

Pleasure flooded his senses, fire coursing through his blood as he went to pull from your mouth, only to have you angrily shove your head forward, swallowing again around his member as he threw his head back to embrace the stream of the shower. “Fuck, fuck!” He stuttered a long, drawn-out groan as he spilled into your mouth, painting your throat white as his hips bucked uncontrollably, the tips of his claws poking through his knuckles as he fought to keep control, stars dancing behind his eyes.

The waves of ecstasy receded with each pulse, leaving him dizzy and gasping, his head falling forward to catch his breath and steady himself. Looking up from your knees, you drew back, leaving a lingering kiss on the head of his cock, your hands gently squeezing his thighs. 

“You okay?” You asked, rising to your feet, palm softly cupping the underside of his jaw and moving his face to look at you. He was stunned, dazed almost, as he wordlessly searched your eyes for an answer to a silent question. You laughed a little, and he drew you in with a thumb and forefinger pinching your chin, claiming your mouth with his lips in a delicately passionate kiss. The way he tasted himself on your tongue almost had him hardening again. 

“You almost suffocated yourself and you’re asking if I’m okay?” he asked with subdued disbelief, and you grinned wildly. 

“You seemed out of it for a moment, wanted to make sure I didn’t kill you.” You responded with airy innocence, and Logan huffed a laugh.

“Murder attempt number two. Not a great track record, huh?” He teased lightly, and you narrowed your eyes at him. But before you could come up with some witty retort, he sank to his knees before you, throwing a leg over his shoulder so bruskly you had to steady yourself against the wall. “Fuck you’re so hard to ignore when you smell this fuckin’ sweet, darlin’.” He murmured, before wasting no time in devouring your cunt until you were whimpering his name and gushing all over his tongue. 

Consider the morning salvaged.

“This is going to be insanely strong coffee.” You called from the bedroom as Logan dried his hair with a spare towel, draping it across his shoulders before padding out the join you. “Someone didn’t want to leave the shower.” You shot pointedly with a small grin. He simply shrugged in response, trying not to be too disappointed that you’d thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. 

“Not sure how I’m to blame for that.” He crossed the room to stand behind you, towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips and circled his arms around your waist, setting his chin atop your head. “You started it.” 

You leaned back into his chest, basking in the warmth of his embrace. It was these little moments of soft domesticity that you craved with him. Yeah, the sex was great. Mind-blowing, in fact, and teaching and training with him was a fantastic excuse for the two of you to spend time with each other, but it was these moments you valued. Swaying in the kitchen to whatever song blared from the radio, your head resting on his lap as you dozed off to some shitty reality tv-show, or vice versa. These were the moments you’d remember when you were old and grey and he was–

Still looking gorgeous and young. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. How had that only just occurred to you? You pushed the thought into the furthest corners of your mind. Now was not the time to be entertaining such things. 

“Why did you take so long, by the way? I was halfway through the intended length of my shower by the time you got back.” You asked, mourning the loss of his contact as you went to pour the coffee into the two mugs, your heart expanding when you saw he’d picked your favourite one. The one Kitty gifted you. 

“Ran into Scott in the kitchen…” You snorted at the irritation in his tone, clearly not a fond memory. 

“What’d he have to say for himself?” A hand extended behind you, clasping the top of the glass mug between your fingertips as you handed it to him, pouring yourself a mug of your own before you turned to sit on the bed.

“Thanks. He was just runnin’ his mouth, to be honest with ya. Though he did apologise, which felt weird.” Logan returned to his side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard and raising his arm as a silent request for you to join him. You shuffled closer, ducking beneath his arm and cosying into his side, making sure to hold your full mug of coffee steady. 

“He did? What for?” 

“We argued the whole training thing. He was apologising for the timing of it.” 

You snorted a laugh into your mug. “Trust Scott to apologise for the thing that mattered least. But it’s a start, I guess. He say anything else?”

“Not really. Said he was happy for us and that we complemented each other, which also felt weird.” He didn’t think you’d be thrilled about the Jean comment, so he left that in the past like he had his feelings for her. 

“Huh. Strangely nice of him.”

“‘S what I thought.” 

You sipped on your drink, pleasantly surprised it was still warm, savouring the bitter-roasted flavour. “Yeah, a little too long, think the beans are a bit burnt, but it’s still good.”

“How’dya know the beans are burnt?” 

“You can taste it. Or I can. I was a barista for a while, dontcha know?”

He raised a brow. No, he didn’t know that. “How many jobs have you had?” He asked, impressed that you had such a wide range of skills. You thought for a moment, it was actually a pretty good question. 

“Ya know what? I have no idea. What’s funny is that I never remember quitting them either. I’d just wake up one day and bam! New job. I guess I liked to bounce around a lot. Still do.” You elbowed him, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively and he groaned in exhaustion. 

“Terrible.”

“You liked it.” You stuck out your tongue and he huffed in amusement. Yeah, he did. And he wasn’t about to deny it.

Logan paused for a moment, knowing the next topic he wanted to talk to you about was likely going to be a sensitive one. You hadn’t told him for a reason, and if you didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push you, but he wanted to let you know that he knew. “Can I see your wrist…?”

Predictably, you shot from his side, muttering a curse as your coffee sloshed from your mug and onto your hand. It wasn’t like you’d made an effort to hide your scars, it was more that you banked on the fact that people, generally, were too afraid to ask. But you should have guessed Logan of all people wouldn’t shy away from something like that. Not where you were concerned anyway. 

Tentatively, you set your mug down on the nightstand, turning back to him and offering one of your wrists. He did the same, shifting to set his own mug down before slowly taking your outstretched hand in his own, inspecting the deep, faded scar with the pad of his thumb. “When?” He asked gently.

“Years ago. It’s all kind of a blur really, and I don’t remember much of it. I just– I was terrified of being a mutant and couldn’t see a way out. I think my brother found me, and took me to a hospital. I don’t know why they’re still there, honestly. I’ve used my mutation countless times since, but I guess scars are as part of the mind as they are the body. Or something like that.” It was the only explanation you had for the marks littering your body, not just the ones on your wrists, but your chest, thighs, and neck. You were a scrappy kid, always picking fights with the wrong people. 

Logan brought your wrist up to his lips, ghosting featherlight kisses down the raised line. “I’m so sorry.” He murmured, and your heart bled. He had nothing to apologise for, you hoped he knew that. 

“‘S’okay. I… learned to accept what I am. Rowan helped me with that. That’s his name, don’t know if I ever told you. After he was done being mad at me, that is. Not that I blame him. I don’t know what I would have done had the roles been reversed.” 

“You got on well, didn’t ya?”

You sighed. “Yes and no. We did when we were kids, but as we got older we started to drift apart. I think the grief over our parents changed him, and he got more cautious, whereas I got more reckless. We would fight a lot, but that didn’t mean I loved him any less. I just wish I could remember what our last argument was about. We were so fucking mad at each other, I left and deleted his fucking number.” You huffed a sigh of past frustration, turning to retrieve your mug of coffee. 

That was news to him. He didn’t know your parents had died. He knew they weren’t around during your teen years, but he didn’t know they’d died. But the way you just casually mentioned it told him it was a topic that didn’t need discussing right now. 

You settled back against him, his arm draping over your shoulders, your head dropping to the dip in between his collarbone and neck as silence settled back over you. You appreciated the way he didn’t press you for more. You doubted you’d be satisfied with such a brazen explanation, and you knew he most likely had more questions for you, so when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you smiled against his skin. 

“‘M gonna take you out today.”

“Like on a date or with a gun?”

You felt his snort of laughter against your cheek. “Have you always been this dark?”

“I’m a shadow weaver, comes with the territory.” You responded nonchalantly. 

“‘S that was you’re calling yourself now?”

“Nah. I still kinda like Phantom. But who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind someday.” You raised your head to take another sip of your coffee, grimacing as the liquid had gone from piping hot to lukewarm.

“On a date, dumbass. Thought we could get away for a while.” He brushed a strand of your hair back from your face, smoothing over your eyebrow with his thumb. 

“What’d ya have in mind?” You asked, leaning into his touch a fraction. 

“Take a drive, head to one of the lakes in the area, grab a drink after. Things normal couples do.”

You huffed in amusement. “We’re not a normal couple, Lo’.”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, I know. You’re a freak.”

“And you’re not? Mister ‘I can smell your arousal and it gets me going’.” You poked the centre of his chest and he flicked your forehead in retaliation. 

“You up for it?” 

“I get to spend the day away from the kids and visit a super scenic lake with my second favourite mutant in the mansion? Followed by an evening of drinking in a bar? You might as well have asked me to marry you here and now.” 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, we’re n– wait second favourite?”

You nodded, looking at him like the answer was obvious. “Well yeah, Kitty bought me my favourite mug so she reserves favourite person rights.” 

“S’that how it works?”

“Bit slow on the uptake aren’t ya?” Logan pushed you off him, careful not to shove you too hard so you spilt any more coffee on yourself.

“I take it back. We’re gonna spend the day here.” You gasped dramatically, setting your drained mug to the side before trying to cosy back up to him, only for his arm to hold you at bay.

“I lied, I lied! You’re incredibly smart and quick and my favourite person I’ve ever met ever!” You exclaimed through fits of laughter as you tried to fight through the wall of sinewy muscle. 

“Didn’t hear ya. Come again?” He held you off with one hand, the other effortlessly raising his mug of coffee to his lips. It was a testament to his strength how he could keep you back with just one arm.

Maybe metal cable ties weren’t strong enough after all…

You conceded, flopping down onto the pillows next to you, bubbles of laughter still popping from your chest. “When do you wanna leave? What time is it actually?” you asked, taking him by the wrist only to see he wasn’t wearing his watch. Must have taken it off to shower.

“Lemme check, hold on.” Logan leaned down off the bed where the poor alarm clock still lay completely abandoned, retrieving your lamp at the same time and setting them both on the nightstand. “Just gone nine. Leave in an hour? I think it’s roughly three hours by car, but Scott’s bike shaves off at least half an hour so…” He shrugged with a cheeky grin, and you laughed at the mischief in his eyes.

“Gives us around six hours to ourselves, minus the journey. Sounds perfect to me.” Being unable to withstand a lack of physical contact with you for any longer than three minutes, Logan lifted his arm for you again, and you returned to the home you’d built next to his heart.

“We should get out more…” he lamented softly, his hand holding your shoulder, thumb stroking your soft skin beneath the short sleeve of your t-shirt. 

“If we had the time, that would be great.” You sighed, feeling his slight despondency. If only your circumstances had been different, and you were just a normal couple that could do normal couples things. But now, you had to teach younger mutants how not to accidentally kill the wrong people, and how to effectively kill the right people. Not only that, but you had to train to ensure you didn’t accidentally kill yourself in the process.

Fuck’s sake.

A fist knocked at the door three times, and you braced for Kitty to simply let herself in. But the longer the silence after lingered, the surer you became that, whoever was on the other side of the door, wasn’t Kitty.

“Come in!” You called, not making any efforts to obscure either yourself of Logan. The whole mansion knew by now, it wasn’t like you were trying to keep it a secret. The door opened to reveal Ororo, her white hair neatly tied back from her face. 

“Morning! Just wanted to– oh. Hey Logan…” she eyed the two of you suspiciously and you shared a glance with him. The fact he was only dressed in a towel and you in a loose tee and boxer briefs didn’t exactly help your case of innocence. “Right… anyway, I guess this saves me two trips. Xavier has a conference in Connecticut, Jean’s going with him. They’re giving a talk on starting up a new school for both mutants and humans to start coexisting, so you’re both on babysitting duty.”

Your heart sank. “What the hell are you and Scott doing?!” You asked accusingly, sitting up from Logan’s chest. Storm’s brows pinched like she seemed genuinely remorseful this was how things had to be.

“Tying up some loose ends for Kurt and Hank before picking them up. They’ve been away for a while now, but they’re back today. That and Scott has some errands to run, so we’ll be back late.” She explained sheepishly, and you groaned in frustration. The one day off you thought you could have and you’ve been stuck with babysitting.

The gods really like shitting in your dinner, don’t they?

“Alright… but you owe us.” Logan piped up, and you whipped your head to him in exasperation. He read your face instantly. ‘Are we really going to do this?’

‘Like we have a choice.’ he silently communicated back, and he knew you’d understood what he’d said when you sighed heavily, dragging a hand down the side of your face.

“Fucking fine, but Logan’s right, you owe us. And I was wondering where those two had got to, how long’ve they been away?”

Ororo loosened a breath of relief. “Thank you. And next Saturday? All your’s, I promise. As for Kurt and Hank, around a year or so? Xavier sent him off on a private mission not even we knew about until a couple months ago, just before you came back. We’re going to pick them up just to make sure they get here safely.” She didn’t seem too confident about wherever Nightcrawler and Beast had been.

“That dangerous, huh?” As if the mere mention of a dangerous mission set him on edge, Logan’s arm wrapped back around your shoulders protectively. Neither of you had been required for one since your return, and he was honestly dreading the day. 

“Kurt’ll explain more when he gets back I’m sure, but yeah, that dangerous. Hank doesn’t like to go on missions like these, but apparently, Charles needed his diplomatic expertise and Kurt’s quick getaways, so who knows?” Ororo shrugged, before looking pointedly at Logan’s bare chest and then your bare legs. “Do I even wanna know what you guys were up to before I knocked…?”

You laughed, waving off her concerns. “Having a coffee and chatting about the day we did have planned before being landed with babysitting duty, nothing exciting don’t you worry.”

“Unless you wanna talk about the shower…” You shot Logan a scandalised look, mouth and eyes wide in utter shock.

“Ew, no, I’m good, see you later.” Ororo shielded her eyes as she left as if she could unsee the mental image Logan had just planted there. As soon as the door shut you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“What was that for?”

“Did it look like she was gonna leave anytime soon to you?” You took a moment to think about it, and Logan’s expression shifted to self-satisfaction. “Exactly.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. You offered him a little, defeated smile. “Guess our day off will have to wait.”

He leaned forward, tucking you into his side before relaxing back against the headboard. “I’ll take you out soon, ‘kay? Promise.”

“Like, on a date or w–” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before he clapped his hand over your mouth, stopping you midway through.

“Enough. It wasn’t funny the first time, why did you think it would be funny again?” 

You stuck your tongue out to lick his palm, a foolproof method of removing someone’s hand from your mouth. Or, at least it had been foolproof in the past. But you raised your eyes to his face, and he looked at you with disinterest. “Not gonna work, firefly.” 

You adored that nickname. He never explained where it came from or why he started it, but it didn’t matter to you. As long as he never stopped. 

Thick black boots pounded the floorboards as you raced through the hallways of the mansion, vibrations humming up your legs with every step, your breath like fire in your lungs. Shouts and screams echoed in every corner, flashes of torchlight illuminating cones of white against the walls like searchlights. The Professor was away. Why was the Professor always fucking away?

Sliding to a halt as you heard footsteps around the corner, you quickly slipped into the shadows, hushed voices muffled as if underwater as you jumped to the ceiling. Light separated the shadows, and four silhouetted figures walked cautiously beneath you. You could make out the outlines of their guns as the torch shifted before the hallway was again drenched in darkness as they continued their search.

Morphing to the floor, you reformed from the black, stealing a quick glance behind you to where they’d disappeared. There were no students that way, Logan and Scott had made sure of that. The moment Logan had sensed something was off, the evacuation had begun, escorting the students silently from their beds and through the hidden channel behind the panel wall. You knew there were stragglers, but you focused on the knowledge Ororo and Kurt were with them.

How had things gotten so out of hand so goddamn fast? You’d woken up on Logan’s chest this morning feeling like a whole new mutant, comfort wrapped around your heart like an embrace. Now, the opposite couldn’t be more true. You cursed the fact that Jean followed Xavier around like a lost soul. You could really use her help right about now. 

A piercing, shooting pain rushed through your head as you clamped your hands down over your ears, crouching to the floor. Your eardrums throbbed as you recognised that ability, gut knotting at the realisation that Theresa was still inside somewhere, her sonic scream sending waves of agony through your mind before it stopped abruptly. Fuck.

With a new sense of urgency, you sprinted through the entrance hall, taking the stairs two at a time. If you’d been a little more focused on your surroundings and less hellbent on saving the girl, perhaps you would have noticed the line of guns pointed in your direction. One moment you were racing full speed down the first-floor hallway, the next you’d frozen solid as torches flared simultaneously, erasing any easily accessible shadow. You braced, knowing after they “killed” you, they’d turn away and leave you to sink into the darkness and reform. 

But they held fire, your strained pants the only sound in the eerie silence of the bedroom corridor. 

“They were right…” you whipped your head back to the voice behind you, knees bent in anticipation as two figures stepped from the room you knew to be Jubilee’s, and you prayed to whatever sick, twisted gods above that Logan or Scott had got to her first. The torches behind you revealed a man you thought to be in his thirties, a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. He was taller than whoever was next to him and unnaturally thin. “We missed you dearly.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Come again?” You spat, eyes darting between the two.

The man just laughed heartily, opening his arms as if offering you a hug. “Of course, how could I be so rude? I’ve read the reports… Subject Five, if you could be so kind.”

Panic surged through your body as Subject Five stepped forward, a golden glow emanating from beneath its clothes. Your eyes closed instinctively as the hallway lit up as though the sun had risen, your hands flying to shield your face. 

“That’s a bit better. You look good, Eight, but you always were the resilient one.” You were barely listening, still caught up in the dawning revelation that you knew that mutation. You’d know that mutation anywhere. “We’re here to take you home. Subject One isn’t here, sadly, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to take my word for it, but we really have missed you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you managed to grit, your eyes adjusting to the light as you cracked them open a little.

“I have to say, when I received word you were a teacher now, it almost made me laugh. You hated kids! Why on earth would you surround yourself with them? But then it dawned on me. A mutant school. If only my great-grandfather had thought of that at the start.” He continued as if you were engaging in nothing but a pleasant conversation in the park.

“Ya know, for someone who talks so much, you really are saying very little.” you quipped, finding a nugget of solace in the fact that this man didn’t want you dead, at least as far as you could tell. “Let’s start with introductions, yeah?”

He chuckled again. “You’re absolutely right. My name is Doctor Kreva. This man here, why you should already know him, even without Subject One to help out.” he was almost condescending in his tone, and you hated the fact he was right. You did know the mutant. And your heart bled for him. What the fuck was he doing here? Why was he raiding the school with this chucklefuck?

“Means nothing to me. The fuck do you want?” you snarled, to his further amusement.

“Were you not listening, darling? We want to take you home. My father was so stupid for letting you go,” it was the first emotion you’d seen on his face beyond sadistic joy. His eyes filled with frustrated hatred. “He never had the stomach for science. And after Seven somehow managed to kill my mother, a problem you so kindly took care of, he started to pity you all.” He spat like the word was venomous before he took a breath of collection. “Seven years it’s taken to track you all down and rebuild what he destroyed. Seven long years. But we’re nearly there. All we’re waiting for is you.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. Seven years ago, you and Jade were picked up by Jean and Ororo on the side of that highway. How could he possibly know any of this? “You got the wrong gal, sorry bub.” Oh, you’d been spending way too much time with Logan. Dr. Kreva sighed, holding out his hand expectantly. Like a king’s attendance, one of the guards stepped up from behind you, making sure to keep his shadow far from your reach, before he slung a heavy pack from his shoulder, dropping it into Kreva’s waiting hand. 

The doctor took a knee, removing one of the thickest folder’s you think you’d ever seen, and holding it up. It was old. Incredibly old. Whatever colour it had been originally had faded to a pale grey, the edges frayed and splitting. He placed it on the floor face up, and your eyes caught sight of a label, though it was too far away for you to read accurately. 

“Everything you think you know is a lie, Phantom. Didn’t you think it strange your memories are jumbled? Important moments of your life scrambled or forgotten. Loose ends never tied, arguments never resolved? But this, this holds everything. Your entire life, in one folder. All eighty-two years you were with us.”

You scrunched your face, slightly offended. “I’m thirty-two, asshole.” You spat back, your skin starting to burn under such intense lighting, those threads in your body begging to be released into the shadows to escape. 

“So that’s the age he decided before releasing you. Interesting. Well, I’ll have Subject One rectify that when you’re back with us. Tranq her. Now. Subject Three, begin evacuation.” Before you could even turn around to defend yourself, a sharp pain spiked the side of your neck. You froze, blood draining from your face as you realised you’d been pierced with a needle. Heartbeat rising, you fought the urge to throw up. You didn’t know where your fear stemmed from, but you assumed it was when you were taken for blood tests as a child.

If… if that even happened. Because if you were to believe anything this dickwad said, maybe you didn’t even have a childhood. 

Your vision started to swim, and you angrily blinked the grogginess away. “Rowan… wh– what’re y– what’re you doing…?” You could barely finish the sentence as the tranquiliser entered your bloodstream, taking quick effect on your mind as you struggled to stay upright, your knees buckling as you threw your arms out to catch yourself. Shadows. You needed a shadow. But there was nothing to morph into. Nothing you could reach to rid yourself of this feeling. Everything became muffled, as if you were underwater, only barely able to hear a gut-wrenching roar before your vision went dark, and you were out cold. 

Logan raced up the stairs, fury pumping through his blood. He’d been looking everywhere for you, crashing through doorways and slicing through skin and muscle to find you. Hank had mentioned he’d seen you sprinting toward Theresa’s room after she’d screamed, and he didn’t wait to hear the rest of what he’d said before he took off at a run. He crested the first flight just in time to see three figures halfway down the lit hallway, obscuring your unconscious body. He didn’t even take a minute to acknowledge the light was emanating from the figure on the right, rather than the lights themselves. The man in the centre turned just as Logan bellowed a cry of pure, unadulterated rage, offering him a curious tilt of his head before the one one the left took hold of each other their shoulders, and they disappeared before his eyes.

He didn’t care. They were gone and you remained. That was all that mattered. Racing to your side, he saw the cause of your condition, pulling the tranquiliser out from your neck and cautiously lifting you into his lap, checking your pulse just to be sure. 

You were alive. Your heart was still beating. He almost shook with relief. 

“It’s okay, I got you firefly, I got you.” He soothed, brushing your hair back and cradling you against his chest. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

“Logan?” He turned his head back down the hallway, heightened sight able to make out Kurt and Scott by the stairs, Kurt wringing his hands with worry. “Is she–”

“She’s fine, just out cold. Theresa’s still in her room if you wanna make sure she’d okay.” He gestured to the room a few doors down, and Kurt jogged passed him, pausing as he saw the file on the ground. 

His eyes widened slightly, gaze flickering from the file name to your unconscious form, then back again, before looking at Logan. Crouching down, he flipped the folder so it was facing him, before continuing to Theresa’s room.

Logan froze as he read the scrawled, ink-smudged handwriting on the front of the file, his blood turning to ice in his veins. 

NLMO. Subject Eight. “Phantom���.

Logan paced as he waited outside the med-bay, chewing at the cuticles of his thumb. Scott, Jean and Charles were having a heated debate in the room to his right, he could hear raised voices even with the doors closed. Ororo and Kurt had chosen to wait with him, Kurt crouched against the wall opposite and Ororo fixed her hair every two minutes. A nervous twitch, he noticed.

Since Jean was currently held up in the furious discussion, Hank had offered to perform the routine checkups on all the mutants they’d managed to tranquilise, yourself included. It had been four hours since the attack, and he still hadn’t shown his blue furry face. Then again, there were quite a few students who’d been targeted, not just you. 

The meeting to his right went quiet before the doors slid open and Scott stormed out, a face like thunder. Logan couldn’t blame him, he had his own anger on a tight leash, simmering just below the surface. What the fuck was going on? Who the hell were you? Did Charles know about this? Did Jean? Was that why she’d been so strange lately after the training incident? The idea of the two of them knowing and not telling anyone made him want to tear apart the whole fucking mansion, and it seemed Scott was on the same wavelength as him for once. 

“Scott wait!” Jean called after him, running after the furious man, but not before casting Logan a cautious glance. He just glared at her in response, before she hurried to catch up with Scott.

“You should have told me, Jean. I’m supposed to lead this goddamn team, how can I do that without knowing who I’m dealing with. No wonder she can’t control her fucking mutation, and I’ve been made to look like a monster for wanting the situation sorted when you knew about this the whole time!” He heard Scott rage, and it was the first time he’d actually heard him raise his voice to her. It would have almost been refreshing if he hadn’t just answered one of Logan’s most burning questions. 

She did know about it. Oh, he was going to have a little chat with her later about that. 

There was a beat before Charles wheeled from the room, his face a grim picture. He loosened a breath upon seeing the three of them still waiting, his eyes lingering on Logan, the file held in his lap. Logan grit his teeth.

“Did you know?” Was all he asked, and Charles said nothing, moving his gaze to the med-bay doors. That just pissed him off further. “Did. You. Know?” he spat every word like venom, balling his fists in an attempt to keep his anger in check. 

“Yes,” Charles replied softly, as if speaking any louder would set him off. But Logan didn’t need him to raise his voice. That was all he needed to hear for his trust in the Professor to shatter completely. “Some memories are better off forgotten, Logan. You of all people know that.”

“Not her entire life!” He clamoured, causing both Ororo and Kurt to jump a little in surprise. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t their fault. They were as in the dark as the rest of the team. Except, it seemed, team telekinesis. “What’s in that folder, Charles? And tell me honestly. No more bullshit.” He seethed, though, to his subconscious surprise, Xavier held the file out to him. 

“That’s for you to find out. If you wish. But I’ll warn you, Logan. Nothing in that file is good. Nothing is happy. Everything that’s happened to her in the last eighty years or so.” He explained sombrely, and Logan didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. Eighty years? How was that possible? You were thirty-two. You’d said so yourself. None of this made any goddamn sense. How could you just forget the fact you’d lived at least eighty years of your life? As if Charles had read his mind, which he most likely had, he spoke up again. “A powerful mutant with a focus on memory altering known as Subject One, or Obscurity. From what I could gather, he could alter and re-alter memories, planting ones that never existed and pushing those that deep to the farthest reaches of their minds. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best they had at the time.”

The best they had? The best they had? Logan wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably someone bald and in a wheelchair. But he refrained himself when the doors behind him whooshed open, and Hank stepped through. 

“All stable. Took a little longer than I thought it would. I think Jones will be out for another few hours, maybe a day or so. The poor little guy barely sleeps as it is, so a tranq knocked him for six.” Hank explained before sensing the tension in the room. Logan said nothing, almost knocking Beast to the ground as he breezed past him, uncaring as he was once again greeted by yet another sight of you lying unconscious on a metal table.

This was becoming a bad habit of yours.

“She should wake within the hour. The tranqs weren’t too strong, only designed for short knockouts rather than extended periods of unconscious.” Logan was barely listening, his heart clenching as you slept peacefully, hooked up to another fucking machine. How many of these have you been hooked up to in your life? How many other machines have you been monitored on? Was that how you received the scars? Or had that part of your story been true? Did you know anything about this? Or had you been lying to him the whole fucking time?

He had too many questions for you, but he knew how he could answer them. He extended a hand behind him. “Hand me the file.”

“Logan, you should–”

“Hand me the fucking file.” His arm shook impatiently, and there was a beat before Ororo took the folder from Charles and placed it in his waiting hand. Christ, it was hefty. Though, he supposed there was eighty years worth of information within its pages. Storm hovered next to him, sparing him a worried glance as he opened the first page. 

Well, any hope that it was another Phantom was quickly dashed as the faded type described you perfectly. From the texture of your hair and the colour of your eyes to the size of your feet and the length of your legs. His heart caught in his throat as he flipped a few pages, hearing Ororo’s gasp of horror next to him.

4th September. 1932 Ex.3 – 12 pm - 9 am. Deprivation / Indulgence Subject 8. “Phantom” / Subject 5. “Solaris” Observer: Doctor R. Kreva.

Removed all objects from Sub.8’s and Sub.5’s observation chambers, and installed flood lighting on all surfaces. Sustain peak lighting in both chambers for 24 hours and record findings. Since 8 and 5 have similar DNA, they have both been selected for this experiment. Their mutations, whilst similar, are opposites. Two sides of the same coin. Will repeat experiment with darkness at a later date. 

Hour 1 – No change in any subjects. Sub.5 seems extremely content with the change of atmosphere, it’s skin emits some kind of glow similar in colour and frequency to the light around. 

Hour 2 – Still no notable changes. Sub.8 raised its head to look around the chamber, perhaps seeking refuge from the light. Only movement in the last two hours.

Hour 5 – Sub.8’s behaviour has become noticeably erratic, its eyes flickering all around the room, has yet to make a move. Sub.5 has remarkably begun creating its own lights, I have included a sketch of my findings below.

Hour 8 – Due to the lack of shadows, Sub.8’s movements have become peculiar. At times, fast and frantic, searching the room for refuge, whereas other times it would be slow and sluggish, barely able to lifts its head to look around. 

Hour 10 – Much the same as Sub.8 in the dark, Sub.5 had disappeared completely. We can only assume, due to the similarity in their DNA, that Sub.5’s body has disintegrated into the light. Sub.8’s vitals are spiking and dipping seemingly randomly. Its body lags when it moves, almost glitching into shadow with every movement. Is this the molecules trying to release?

Hour 17 – Sub.5 has returned, its hair is now elevated above its head and its eyes no longer resemble that of a human’s. Where there should be an iris and pupil, there is now nothing but smouldering light. Sub.8 has begun writhing, parts of its body disintegrating and reforming where it lies. Is it in pain? 

Hour 19 – Sub.8 has started to scream. It’s interesting. With every breath, its entire body shudders as if trying to phase through the fabric of light itself, like Sub.5 can do. Its fingers bleed from frantically clawing at the ground and blood is leaking from its nose. Will need a cleaning crew in hereafter. In contrast, Sub.5 Is now levitating approx. 5 inches from the ground. 

Hour 20 – Sub.8’s condition has rapidly declined in the last hour, its skin seems to have veins of black spiderwebbing across its face, hands and feet. Must make notes to strip both subjects next experiment, but for now I must assume this continues across its body. 

Hour 21 – Sub.8 has ceased all activity and now lies motionless. Vitals have dropped well below human sustainability, heart rate of 20 BPM, and blood pressure of 90/60 mmHg. How is it still alive? Sub.5 has begun wielding the light from its body. It seems as surprised by this as I am. It has been able to form duplicates of itself, objects, and what could be interpreted as a pair of wings. Could Sub.8 be capable of such things?

End of Hour 21 – Leaving the lights on for 24 hours would most likely be the death of Sub.8. With the slow decrease of light intensity, Sub.5 settled back to the floor, its eyes dimming before returning to what we shall now call the default state. Sub.8 remained motionless for another 2 minutes and 42 seconds before their body disintegrated. Interestingly, it couldn’t disappear before the lights were off completely. Saved footage of Sub.8’s disappearance, the infra-red camera pinpointing the moment its body broke apart. Fascinating. Placed them both back into the observation house, and monitored them for the next few days. Sub.5 is already up and around, behaving regularly. Sub.8 still rests in bed. How will this affect its interactions with other subjects?

Ex. Duration: 21 HOURS Ex. Outcome: Success Findings: See above. Memory erased: Last 21 hours Replacement memory: Cooking lesson, NLMO bonding Comments: Must remember to use the same memory for Subjects 2,3,4,6 and 7

Logan felt sick, bile rising in his throat as he blew out a shaky breath, checking the date three times to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Ororo whimpered a small sob next to him, her eyes scanning the page, her hand covering her mouth in utter devastation. Kurt looked between the two of them, not knowing if he wanted to be involved in whatever horrors lay within that folder. 

He couldn’t stop reading, some pages had notes about the life they made you believe you were living, a simulation world with the other seven, not dissimilar to the danger room. Only, every time you ‘went out on an errand’, or ‘went to work’, it was just a replacement memory for when they pulled you out for experimentations. Those were the pages that had shattered his very soul. What they did to you… How could they have been getting away with this for so long?

He continued flicking through, thumbing stacks of pages at a time before he settled on a less faded sheet, dated much more recently. He only read the first line before Ororo looked away, her head in her hands, Kurt bamfing next to her to hold her as she sobbed.

22nd September. 2008 Ex.1,243 6 pm-6:50 pm Pain Tolerance / Resilience Subject 8. “Phantom” Observer: Dr. J. Kreva

It has been noted that Sub.8’s tolerance for pain is exceptionally high. It can easily disappear with surface-level wounds and reappear as good as new. I want to test its durability to its limits and discover how deep we can wound it before we start leaving scars. In order to accomplish this without endangering Sub.8’s life, it will be stripped of clothing and strapped to the operating table and I have given us ten-minute windows. Using the same light-flooded room as Ex.3, a team will be entering the room with various appliances, following the strict instructions of careful harming, before leaving for the lights to be shut off. Sub.8 has been known to fight back, unlike its counterpart Sub.5, and we have lost good people to its unpredictability. So we will be using Sub.5 as a bargaining chip. It has been noted these two have some kind of relationship similar to that we would typically see in siblings. If Sub.8 refuses to cooperate, the team has permission to harm Sub.5 to whatever they deem necessary.

Each ten-minute window will be referred to as a cycle, due to the nature of the lighting we are implementing here. 

Under no circumstances should either Subject be killed.

Cycle 1 – Team TS8 managed to coerce Sub.8 onto the table, strapping it down with efficiency. It has yet to fight back, but it has noticed Sub.5 in the corner. It likely knows the terms already. A small cut has been made on its left arm, with no visible response from Sub.8, however, Sub.5 flinched. Interesting. Team TS8 left the room, lights still on. Nothing to note, Sub.8 disappeared and reappeared with the lightning, with no sign of the small cut. Though it is no longer strapped to the table. I am glad we brought along Sub.5. After seeing its capabilities in the mirrored experiment of Ex.3 (please see Ex.4), Sub.5 will be an excellent bargaining chip to ensure those abilities are not put to use.

Cycle 2 – Team TS8 has already threatened to harm Sub.5 to get Sub.8 to cooperate. Nothing physical yet, only threats. It understood and climbed onto the table itself, allowing itself to be strapped down again. It has said nothing in these moments, simply stared. Due to our already collected knowledge and the two-hour time limit on this experiment, I have had to jump a few levels of pain. I have provided Team TS8 with a conical flask of concentrated hydrochloric acid. It seems the jump was necessary, Sub.8 reacted with subdued screams and desperate tugging on restraints. With the skin tissue of its right calf burned away, I can see its muscular system is almost identical to our own, tendons working in the same way. Though this is no groundbreaking discovery, it is still important to note. Team TS8 left the room along with Sub.5, who seemed reluctant. Sub.8’s breathing is erratic, and it claws at the table in a similar way it did during Ex.3. Does this have any practical benefit or is this simply to ease the pain? It disappears once again along with the lights, a burn scar remains on its leg when it returns.

Cycle 3 – Sub.5 had to be harmed. I didn’t want it to come to this, but Sub.8 wasn’t cooperating as well as I hoped it would. We removed Sub.8 and Team TS8 from the room and turned out the lights. Sub.8 thrashed against restraints as it watched Sub.5 be beaten from behind the door. It agreed to continue swiftly after. Sub.5’s wounds healed as the lights returned. Their bond is a fascinating one, and one I would like to explore further. Sub.8’s Trypanophobia has been noted in its records, having an extreme reaction to the sight of needles. I have provided Team TS8 with various sizes of serrated needles with a diagram of its body. The idea was to see whether Sub.8’s mutation could remove things from its body by disappearing and reforming, or whether obstructions could prevent this. Sub.8 seems panicked by the sight of needles, surely triggering its trypanophobia. Once again it thrashes on the table with each insertion, though it only cried out when pierced in the side of its neck and its inner thigh. Perhaps these are somewhat erogenous zones? Or particularly sensitive places? I will have to make comparisons to Sub.5. Team TS8 left along with Sub.5, who seems to be doing very little to stop the process, though is exhibiting signs of great discomfort. Once again, Sub.8 disappears along with the lights, and interestingly, the needles are left behind on the bed, along with copious amounts of its blood. Not sure the cleanup crew could get those stains out. 

A sob wracked from Storm behind him, though Logan couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away. They exploited your fears and used you to record responses for their sick, twisted gain. He grit his teeth, his jaw threatening to crack as his eyes continue to scan the page. 

Cycle 4 – We have recorded Sub.8’s behaviour on the brink of death in Ex.3, however it was due to lack of shadow. There were no threats necessary to encourage Sub.8 back onto the bed, the needles having been carefully removed. The next stage is incredibly simple. Team TS8 sliced through each radial artery on either side of Sub.8’s wrists. I am not a man easily haunted by much, however I do believe Sub.5’s scream will live in my memory for quite some time. I have made sure to set the cutting of the lights long before Sub.8 has time to bleed out. Sub.5 had to be dragged from the room, however, I can observe Sub.8’s body performing the same motions as it was in Ex.3 around hour 19, however, there is a complete lack of vocal response. Its body keeps attempting to disappear, though it has nothing to dissolve into. It’s fascinating to watch, parts of its limbs shimmering jet black before settling again. It’s like the molecules want to disperse. The lights have dimmed far quicker than the last three times. Sub.8 has not moved from the table. It has not disappeared at all, but it is simply lying in wait. Does it wait to die? Perhaps we underestimated its resolve. I have sent Team TS8 back into the dark room, a knife held against Sub.5’s throat. If it doesn’t dissolve, I have instructed them to make a small incision against Sub.5’s neck. It didn’t need to get that far, Sub.8 saw the consequences and immediately dissolved, though it took far longer for it to return. Perhaps the more severe the wound, the longer it takes to reknit the body back together. Will have to perform further experimentation on this. Two more scars have reformed on either wrist. Interesting. Will need to inspect needle incisions later.

Cycle 5 – It’s dead. I’m certain. Due to the ignorance and fear of man, I have lost one of my most valuable subjects. A terrified guard shot it in the chest several times and burst into the experiment. He didn’t exactly aim for it, but rather for Sub.5. It seems the bond between 5 and 8 ran deeper than even I could comprehend, 8 didn’t think twice about putting itself between the guard, taking several bullets to the chest. Four, to be exact, before he was apprehended. I couldn’t get the lights off fast enough, having to override the system I’d set specifically for this experiment. I wasn’t fast enough, and 8 suffered for it. It’s been here for the last 80 years, and one man ruined everything. Its body is still in the room. I haven’t found the heart to move it yet. Sub.5’s memory of the incident has been erased by Sub.1 once again, and replaced with a severe argument between it and 8, resulting in 8 leaving. I will most likely be dead before I find a subject as valuable for mutant research as Phantom. 

Ex. Duration: 50 MINUTES Ex. Outcome: Failure (subject fatality) Findings: I fear Mutants and Humans can never coexist Memory Erased: Experiment above, Sub.8’s death (for Sub.5 only) Memory Replacement: Severe argument. Comments: A devastating turn of events

Logan swallowed as he reached the bottom of the page. Was that how you escaped? Was that how you got out? They thought you were dead only for you to be able to heal from bullet wounds? Did you slip through the shadows? It took him a moment to think it over. No, that wasn't possible. The dates didn't add up. He turned the page over, seeing further notes scrawled on the back in pen rather than type.

22nd September, Ex.1,243 – Continuation. 1932, 11:42 pm.

The body has disappeared. I have kept the lights off since the incident at 6:50 and made the mistake of closing my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them again, Sub.8 had disappeared. I sealed the doors immediately, hoping this meant it had somehow found the strength to dissolve back into shadow. Looking into the infrared camera, I have noticed the projectiles of bullets scattered where Sub.8 had fallen. Does this mean it’s recovering? Is it possible for it to recover from four bullet wounds to the centre of its chest? 

12:08 am

Sub.8 has returned. Remarkable. Though there are clear scars on its chest and wrists, it seems to have almost completely healed from the incident. This is a staggering discovery. Will need to alter Sub.5’s memory once again.

Logan dropped the file, pages still spread apart as he took a step back. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. What you’d endured, what you’d suffered. The scars that remained. You were right, what you’d said this morning. Mental scars leave the same marks as physical ones. Your body had altered to the memories they’d forced into your mind. They couldn’t remove the scars, so they made you think you’d attempted to take your own life. Made you think you remembered getting into fights as a kid. He knew what mutant experimentation was like. He’d had a firsthand experience. But this was on a whole other level. What the fuck was this all for? 

Now Charles’ words made sense. Some memories were left forgotten. He glanced back to the Professor, who nodded grimly as if to confirm all he’d seen. “My first act as headmaster of this school is to tap into the minds and memories of its students and teachers. Logan, trust me when I say, some things are better left in the past.”

He didn’t know what was right or wrong. Keeping this from you felt wrong but at the same time, you were happy with what you had. Was it already too late? Was that glasses-wearing motherfucker Dr. J. Kreva? How much had he told you? How much did you know?

“They were looking for her, weren’t they?” It was the first phrase he’d spoken since reading the file, pieces of your puzzle clicking into place. Charles simply nodded again. 

“It’s not safe for her to be here anymore. For the students and her. They know where to find her now.”

“Then what to we do?” Ororo asked through heavy sniffles, teary eyes looking between you and the Professor. 

“We take her off grid,” Hank said, setting down his glasses. He’d picked them up to read whatever was in that folder but quickly decided against it after seeing Storm’s reaction.

“But we can’t do that without good reason?” Kurt chimed in, casting worried glances around the room.

“Two years ago, I received signals from an environmental research facility we all believed to have been destroyed in a freak accident seven years prior. I sent Jean and Storm to assess the situation after the explosion, and that’s–”

“That’s where we found her and Jade… Oh my God, that was the site?” Ororo finished, her voice dripping with dread. “But… how did they escape? What happened?”

Charles sighed with resignation. “We don’t know. It would take searching her locked memories and risk pulling them to the surface to answer that question, and that wasn’t a gamble I was going to bet on, not after what I’d glimpsed in the past.”

Logan could barely hear any of this. His ears were ringing, white noise clouding his senses as he just stared at you. Your whole life had been a lie. A jumble of nonsense knitted into your memories by another mutant, reality locked away within the darkest depths of your head. He didn’t know what to do. His urge to protect you from this new threat fought with the urge to protect you from your own past. 

“The decision should be hers.” He interrupted the ongoing conversation, moving to take your hand and press a kiss to the scar on your wrist. “Whether she remembers or not. Explain to her what you said to me, and let her decide.” It was the only course of action he could see. The room fell into silence, all contemplating the suggestion before Charles moved forward to the file on the ground, picking it up and closing it. 

“Wherever you take her, wherever you hide her, take this with you. You can’t tell me where you’re going, and I won’t search for you. The less people who know, the better.” He instructed, and Logan nodded, setting the folder to the side. “When she wakes up, we’ll–”

“When she wakes up, you’ll what?” 

The room had been too caught up in their conversations to notice you stirring from your tranquiliser-induced nap. “You know, I seem to spend a concerning amount of my time unconscious these days.” You sat up slowly, the heel of your palm braced against your forehead as if to help the slight pounding at your temples. 

Logan was at your side in a single stride, his hands cupping the sides of your face delicately, as if holding you any tighter would cause you to break. Your relieved smile when you saw him broke his heart. “Hey Lo’.” 

Though that smile faded as he didn’t return it, his eyes brimming with an emotion your groggy head couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He responded, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, and it was as if that was all you needed for your headache to fade. You held one of his palms against your cheek, leaning into his touch.

“How long was I out?”

“Around four hours or so. You feelin’ okay?” Concern. That was the emotion you couldn’t pinpoint a moment ago. Concern and… heartbreak?

“Yeah… ‘m fine. Who died?” You asked, trepidation lacing your tone as you stole glances at the others in the room. Ororo had tears in her eyes, Kurt’s arm still wrapped around her shoulders in comfort. Hank looked more bleak than you’d ever seen him, his hands clasped together as if in mourning. You continued scanning the room, Charles offering you a look of sympathy before your eyes landed on the folder Logan had set down. It was like a trigger had been fired in your brain, hazy memories of before you fell unconscious rushing back to you in one big hurricane.

“Oh.” Was all you could say, and Logan wrapped his arms around your head in response, smoothing gently touches against your hair as you basked in the comfort of his embrace.

“How much do you know?”

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

Heisei/Reiwa Kamen Rider Bike Riding Time research

Hello there! Does anyone remember from a little while back when this image was going around?

For a while, at least in fan communities I frequented; this was quite infamous for showing just how sharp a decline Kamen Rider's namesake had become in the last few years, with the absolute nadir of the Heisei 20th anniversary Kamen Rider using his bike for a total of 47 seconds (and also, on the other end; just how much Kuuga would not get off his bike)

Obviously, it's been a few years since Saber now; and I've found myself wondering from time to time exactly how the Riders since then have fared, especially since both Geats and Gotchard have garnered a reputation of sorts for putting a bit more emphasis on the bikes and feeling like they have more screentime than your Zero-Ones and your Sabers.

So! I went looking and found the source. This extremely dedicated Japanese poster called Yamashita Radio who of course I will be basing the majority of this on, including his rules and his counting. And when I say 'dedicated' I mean that at one point he lost all his data so he just counted Kuuga through Saber all over again. MAD respect for this man! I highly recommend a full readthrough of this 5-part post at one point because it's very impressive and interesting stuff in my opinion

One other interesting point is that that chart there? That's main rider only; and also includes any riding they did as civilians. There is a separate chart for all motorbike riding in the show as a whole; including other riders, including monsters, including even just random civilians! For posterity, I think it's important to post that chart for comparison with the main rider one -- I've colour coded here so that red is Heisei 1 (Kuuga-Decade), green is Heisei 2 (W-Zi-O) and yellow is Reiwa (Zero-One onwards). Main rider only on the left, all biking on the right.

Up front there are some absolutely fascinating observations to make here - Zero-One had the least bike scenes of any show! Brand new era of Kamen Rider! - but I think I've talked about the past enough. With all this said and what I feel is a very important plug to make, let's get into the meat of this -- how do Revice, Geats and Gotchard compare to previous shows?

Rules

... okay, yeah, sure; let's quickly establish a baseline first. As I'm going off of Yamashita's work, I'm also going by all his rules; it's a good thing I agree with all of them because I kinda didn't want to completely redo the count of every season!

TV Show ONLY! No movies, no TTFC specials, no HBVs, no V-Cinema, none of it. The main reason given is that, uh, Paradise Lost has a 100+ bike scene near the start so that's too much of an advantage -- fair enough! Personally I also think it's more interesting, because movies generally have more budget and allowances for bike scenes so those tend to be the same. Maybe a separate count would still be interesting, but I think including movies would flatten out the times too much and make the data pretty uninteresting

No openings! Agito has too much of an advantage

Non-transformed states count the same as transformed states. Godai riding a bike is the same as Kuuga riding a bike.

All motorcycles are treated equally! Mopeds and even CG scenes and bikes are allowed

Other vehicles such as cars, trains and even bicycles and hoverbikes are excluded. Two big exceptions are made for Drive and Revice as they do not have a main motorbike otherwise, but this does exclude things like Gaim's Dandeliner, many of the Oni in Hibiki's transport vehicles, Den-O's Den-Liner, Gotchard's Steamliner and Madwheel and Decade's Agito Slider

Transformations of the bike still count as long as it's being ridden. The Boostriker turns into fox mode while you're riding it? That's fair game

Flashbacks and other repeat footage ("previously on" segments etc) don't count of course. But in cases where it's clearly stock footage but it's still a new event, like the many Ryuki Rideshooter scenes, that's still counted

Count from the moment the bike is straddled to the moment the bike is gotten off, and everything in between. Scenes where the bike isn't technically visible - such as close-ups of the rider's face, or cutting to another character's reaction - are still counted if it's all the same scene

Revice

3m21s (2m23s for Revi only)

Oh lucky me, this was actually done for me! Yamashita made a small update after Revice finished to add this. I just went over and double checked it.

At 3m21s, Revice is at this point the series with the 2nd least amount of bike riding; above Zero-One and below Zi-O. For Revi alone he's in 3rd least; above Zero-One and below Saber. Happy 50th anniversary!

An interesting note here is that Ikki never rides Vice Ptera untransformed -- concerns over the actor's safety, maybe? Daiji also pulls in 58 seconds for the show on his own motorbike, but abandons it completely after episode 13; only bringing it back for the summer movie (which is also the only place he rode it as Live). Interestingly, the 12 seconds he rides it with Sakura in episode 13 is the only time he uses it in the show after becoming a Rider. The skateboarding scene in episode 7 for Jackal Form goes on for over a minute, but unfortunately can't count for this...

I think most people expected Revice to place quite low, though. So let's move on to a show I think a lot of people expect to place higher.

Geats

4m05s (3m45s for Geats only)

I keep repeating it, but this is a show where it seemed a lot of people got the impression of the bike having more importance than before. I think there's a lot of aspects that come together into that -- the bike being tied to a specific 'special' item that's even part of the main rider's main form, the upgrade forms going off of that, and the bike being used in prominent scenes including in the first episode. Geats even arrives on it in his Revice summer movie cameo!

But ultimately if you look at riding time, Geats ends up in 3rd place for overall bike time; above Revice and below Zi-O, while for main rider only Ace ends up in 5th last; above Saber and below Decade. As such he ends up being the main Reiwa Rider to use his bike the most.

This is where I started splitting main rider and untransformed rider in my personal tracking charts, just for fun -- I actually couldn't do that for Revice because as said Ikki never rides anything untransformed except his bicycle. Until episode 11 Ace actually just slightly edged out Geats for having more bike time which was enjoyable to see.

A very interesting thing happens in regards to the Boostriker's transformed state. I decided not to include finishers involving it unless the Rider is specifically riding it -- and the one and only one to do so was Buffa in episode 6, accounting for every single second he rode the machine. He had a penchant for using the buckles' weapons in ways he wasn't supposed to, and he kept up that rule even when the 'weapon' was a bike.

Geats spends a decent amount of time in the final episode sitting on his bike while talking to Regad and the other Riders, and that really saved the show's overall times.

Gotchard

5m09s (2m32s for Gotchard alone)

According to production blogs, Gotchard had a stated aim of using the bike more. Unfortunately it seems this didn't manifest itself in a very major way... but I think we did see more interesting uses of it! Spanner has his own bike (that like Daiji, he never rides transformed!), there's a version of Golddash from the future, other characters including Golddash itself ride rather than Hotaro at multiple points!

For 'others', the 3 seconds in Episode 2 is when Minato rolls up to deliver Golddash to Hotaro personally. Episode 9's 5 seconds have Renge (with Sabimaru in the back) riding it to deliver Hotaro's cards to him in Kyoto.

Spanner shockingly saved the series' overall time here in a similar way to final episode Ace, by sitting on his for an extended period of time during his conversation with Lachesis at the start of episode 47.

While it's not a very long scene nor did it change anything for the rankings, the bike scene in the final episode that just aired is notable for an extremely rare instance of a Rider Machine being ridden by a Kamen Rider's final form. To my knowledge this has previously only been done by Agito, Den-O and Revice (the latter in a movie). Fittingly for a show where part of the direction was inspired by Agito, both Agito and Gotchard do this Final Form bike scene in their final episodes.

And now, for the final count...

Gotchard ended up in 21st for overall bike time between Zi-O and Saber, but this was largely due to other characters; so Hotaro alone ended up in 22nd between Revice and Saber.

Overall we're now 5 shows in instead of 2, we can indeed see a very large dropoff in the Reiwa Era -- including Zi-O, the most recent 6 shows are all at the bottom of the list. This is especially notable when The next most recent series, Build, had 12m31s; almost double that of Saber's -- and this wasn't uncommon, with Ghost and Ex-Aid sharing similar times.

This was the main thrust of my research... but what say we go on a little addendum? Because when I mentioned Yamashita updated his post to include Revice in 2022, there was... one other series he saw fit to do a count for. One that was only halfway through, but nonetheless saw an impressive amount of bike riding time. He only got halfway, but what say I finish the job out of pure interest?

It is "Avataro Sentai Donbrothers"

The extremely normal 2022 entry into the Super Sentai series has a number of bike scenes. Some you may expect from Don Momotaro riding his CGI Enyarideon on his Palanquin for much of the first cour. Some of you might say that CGI shouldn't count, it's easy enough to animate together a scene than deal with road laws and such -- but does Kijibrother not count? Does Inubrother not count? Do none of the mech scenes count? It's a festival, people. Let's enjoy it.

Even aside from the CGI, Yamashita noted halfway through the show; that can't quite account for everything else. Sonoi has a bike he rides in multiple episodes, every time with a wheelie. Inuzuka twice within 4 episodes steals a bike and almost runs people over with it, as is perfectly fine for a hero. Don Kaito shows up with his own motorbike to promote his new book, which you should buy. For a show where it's not even in the name and for recent Sentai, there's an awful lot of riding going on.

Yamashita in his post speculates that part of this is Inoue's own habits -- as a man whose Toku experience largely consists of regularly writing for Kamen Rider in the 00s, it's natural to expect he would be inclined to write something like "Inubrother escapes the scene on a motorcycle..." as if it was second nature; as if that's nothing special for a modern show.

And I would be inclined to believe that... as such a habit is something that would likely get ironed out after a while; and sure enough, while bike scenes are frequent for the first half of the show, they disappear entirely from episode 23 to 43. It is at this point in my own count I thought we would simply never see a large bike scene from the show again, and the sheer fun of counting up Donbrothers would be lost.

And then... he appeared.

My saviour from the future.

With a full uninterrupted 1 minute 15 second bike scene

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I remembered the future episode but I had completely forgotten this was a part of it. When I started timing this episode I was leaving the house fairly shortly and I figured like the past 20 episodes this would be easy enough to count, and I was utterly bewildered. I should never have disbelieved for a moment.

With all that said... where does Donbrothers end up in full?

7m21s (4m23s for Don Momotaro alone)

This overwhelming record easily puts both Donbrothers and Don Momotaro in 20th place of their respective charts; beating all Reiwa Riders and Zi-O -- with Don Momotaro even coming close to dethroning Kamen Rider Decade's riding time!

This is where we stand, my companions. In an era where Kamen Rider's biking time is lower than ever before and shows no sign of significant recovery, Donbrothers swoops in to steal its glory. Never lose faith. The festival never ends

[jobean12-blog]

That's the Way Love Grows

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Beefy!Plant dad!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 1,687

Summary: You and Bucky have your first official date this weekend but he can't wait to see you so he shows up at your apartment on his bike...a dream come true.

Author's Note: Missed him so I wanted to write a little something with plant!dad Bucky again! Hope you all enjoy! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰 You can see the shirt he is wearing HERE.

This is part of my plant!dad Bucky AU. It can be read alone but here are the first two stories for him:

Rooted in Love

Love in Bloom

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff and plant talk

‘Hey doll face. What are you doin’ right now?’

The moment you see his name your whole face lights up just like the screen of your phone.

‘Just being lazy.’  You reply and send him silly emoji’s to go along with your text.

‘Well….’

The next message comes through and you wait, staring at the text bubbles for what feels like an eternity.

‘I’m outside your building.’

You drop your phone and run to the window, pushing the curtain aside and looking through the glass.

He’s leaning against his motorcycle, long legs crossed over the ankle and his leather jacket pulled tightly around his biceps.

His fingers twinkle with a wave.

You open the window.

“You wanna go for a ride?” he yells up.

You stare at him for a beat, trying to sear the image into your brain and then answer back with, “yeah I do!”

You don’t even have to think twice about it.  

He whoops and throws a fist in the air.

“Make sure you wear jeans and a jacket doll.”

A few minutes later you appear at the double doors of your apartment building. Bucky rushes over and pulls one open, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees you.

“You look gorgeous.”

Your thank you is lost when he steps into your space and drags you into his chest, kissing you hard and fast.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he pulls away.

“For what,” you whisper, leaning into him.

You toy with the zipper of his leather jacket and then slowly pull it down, spreading the sides open to look at his shirt.

“I had to see if you had another funny plant shirt on,” you giggle.

You smooth your hands over his chest, mostly just so you can feel the hard muscle beneath, but also so you can read the print on the fabric better.

“Things I do in my spare time…” you start. “Water plants,” and you press your finger to the first picture of a potted plant on his shirt. “Repot plants, propagate plants, buy plants, rearrange plants…” Each time you read it’s with a press of your finger and as you get closer to his abs he starts to laugh.

“I’m kinda ticklish,” he admits.

You pay him no mind and take extra care to wiggle your finger over the last picture and it’s text.  

“Talk with plants,” you finish with a smile. “That one is my favorite.”

He smirks and slides his arm across your shoulders, walking you toward his bike.

“Speaking of plants…” he hums. “There’s something I…”

As you get closer to the motorcycle you press a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Wait.”

Your words make him swallow hard.

“Our date isn’t until Saturday,” you say quietly. “Are we still on…or?”

His brows draw together and he crushes you against him. “Doll…”

He kisses you again, slow and sweet this time but it steals your breath just the same.

“I know we have our date this weekend, but the moment I left your apartment the other day, all I wanted was to see you again. I couldn’t wait any more. So I thought we could go for a ride.”

His confession makes you melt further into him.

“Ok,” you breathe out. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

He takes your hand and pulls you the rest of the way to his bike, holding up a finger as he turns to his saddle bag and opens it.

“I have something for you,” he says.

He takes out a small bag and reaches inside it. When his hand reemerges he’s holding a small potted plant.

Your smile grows as he begins to explain what it is.

“It’s from my jasmine plant. I repotted this piece in one of the cat planters I got from Etsy…thought you would like it.”

He starts to look slightly shy, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as his eyes fall to the plant.

“Bucky,” you squeal. “It’s amazing! And so cute! I love him!”

“Phew,” he laughs. “And don’t worry I can help you take care of him.”

“Ok good, because I know jasmine smells beautiful and I’d love to have one in my apartment.”

With one more quick kiss he places the plant back in the secure bag.

“Should I bring him up?” you ask. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I always carry my smaller plants on my bike. As long as you position and secure them right, it’s fine.”

With a lopsided grin he kisses your cheek then grabs his helmet.

Lifting it up he carefully places it on your head and buckles the chin strap.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he answers. “I won’t go too fast.”

With that he grabs the zipper of your jacket and pulls it up to your chin then throws one leg over his bike with an easy swing.

He holds his hand out to help you on the back and you immediately wrap your arms around his chest and press yourself into his back.

“Hang on,” he says, “and if anything is wrong just give me two squeezes.”

You nod into the soft leather of his jacket and hang on tight.

He revs the engine and pulls away from the curb, being mindful about his speed and remembering that you’re putting full trust in him to keep you safe.

He’s in complete control and the ride is smooth as he traverses the curves of the streets until the Brooklyn Bridge lights up the night sky as it comes into view.

The smell of salty air hits your face as you get nearer to the ocean and when he slows down and rolls into a darkened spot under the bridge you can hear the water break against the rocks.

He shuts the engine and plants his feet on either side of the bike and then reaches down to tap your leg, signaling you to get off.

With careful movements you put one foot on the ground and do an awkward hop to get your other leg up and over the seat without hitting him in the back.

You manage not to hit him but your legs are slightly wobbly, still vibrating from the ride and your knee buckles.

“Eeeek,” you screech, the sound echoing under the bridge and causing some hidden pigeons to squawk and flap away to a safer spot.

Your fists grab handfuls of air but Bucky somehow manages to dive and catch you around the waist with his metal arm.

“You okay?” he asks, his grip tight.

He waits, staring at you with concern in his eyes.

“I’m good,” you say on an exhale.

He relaxes slightly and releases you to adjust the handlebars and put down the kickstand. Once the bike is secured he gets off gracefully and helps you out of his helmet.

You look around and smile. “This is an amazing spot.”

“Isn’t it,” he echoes. “Just lemme get a blanket.”

He opens the saddle bag and sifts through it.

“Can you please check if my plant is ok?” you ask, smiling sweetly when he winks at you.

“Just fine doll,” he tells you after he shines his phone light into the bag. “Now come ‘ere.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to a clearing closer to edge of the water.

“Careful here, watch your step.”

He assures your footing with a firm hand at your back and once you��re settled on the blanket he follows and makes himself comfortable.

“Thank you for comin’ with me tonight doll.”

“Thank you for asking me. It’s beautiful here.”

You look out over the water, the city lights shining like diamonds across the vast blackness and dancing along the small waves.

“Yeah it really is,” he murmurs.

You can feel his eyes on you and realize that he’s complimenting you instead of the stellar view.

A small laugh bubbles up in your chest. “Have you used that move before?”

He drops his chin to his chest and chuckles. “Aw man. I haven’t but it’s that bad huh?”

You run your fingers along a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of his face before tucking it behind his ear.

“Not bad at all. In fact I think you’re really sweet.”

His eyes bore into yours. “I think you’re perfect.”

His hand reaches out to trace your lips, the pad of his thumb rough against their softness and once he’s relished in their flawlessness he slides his hand along your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

The small space between you disappears and you press your lips to his. Your hands weave into his hair and you gasp out his name, the sound igniting him. His tongue slips past your lips but he takes his time, teasing and nipping even as he tastes you.

He pulls you closer, sliding you into his lap and smoothing his free hand up your back.

The shock of bright lights shines through your closed eyelids and you jump in surprise, breaking the kiss. You lay your hand over your squinting eyes as Bucky looks over his shoulder, hissing at the brightness.

The car stops for a moment, the headlights boring into your small hidden space, and then thankfully it turns back to the street and drives off, returning you once again to the quiet of the night and the sounds of the ocean.

Bucky turns back to you, your eyes meeting.

“Hey,” he whispers as he traces the curve of your jaw.

“Hi,” you answer before peppering his scruffy cheek with kisses.

When your gaze finds his again he asks, “will you watch the sunrise with me?”

You nod and then wrap your arms around his neck, snuggling against his shoulder and breathing him in. A breeze blows over the water, carrying the chill of night and you shiver in his arms. He tucks you closer and grabs the blanket to wrap it around you both.

“I promise I’ll keep you warm,” he whispers as his head dips and he brushes his lips to yours.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989 @lizette50 @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814

[moonsceptre]

Alchemy & Dreams in Beetlejuice

Part 2

The more I reflect on the plot of Beetlejuice 2, the more I doubt that much of what happens in the film actually took place.

It's all written allegorically. Tim's work has always embodied Jungian themes such as archetypes and the shadow self, as well as his use of alchemy & numerology in the original Beetlejuice movie. For example, his use of the planet Saturn and its symbolism, as well as how he relates it back to Beetlejuice by having him wear several watches on his wrist, and freezing Adam & Wolf in time. "Sands of Time", "Saturn: the Father of Time".

You know how everyone who appears in your dreams is supposed to represent yourself?

Astrid = Lydia

"The images of alchemy are the most complete expression of individuation as a process, and they are therefore a valuable aid to understanding the symbolism of dreams." - Carl Jung

Astrid wears a silver dress, Lydia wears a red dress. In alchemy, (something Jung believed was a method to understand the psyche within our dreams) silver needs to be purified by red. Combined, these colours symbolise the union of spirit and matter, or the balance of opposing forces, essential for the completion of the alchemical process. So we have Astrid and Lydia symbolising the spiritual (silver/mercury) and the material (red/sulfur). This is why Lydia watches Astrid at the end of the dream getting married and having a baby. She is watching her dream representation living out her material desires.

They completed the alchemical process by fixing their relationship (forgiving yourself).

Astrid is so similar to Lydia, even storming off on her bike when Rory proposed. Rory also pushes Lydia to do the Ghost House show when we know that exploiting the dead is very OOC for her. If Astrid is Lydia, then Rory must represent her teenage feelings towards her parents. Her father married Delia who teen Lydia couldn't stand, and they both forced Lydia to move with them and adjust to their lifestyle.

Astrid and Lydia reconciling is Lydia reconciling with her past self. Through silver and red, spirit and matter, this is the completion of the alchemical process. Why did they put Delia in a purple dress alongside these two, when purple in alchemy symbolises the transmutation outcome? They could have chosen any colours, but the ones chosen just so happen to correspond with the story. Silver is spirit, Red is matter, Purple is the merging of spirit & matter, resulting in "enlightenment". You say Beetlejuice's name three times because in alchemy it's the number of completion (sulfur, mercury, salt).

And I must repeat myself: there is no clear indication of where Astrid's dream sequence begins. The sequence at the end seems to start after Lydia looks at the Maitlands' model with the lights as stars above her. Lydia is looking down at the town (the material realm), while her head is in the stars (the spiritual realm).

The whole Beetlejuice franchise is about alchemy, because Betelgeuse himself is an alchemist. He is the Trickster/Magician archetype, who is able to manipulate reality and able to traverse between the living and the dead, also known as rebirth.

Betelgeuse = Lydia's Masculine Self

Alchemical texts were concerned with achieving the coniunctio oppositorum (the union of opposites). This process is also known as "The Marriage of Opposites" or "Chemical Wedding". Whose marriage/wedding was important to the plot in both movies?

Delia finds her masculine self (Charles) thanks to Betelgeuse at the Soul Train. The Soul Train is the ferry which carries souls along the River Styx. It's the main river in the underworld that separates the living and the dead.

"The living and the dead; can they co-exist?" - Lydia Deetz

So, Lydia was watching Astrid (her dream self) get married and have the Beetlebaby. Everything Astrid goes through is a mixture of Lydia's fears and desires. Lydia's teen self feared that Betelgeuse was using Lydia as a way to have access to the living realm, and we know this because of Astrid's experience with Jeremy. However, by this logic, it also means Lydia desires marriage and a baby with Betelgeuse. Unfortunately, Lydia is in the material realm, while her masculine self is in the spiritual realm.

Canonically speaking, since we know Lydia loves horror films, dreaming of giallo movies aligns much better with her character than ignoring her ability to speak to the dead.

[impyssadobsessions]

Excerpts from my WIPS ;3 Guess Which story and when- or if its a story even up. If ya want.

----DPxDC

“Keep communication lines on, we'll be moving towards your location.” Batman had replied, which made Nightwing clicked his teeth. “How much should I bet you're not going to do that?” Dick turned to ask Jason as both of them hopped off the bike. “Do what? I didn't hear anything.” “Okay, so a hundred at least.” Nightwing hummed, as he followed Red-Hood back towards the abandon lab.

----DPxDC

"-One time she sent DASH! To babysit ME! I'm older than both of them now. Y'know how awkward that was? Though the look on Dash's face was hilarious.” Dick smirked, raising a brow. “The guy that bullied you? Why did she ask him?” “Ah, probably because he's a puppy that'll do whatever my sister asks. She knows it too.” Danny clicked his tongue as his face grimaced at the implications of it. “I may or may not have... scared him a few times. I do like a disappearing act.” Dick grinned as he could imagine what Danny meant. He did seem to take any form of “keeping tabs” on him as a challenge. Danny smirked back, a mischievous glint in his eye, before dropping his face. “Jazz was REALLY upset about it. I had assumed this was her being overbearing and protective like usual-I didn't realize how hard this was on her.” The guilt thick in his throat. “She broke down crying and.. I promised her I'll stay out of the house when she's not home. 'Cause I didn't know what to do.. or say. I just..” “Thought of the easiest solution?” “Yeah... I guess.” Danny shrugged, defeated.

---------DPxDC

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shouldn't you be resting, sir?” Alfred scolded. A small amused smirk on his lips as he carried lunch on a tray. Bruce just made a grunt. His eyes glued to the screen of the laptop. Images, news articles, videos. Whatever he could find was displayed on the screen, while he bit at the end of his pencil. A notepad next to him. “Ah yes, very informative answer, Master Bruce.” Alfred set down the tray on the nightstand beside his bed. There was more than just lunch on the tray as it carried a medical kit. Bruce sighed. He shoved the laptop to the side and struggled to sit up more so Alfred could replace his dressing. “This whole situation just crawls under my skin.” “I say it does, sir.” Alfred's hands move quickly to help replace the doctor's handy work. “Secret government organization, children in peril, and the boarder between life and death getting thinner by the day. Certainly sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

---------BULLY

Pete glanced back up at Mr. Smith. The man was eyeing him carefully, waiting for a reply. He must care about Gary in some way to go through this much trouble, right? And... it would be easier to contact Gary's grandfather than dealing with the headmaster. Pete bit his lip as he thought. “Um, Okay. S-sure.” “Atta boy! Hahaha!” Allen laughed as he smacked his hand on Pete's shoulder, making him stumble. Pete really needed to work on not being pushed around so easily. “Though, if you can mange to keep little Garreth in line, I'll add in a little bonus for your trouble. Since you're doing more than half what I was paying this damn school to do.” “That's not-” “Some good advice. Never work for free, Pete. Consider it a token of gratitude. After all, I think we both know watching my grandson isn't an easy task.” Allen winked.

--------DPXDC

Tim had no idea how he was going to pull this off. His eyes glancing from the Fenton parents to the boy he met yesterday, Danny Fenton. He knew he was dead. At least, was ghostly in some way. Danny didn't act or looked how Greta did, but Greta was visible as Deadman wasn't. So perhaps ghosts varied drastically? Either way, Danny being dead wasn't even the part that was bothering him. It was knowing he had to pretend he didn't know- while Danny sat right next to his oblivious killers. Well, the word killer might be too harsh. Tim theorized it was an accident regarding with a portal that opened on top of Danny. Which might also explain Danny's unique qualities.

---------DPxDC

“...Danny has traces of... Lazarus pit... stronger than yours.” Tim answered, with a concerned tone. They were afraid of how Jason would take it. And Jason was not taking it well, as he felt cold rage deep in his veins. The icy chill as he acknowledged that not only was Danny his blood... he shared the worse part of his blood. The reminder that they... Had died. Those scars... that was how Danny died and so far knowing their luck, he doubted it was painless. “Little Wing? Jay bird? You there, I'm almost at your location. How's Danny?” Dick called on the comms. Jason pulled the boy more into his jacket, giving him the best attempt of a hug he could. “Better than the fuckers who did this to him will be.”

------DPXDC

Danny had made an unfortunate discovery. His powers, like all ghosts, were based on emotion. Other's emotions. Even worse, the strongest one was fear. Fear fed on itself and grew stronger and stronger. And what made him discover this, made his heart sink with dread. He was stuck powerless in Gotham as his friends were laughing themselves to death along with other hostages in the room. Danny cursed at himself for listening to Sam. He should have phased them out of there, regardless of Batman's no meta rule. Now the only fear emitting into the room was his own. They were too far from others for him to feed off of, and ectoplasm was low. No.. more like the ectoplasm was being pulled away from the ground of Gotham and seeping into some other being that was far too greedy. “Well, well, well~ Look what we have here? A little party pooper!” A man with green hair and clown painted face cackled, as he waltz his way over to Danny. The black-hair teen ripped his eyes from his friends, glaring at the man. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, while he stayed knelt over his friends. “Funny, most parties I've seen at least has music.” Danny was feeling sweat dripping off his face. He needed to do something fast, but if he couldn't transform.. then he wasn't sure what else he isn't able to do. Not like this man looked fit, but... Danny knew danger when he sees it. “Ah, but this is music! To my ears at least, ehehehehe!”

----------CAMP CAMP

“Ah. Smell that, Gwen?” “Smell what.” “That fresh breeze! We had gone a full twenty-four hours without a single camp activity catching on fire.” “Huh, I guess you're right! This camp only smells half as shitty-” “Where's Max?” Both Gwen and David utter out in realization as it had dawn that neither of them had seen the troublesome trio since breakfast. --- “Don't worry Max! We'll save you once I finish chewing off my leg-” “Nikki! DON'T!” “Well... I'm fucked.”

[hanluex]

Something really really painful sad with dick Grayson but happy ending

♡ I’M SORRY — DICK GRAYSON

bf!dick x fem!reader | wc : 0.7k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, angst, established relationship, mentions of an accident, mentions of blood, crying | request : um i mayhaps have forgotten the happy ending part, so a part two soon hopefully 😭

“wow, this is all your fault. i can’t believe you, y/n.”

dick grayson mumbled under his breath playfully, enjoying the disgruntled expression on your face.

“babe, i said i’m sorry!” you whined, pouting as you grabbed your boyfriend’s arm. “honest mistake, my bad.”

the two of you were invited to a charity ball, and you hadn’t realized you left the invitation back home until you were at the venue.

fortunately, you were a couple of blocks away from your apartment, which was why you two were walking back, with dick grumbling the whole way.

“we should’ve taken the car. i told you we should, but no!” dick stifled his smile, looking away so you couldn’t see his façade. “you insisted we walk. who even walks to a charity event?!”

you frowned, disheartened. “i’m sorry, babe. i didn’t think taking the car was necessary,” you confessed sincerely.

dick smiled, unable to keep up with his charade any longer. “i was just joking, love. gosh, you are so fun to play around with,” he stated, chuckling at your look of betrayal.

“you are such an idiot. i hate you!”

“now, you better take that back because we both know that’s a lie.”

you fastened your pace, walking away from the brunet. "nope, i'm being very honest." you laughed, amused by his reaction.

"y/n, come here!" dick called, chuckling as he followed you. "babe!"

the traffic lights turned red, causing the cars to come to a stop. you continued teasing your boyfriend as you crossed the road, sticking your tongue out in a mocking manner.

dick laughed as you did a little dance in the middle of the road, amused at the extent you went to make him laugh.

a loud zoom made the brunet freeze in his place, watching as an oncoming bike increased its speed despite the red light.

just as he opened his mouth to warn you, his gaze was filled with the slow motion image of the bike hitting you, your body being thrown a few feet away at the impact.

fuck, fuck, fuck. no, please, no. fuck, no.

"y/n!" dick yelled, his heart beating harshly against his chest as he ran towards you.

his breath quickened as he saw the blood, shakily taking out his phone as he kneeled next to your half-conscious body.

"i called for help. they said they'll be here in ten minutes."

the phone fell out of his hands, immediately reaching out to hold you in his arms as tears filled his vision.

"oh, baby." he touched your face gently, hot tears falling from his face to yours. "no, please."

you blinked softly, in a dazed state. "dick?" you called out, causing the brunet to nod in reply, more tears falling down his face.

"you have t-to talk to m-me, babe. how e-else am i g-going to stay a-awake?"

"i c-can't." dick cried harder, feeling your hands on his face. "i'm so sorry."

"richard, t-take … take a deep breath, p-please. calm down, o-okay?"

"how can i stay calm? y-you are … you—"

you felt lightheaded. "i'm sorry," you apologized, wiping away his tears. "i got blood all over you," you added.

"is that what you are worried about?!"

"i know this is your favorite suit."

despite your attempt at a joke, dick cried harder, feeling worse as he was supposed to be the one to console you.

yet here you were, lying in a pool of your own blood, still having time to make lighthearted jokes about the situation.

dick grayson ignored your words as you assured him you were fine, rambling away about anything and everything under the sun.

he didn't even know what language he was speaking in, let alone what he spoke about. he just rambled, hoping you'd stay awake until the ambulance came.

"i l-like this view." you interrupted his chattering, smiling through the pain. "r-really good an-angle of y-you."

"not the time, y/n."

you heaved a breath as you reached out to hold your boyfriend's hands, groaning quietly as the pain became unbearable.

"does it hurt bad?" dick asked softly. "is there anything i can do for you?"

you took a deep breath, wincing. "i-if i don't m-make it, i h-hope you know how much … m-much i love you. and if p-possible, look out for jay b-because—"

"no! don't give me this 'last word' talk." dick shook his head. "you'll be fine, and you will be the one to look out for jay because he'll listen to no one except you, and only you can handle him."

"babe, please—"

"no, just no. i will not let you leave me. if you even think about dying, i'm going to kill you."

"i love you, richard grayson. so fucking much, i do."

taglist : @maverick-wingman (to be added, please send a dm or ask!)

[talesofesther]

don’t know how to be something you miss | ch 2

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: On a rainy day, Wednesday recalls pieces of your story together through memories, and wonders if you miss her too.

A/N: People asked for a part 2 so I'm delivering. Soft!Wednesday because I can, so I will. I have to say that reading the first part is kinda essential to understand this one. This was based around this song that was suggested by @abelvrla, and this one that was suggested by @tuboficecream. The writing process for this was so weird, I feel like I genuinely blacked out while writing it, I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing and that's what came out. So, sorry if the quality is questionable; but hopefully not.

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

On the three-week mark, Wednesday goes looking for you.

She hates doing it; admitting that the mistake was hers. But she also hates that it took her this long to do so.

Because each day away from you feels like dying, little by little.

You resemble a ghost to her sometimes. She has glimpses of you every day yet never manages to get close enough to properly grasp you. It's unfair, because you have a hold on her; and it comes with this everlasting longing, a phantom pain in her heart that weeps in your absence.

She still wonders if it's the same for you, or if she fell alone and you don't miss her as she does you.

Wednesday considered, for a brief moment, to let it go — to bury your hoodie in the confines of her wardrobe and never look at it again and just forget about you. The Wednesday from a year ago would do just that, and call the Wednesday from today pathetic for even thinking otherwise.

But living in the past takes her nowhere. Wednesday would never forgive herself for not trying to save what you two had.

So she goes looking, and she finds you in Xavier's art shed. She knows you're there because your bike is leaning against the wall outside.

There's an instant bitterness in her mouth.

It's a gloomy day outside, fluffy clouds coming together to form what looks to be a storm. Wednesday sees it from between the trees as she walks the woods.

A year ago, the prospect of a storm would make her smile.

Not today. Rain brings back memories. And Wednesday doesn't want memories.

Taking in a deep breath, Wednesday pushes open the wooden door. You're sitting on a stool with a big canvas in front of you; there's a brush between your fingers and your tongue is poking out of your mouth as you concentrate on the image you're painting; a stroke of black paint is smudged on your cheek and Wednesday catches a glimpse of a black braid on your canvas — she really tries not to let her mind wander onto what it could be.

The door shuts close behind her with a soft click, finally drawing your attention. The shed feels too cramped for the tension hanging in the air. Breathing is a challenge already.

"Wednesday?" Xavier is the first to speak. Wednesday hadn't even noticed his presence.

"Did you need something?" He keeps going, annoyingly because he's invading her moment with you.

Wednesday doesn't look at him when she speaks, she has an unblinking stare focused on you; "I was hoping we could talk."

You lower your brush, trying to clean your cheek with the back of your hand but you only end up smudging more paint there.

It's been five seconds already and you're not talking. Wednesday takes it as a rejection. And somehow her broken heart still found a way to beat, thundering against her ears. It's almost deafening.

Wednesday bunches up the fabric on the cuffs of her jacket, her nails forming half-moons on her palms to ground herself.

"Give me a few minutes to change," your voice cut the silence and you gestured to your clothes, a little ruined with paint - you always had been a bit clumsy. "I'll find you."

There's an almost nonexistent softness to Wednesday's eyes. Because there's a barely there smile on your lips.

—

Rain is pouring down violently, the power has gone out in the whole school and now candles are the ones that illuminate Wednesday's room.

She hates the sound of the drops hitting her window and the roof above, they're loud, they bring with them the familiar cold air. It feels like loneliness, abandonment.

A knock comes from her door and Wednesday scrambles to open it. You're standing on the other side, a white and red hoodie keeping you warm because you couldn't find your favorite one.

Something about you instantly warms up the whole dorm when you walk in.

"I've been waiting for you," you tell her, keeping your hands behind your back. Ever since Wednesday snapped at you, you've been holding yourself back from reaching out, even if it hurt. If she wanted to make amends, you wanted it to be her decision.

Wednesday gulps, her gaze moving up and down your body before she has the courage to look you in the eyes. She feels out of place, maybe a little lost. She's unsure what's the next step on all this.

"I-" her words are tangled, everything she had perfectly planned is now a mess inside her mind, "I believe I owe you an apology."

You nod softly, the orange glow of the small flickering flame of the candle that rests on Wednesday's desk is reflecting against your skin. You look like her favorite dream.

"Okay," you tell her in all your tenderness, "for what?"

It's most unkind, though; Wednesday thinks to herself as she clenches her jaw. Because you know her, you know this isn't easy, yet you still want to hear her say it.

Wednesday huffs with remains of annoyance and shifts from one foot to another, she wants to reach out and hold you, bring things back to how they were. The distance feels worse now than it did when she saw you from the opposite side of the cafeteria. Maybe because you're just a step away from her, yet she doesn't feel within the right to take that step.

Thunder rumbles outside, and with it, the tight feeling weighing down on Wednesday's chest increases. She blinks once, twice. Her vision blurs over. She feels she's one word away from winning you back or losing you for good.

"I said things I didn't mean the last time we spoke."

You pursed your lips, taking half a step toward Wednesday; "you said your life was better before I showed up."

Wednesday instantly shook her head, "that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

"That I was scared." The words roll off Wednesday's tongue before she has a chance to filter them, she closes her eyes for a beat, cringing at her own sudden vulnerability. She decides you're worth it.

"I didn't know what had happened to you that day," Wednesday tells you, tone tight, "I never-" she hesitates, and you take another step closer. One of your hands comes up to Wednesday's cheek to tuck back a loose strand of hair there. It's laughable that the small touch is almost enough to get Wednesday to crumble.

"I never cared about someone to the point of feeling like I'm being drowned to death at the mere thought of harm coming to them," she finishes in a rush. So fast that some words almost mend together into one, but you manage to understand.

It's only when your thumb brushes it away, that Wednesday realizes a tear had slipped past her defenses and was rolling down her cheek. She looks away from you then, severely embarrassed.

"Love scares you," you whisper. It's not a question, you know it's a truth.

Wednesday is as still as a corpse, the only things moving are her eyes, incapable of choosing where to focus.

"I'm not going anywhere, Wednesday," you promise, because you knew she had to hear it. Then, you finally bring the hand that was behind your back to rest between both you and her.

When Wednesday looks down, she sees you holding onto a small box. Black in its color and resting perfectly in your palm. She frowns, glancing up at you in confusion. All you do is extend the box further toward her.

Wednesday relents and takes the box from you, careful as ever. She doesn't dare breathe when she opens it.

Inside, rests a necklace. The pendant in it has the shape of a Black Dahlia.

Wednesday doesn't need you to say a word. That's what you went to get on that day.

A sob cuts its way through Wednesday's throat, and she's suddenly losing any last bits of composure she had. Tears make a steady path down her cheeks.

You had come back to her with a physical manifestation of your affections, and she called you an inconvenience.

Apologies stumble past Wednesday's lips before she can stop them.

"We're okay," you tell her in the same heartbeat, sneaking your arms around her waist and pulling her body to yours. You grip her tightly, any last remaining distance between you disappearing.

Wednesday buries herself in your embrace, feeling the cold finally seep away from her skin and be replaced with your warmth.

"I missed you," her lips brush your skin with the confession and you feel the words in your heart.

You hug her tighter; "I missed you too."

There's a soft whimper that slips Wednesday at the knowledge that she was, after all, someone worth missing.

Wednesday's cheeks are a bright shade of pink when she eventually, reluctantly pulls away from you. It gets a warm and fuzzy feeling spreading through your chest.

She's holding the necklace tightly, it makes you smile. "May I?"

You take the necklace from her hands, whispering for her to turn around and she does so without hesitation. With delicate fingers, you close it around her neck.

It's a perfect fit, the dark flower resting perfectly over her chest.

"You look beautiful," you tell her with a smile.

Wednesday brings her hand up, tracing the pendant on her necklace. It makes her feel like she's yours, and she doesn't hate it.

Raindrops are steadily trickling down the window, the flames of the candles around you give the room the most intimate of feelings. You like it when the lights are out. And while looking around, your eyes catch a glimpse of a pop of color resting on top of Wednesday's bed. You walk closer to get a better look — because there wasn't supposed to be color in her side of the room.

And there, beside Wednesday's pillow, rests the lilac hoodie you've been incessantly looking for these last weeks.

With a chuckle, you pick it up, "I've been looking everywhere for this."

"You left it here," Wednesday tells you quickly, she's not looking you in the eye and the blush of her cheeks has just increased. It's almost like you've stumbled upon a secret she didn't want you to find. "I've been meaning to return it." Her voice is as quiet as you've ever heard it, and you think it's all too adorable.

Bringing the hoodie closer to your nose, you could feel Wednesday's perfume on the fabric. Your skin fills with goosebumps upon imagining her wearing it. You walk closer to her and reach around her to drape the hoodie over her shoulders, admiring the blend of her dark braids over the lilac.

Wednesday's dark eyes drift down to your lips, it's like she can read your mind.

You tug at the hoodie, pulling her close to you. You peck her lips, "you can keep it," you whisper against her, "looks much better on you anyway."

And Wednesday kisses the words, her hands sneaking behind your neck and trapping you to her. She kisses you as if she's not sure you're real yet and is trying to convince herself through your lips.

Wednesday can hear the raindrops hitting her window but all she feels is you.

Maybe she'll learn to love the rain again; as long as you stay.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

[noforkingclue]

It’s a Date (Jamie Tartt x reader)

Summary: you asked Jamie for one small favour. Who knew that it was going to end with this?

“I don’t know about this Jamie…”

“Look I said I got ya, ok?”

“Yes but-“

“Then what’s to worry about?”

“What if someone see us.”

“Sees us,” Jamie gives you an incredulous looks, “That’s what you’re fucking worried about.”

“Yeah.”

“Thought it would be more about falling over and hurting yourself.”

“No. Just, won’t you be embarrassed being seen with me.”

“No.”

“Really?”

“’course. Now are you going to let me fucking help you or not?”

You bit your lip as you looked nervously at the bike. Jamie gave you can encouraging smile as he held the handle bars and gestured towards it.

“Trust me?”

“Yeah,” you said at last, “I do.”

“Then get on. Not gonna let anything happen, ok.”

“Ok.”

In all honesty, you were surprised about how good of a teach Jamie actually was. You were expecting him to be kind of, well, arrogant about the whole thing. Have an ‘I can do this so why can’t you, it’s easy’ attitude.

“Y’know,” you said after you fell over for what felt like the hundredth time, “Despite me being shit, you’re not a shit teacher.”

“Nah,” Jamie held out his hand, “You’re not that shit. Roy was worse.”

“You taught Roy Kent?” you said as you grasped his hand, “How are you still alive?”

“Just used my natural charm.”

You raised your eyebrows at him as Jamie pulled you to your feet. You felt your cheeks get hot at the contact. You had forgotten just how strong Jamie actually was as he pulled you up and against him. Your eyes locked with his and something unreadable passed across them. You quickly let go of his hand and grabbed the bike again.

“Let’s have another go,” you said as you looked at the ground, “Think I’m getting the hang of this.”

You put your foot on the pedal and pushed down, still distracted by the memory of Jamie’s hand in yours. You hadn’t realised how distracted you actually were until you felt yourself tilting to the side again.

“Woah! Watch it!”

And then Jamie’s hands were on your hips. Warm and steady and making your cheeks heat up even more. He walked behind you, fingers trailing behind you, as he kept you steady. He leant closer and said,

“You alright there?”

“Yep.”

Your voice was strained and behind you Jamie frowned. He knew that if you were really uncomfortable with him then you’d let him know. However, he secretly enjoyed being this close to you.

“Definitely think I’m a worse student than Roy.” you said

“Nah.”

“Really.”

“Wouldn’t lie to ya,” Jamie said, “you’re also better company than that old man.”

“Roy is pretty good company.”

“You get along with everyone. That’s part of your charm.”

“Aww, didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

Jamie coughed awkwardly, glad that you couldn’t see his face.

“Let’s just give this enough go.” He said and without warning gave you a push

You let out a yelp of shock and pushed down on the pedals. To your surprised, instead of falling over you actually managed to ride it. You looked over at Jamie in a mixture shock and joy. Jamie’s face seemed to be the same as yours as he grinned at you. You rode the bike in a wobbly line as you circled shakily around him. You dismounted shakily and you stumbled towards him. Jamie held out his hands to steady you as you said,

“Did you see that?”

“Sure did.”

“Thank you!”

To Jamie’s surprise you flung your arms around him. He was used to getting hugs from his team mates but with you it was different. You were… you were mates. Well, slightly more than that but he wasn’t quite brave enough to take that next step. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if he humiliated himself and lost a mate?

However, with your body pressed against his maybe he could image that you felt the same. Slowly, and slightly unsurely, he raised his arms and returned the hug. You smiled and rested your head against Jamie’s chest and his grip tightened instinctively. Fuck, he never wanted to let you go.

It was then that Jamie noticed that the two of you were unfortunately not alone. Standing at the edge of the green was Coach Beard and Ted. Ted was grinning at the two of you while Beard gave a nod of approval.

Fuck.

He was never going to live this down.

Ted gave Jamie a thumbs up and Jamie just rolled his eyes and flipped them two of them off. He was thankful that you back at facing them. Beard shook his affectionately while Ted gave Jamie a disapproving look. It was at this moment you looked up at him. For a second Jamie was concerned that you had somehow spotted Ted and Beard and would chose to hang out with them. Instead you said,

“Venchi is opening soon. Why don’t I treat you as a thank you?”

“Now then,” Jamie’s smirk return and for a second the grip around your waist tightened, “How can I a refuse an offer like that?”

“Great!”

You broke free from his grip and Jamie couldn’t help but miss the loss of your warmth. However, that was quickly replaced by you linking your arm with his.

“It’s a date?”

He could hear the question in your voice and Jamie quickly glanced down at you. You had a nervous look on your face similar to the one Jamie had on earlier.

“Yeah,” Jamie coughed and said, “It’s a fucking date.”

[into-deepspace]

out of the black {part 1/3}

sylus/mc • gender neutral mc • 1k • ao3 link • part 2 • requests open reblogs appreciated!!

pre-relationship || the real OTP here is MC/sylus's money :) || annoyances to lovers Summary: Sylus gifts MC his card for their troubles, and finds that their taste is very different than what he's used to. Some encouragement is in order, don't you think?

“That’ll be six fifty-nine,” the tea shop worker says cheerily. MC nods, glancing down briefly to pull their wallet from their pocket. It’s been a long day, and on their way out of the office they’d decided that if it was a pick-me-up they wanted, then it was a pick-me-up that they’d have.

So, they’d gone slightly out of their way, parking their bike outside the tea shop they’ve frequented. They take off their helmet and fix their hair as best at they can without a mirror as they walk in. From there, it’s a simple task of waiting and deciding just what they want before they order.

Now, here they are, the last little obstacle between them and their beloved boba tea the tablet in front of them. They pull their card from their wallet…

And pause.

Right. They’d forgotten about the new card nestled behind their usual debit.

As they’d started getting closer with Sylus (maybe a bit closer than they should be getting), he’d gifted them a copy of his card. His stupid fucking black card, that he’d held almost carelessly between two fingers as he’d reached it out to them about a week or so ago.

“A treat for your troubles,” he’d smirked, and then pulled one of those little vinyl card stickers in a dark, metallic green from his pocket. “In case you don’t want the world knowing just what kind of card you’ve got in that little wallet of yours.” MC had scowled at him; how the hell he knew these stupid little details about them, they have no clue.

Not wanting to quarrel with Sylus (and knowing they’d lose), they just took the card, sitting down in a fancy nearby chair to apply the sticker because they really did not want someone catching a glimpse of this card in their pocket.

They hadn’t really planned on using it, thus why it was behind their own card. But, here they are, contemplating. They thumb at the card for a brief moment.

It’s a few dollars less from their own account. They’re not tight on money, but they definitely keep to a budget, and a few extra dollars here could mean another night of hot pot or a few more stuffed animals later. And, well, Sylus had invited them to spend freely.

They pull out the card, select the 25% tip option, and tap it to the scanner. The total comes to eight dollars and twenty-four cents, and they bite at their lip. It’s a bit much to spend on a single cup of boba tea, but Sylus shouldn’t miss it too bad, right?

A few minutes of waiting later, and they’re walking out with a cup of mango tea and a yellow straw, tucking both into their bag for the drive home. As they swing one leg over their bike, their phone buzzes. Curiously, they pause to unlock it and view the text.

New Message from Rich Asshole 6:27 PM

Do you think so lowly of me, sweetheart?

Attached is an image, a screenshot to be precise, of Sylus’s bank transactions. The contrast that MC immediately catches is almost funny.

Most of the screen consists of several large purchases, anywhere from a couple hundred to several tens of thousands of dollars. Then, at the very top and circled in red, is the eight dollar purchase MC had just made. They sigh, putting their phone back in their pocket.

Just as they merge back into the bustling Linkon traffic, their phone rings, the sound coming through their helmet. With an exasperated “Oh, my god,” they tap the side of their helmet to pick up the call.

“Hello, sweetie,” Sylus says, in that infuriatingly nice voice of his. MC glares at the traffic light they’ve just stopped at.

“What do you want.”

“Eight whole dollars,” Sylus begins, and MC can hear the stupid smirk through the phone. “And twenty-three cents. Have I failed to imbue you with a taste for the finer things in life?” The light turns green. 

“Twenty-four cents,” they say, correcting him.

“It’s worse than I thought.”

MC sighs, turning on their right blinker and merging into the corresponding lane, making a turn just a moment later.

“Did you just call to talk about my apparently lacking spending habits?” they ask. Sylus really does seem like the kind of guy to get pissy that the latest object of his interest isn’t using his assets as frivolously as they could be.

“What did you buy?” Sylus asks, completely ignoring the question. MC knows better than to try and steer the conversation back.

“Mango tea,” they reply.

“What grade?”

“Uh. Commercial?” At this, Sylus laughs, a deep and smooth thing that MC can practically hear dollar signs in. MC groans. “God, Sylus, can’t I just enjoy my eight dollar tea? That’s overpriced for us peasants, you know.” Sylus hums again, infuriating as usual.

“You don’t need to be shy, you know,” he says. “I have more than enough to provide for you ten times over.”

“What are you, my sugar daddy?” MC scoffs, turning onto the street where the Hunters’ apartments are. “You’re like those stereotypical rich boyfriends on social media, ‘Ohhh look at what I bought my girlfriend, isn’t it so expensive? Aren’t I so rich? Look how I gift her my black card so she can spend thousands of dollars a day.’”

“I wouldn’t mind if you spent a few thousand a day,” Sylus says, voice casually earnest, missing the entire point. “Do you have such purchases in mind?”

“I can’t stand you,” MC says in lieu of an answer. “I’m hanging up on you now.” And, before he can answer, they do. They cut the call with another tap to their helmet as they park their bike on the street, taking a heavy breath as they take off their helmet once more.

They think about Sylus’s words as they walk up the few flights of stairs to their apartment, and as they unlock their door, a resolve settles in their mind. It’s a bit petty, maybe, but they find that they don’t care, fuelled by annoyance.

Sylus wants them to spend his money, huh? Well, then that’s exactly what they’ll do.

[fall0utmind]

Medical Leak AU Ch6

Chapter 6 - Burn/ Mistake Below (4k)

Part 1 - 5 here

Here on AO3

****

I'm still sick and my head hurts but i REALLY hope you guys enjoy this chapter of pure pain.

Thank you so much for all the love, I so so so appreciate it.

Let me know what you think!!

TW//// suicide - slight descriptions of suicide and dying (no actual death) - mentions of overdose and injury (all past)

The room holds its breath. Everyone is on high alert, their wide-eyed stares dancing between different group members, cataloguing every reaction. They are collectively choking on the escalating tension balancing on a razor’s edge, threatening to asphyxiate them all. Valentino studies the scene before him, blinking in confusion at the strange mix of people filling the small space. He raises his eyebrows at his boys, who shuffle awkwardly; Bez refuses to meet his eyes, staring steadfastly at the floor instead. Pecco and Luca do not share the same reservations, meeting his stare head-on. He is astonished to find unrestrained anger in Pecco’s eyes, and he questions what lies he has been fed to him by the surrounding men. He rips his gaze away, instead turning to assess the wider room.

Contrary to popular belief, Valentino is merely a person and, therefore, experiences very human emotions. Watching Marc fly off his bike, somersaulting in the air before slamming into the gravel, made his heart drop and his breath catch. When he didn’t make a move to get up, a decade’s worth of resentment and pain promptly disappeared as overwhelming fear choked him. However, the guilt that has been souring in his stomach since his run-in with Marquez earlieris beginning to evaporate, replaced by the scorching ragethat only Marc can illicit. Valentino observes how Marc has thrown himself on top of Dovizioso and Lorenzo, his teeth grinding in outrage. He cannot believe his insolence – to act like the world has done him some injustice; to fall into the arms of anyone who will offer; turning Valentino’s own riders against him. He seethes at the thought. How can Marc sit there acting so pleased when he has made Valentino feel this way? How dare he trick him like this?  Alex is standing to the side, unnoticed, with his fists clenched by his sides, hot fury spilling over. Who the hell does Valentino think he is turning up here, after everything he has done?

Valentino glances at Marc again, pausing at what he observes. There is something odd about the way he is holding himself; his usual mask of cold indifference has fallen away, replaced by wide-eyed worry. Marc is coiled tight with tension and has been since he registered Valentino. His gaze is darting around the room, anxiety practically dripping off him. It makes no sense. He does not look pleased, or smug. He is not ready for a fight. Instead, he seems scared, defeated, and even drained, like he has nothing to give. Valentino deflates slightly at the lack of provocation he finds from the group, none of this makes sense.

Marc is still slouched on the couch and is visibly panicking now; his heart is thumping in his chest and his breathing has become laboured. The last person he wants to see after the craziness of this weekend is Valentino. He feels vulnerable and helpless, stripped bare in the face of his adversary and unprotected in his own safe space. Images conjured by his traitorous brain flood his mind: Valentino destroying his last remaining sanity; Marc losing everything he has left; and Marc's friends abandoning him when they discover how hopeless he is. He bites back the distressed whine trapped in his throat, desperately hoping no one notices the choked-off noise he makes instead, but 7 sets of eyes immediately dart towards him, the silence broken. He gulps on his fear, his body frozen despite his mind screaming for him to move. The attention of the whole room is directed at where he is staring like a rabbit in headlights, too scared to flee. In his periphery, he swears concern flashes across Valentino’s face, gone as soon as it came, before he speaks, uncharacteristic uncertainty colouring his voice.

“Marc, I-”

Jorge curtly cuts him off, unwilling to let Valentino land his first blow.

“Valentino, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Valentino looks him up and down, sitting at ease in Marc’s living room. The younger is still sprawled across him and Dovi, looking up with scared eyes. Molten-hot anger once more boils in Valentino’s stomach. He does not understand what elicits such a strong reaction; whether it is the presence of Lorenzo or the way Marc is all over the pair of retired riders. Although, why would he be angry about that? It is none of his business who Marc screws. He scoffs, his face contorting into harsh, livid lines. All his intentions for politeness are forgotten. But Jorge knows his old rival too well not to see what is going on, and he can’t allow that. He pushes Marc towards Dovi, letting him settle before he jumps up, starting towards Valentino and talking lowly so that only he can hear.

“Don’t you dare, he has every right to move on, you don’t give a shit about him. Don’t pretend you do. He’s wasted enough of his life over you when you went out of your way to ruin him”

Who said a little jealousy wasn’t good to make sure someone knew what they were missing? Valentino's jaw hits the floor, astonishment and fury pouring over him like gasoline to a fire.

“Move on? Move on from what? I don’t care what the hell the bastard does in his spare time, I just want him to leave my boys out of it.  Get out of my way Lorenzo”

The heightened emotions leak into their voices, louder than intended, grabbing the interest of the others. Alex stands up, coming to stand next to Jorge. Marc’s face has shuttered at Valentino’s words. Luca and Pecco also make a start towards Vale but are halted by Jorge’s hand. Alex beat them all to it, swearing up a storm in Catalan.

“Vés a cagar a la via, puto desgraciat!”

Marc is staring at his brother with shock written across his face, he has never heard him sound so furious. Alex pays no mind, his wrath directed at Valentino.

“Puto imbècil de merda!”

Most of them have no idea what he is saying, but they can gather that isn’t exactly polite. Jorge looks torn between laughter and dismay. Alex collects himself enough to seethe once more in Valentino’s direction, in English this time, so he can understand.

“You bastard. You absolute bastard. How dare you turn up here and start acting so self-righteous. I hate you. You ruined everything. I almost lost him. We all almost lost him-”

Alex chokes on his next words, emotions overwhelming him. There are tears in his eyes which he furiously wipes at as he turns towards Jorge, gesturing for him to continue, before he slinks across the motorhome and through the door to the bedrooms. Valentino shakes himself from his stupor, astonished by the outburst.

“Is he always so dramatic-”

He never gets to finish that sentence as Jorge interrupts him, truly fed up with his nonchalance and refusal to see the truth.

“No, no, you listen here, you bastard. You didn’t have to watch him break down in your arms because of the things people have been saying. You didn’t have to watch him cling to the only people he had left for him because you took everyone else away. You left, walked out, left him broken, and let everyone else pick up the pieces of your mess. Fuck you, Valentino. Fuck you and your stupid denial and your ability to make your own problems everyone else’s.”

Vale stands silently, indignance rising inside him, rendered speechless by Jorge and Alex’s outbursts. He glances at Marc, who has masked his face into the perfect picture of media calm, only a slither of his previous panic shines through. His eyes look far away as if he is barely conscious of the chaos around him. He pushes the thought to the side.

“What the fuck? What did you just say? He lost me my tenth. We all know that I just told it as it was.”

He looks towards his academy boys, who all refuse to meet his eyes. It only makes him madder, a little hysterical at the idea that they too had been corrupted.

“No, we fucking don’t. Ask yourself Vale, what the hell would Marc gain from helping me over you? Why would he do that? He loved you, not me. You’ve clouded your own brain with lies and conspiracies and you’ve forgotten the truth. Marc did fuck all apart from trying to win.”

Marc reacts to that, grimacing from his seat, looking between Jorge and Valentino with barely concealed panic. Valentino gives him a side-eyed look and scoffs.

“Love? Yeah right, the only thing Marquez loves is his bike and winning. But maybe he wanted you more than me?”

“You’re kidding? Jesus Valentino, you’re so dense”

“Well, we all know he slept with half of the grid after Sepang, so it isn’t a giant leap.”

Alex growls at that; Valentino isn’t sure when he re-entered the room, but now he whips around towards Vale but is held back by Pecco. Jorge is panting now, seething with anger. Dani grabs his hands rubbing it comfortingly and pulls him back from Vale as Marc goes to stand, slightly wobbly on his feet.

“So that’s what you think of me huh? Do you think I’m some whore who won the championship for Jorge so I could sleep with him? Do you think I’m an attention seeker? A dangerous rider? That I’ve ruined this sport?”

Valentino watches him in silence, there is something off about Marc, something he can’t quite understand. Something lingers beneath the burning pride and resentment that he is so used to. His eyes are unfocused and a little lost; their usual warm brown has darkened, engulfed by his pupils and his anger. He somehow looks young, wide-eyed and naïve, despite the fury radiating off him. How he manages to look hurt, angry, and confused at once is baffling. It reminds Vale of that godforsaken photo that was taken at the press conference in Sepang, the one that has haunted him for a decade. When he first saw it, he laughed, but then it made him doubt everything. As the years have gone on and he’d solidified his stance on Marc, it still lingers.

“Did you know it was one of your fucking journalist pals that leaked my medical records? Were you part of that too? Did you take delight in all my pain, or was it just your fans? They never could let 2015 go, a little bit like you I suppose.”

Marc spits it out, venom burning his tongue. The room goes silent. Alex turns to him, just as shocked as the others.

“si, the team told me earlier, I couldn’t tell anyone yet, there’s no official confirmation, and frankly I didn’t want to face it. We’ve kept it quiet for your sake Valentino, but maybe we shouldn’t have. After all, you didn’t give a shit when they broke into my house and threatened my family. You didn’t give a shit when I almost died. Why would you care now? You always have had a sway with the media, no doubt they would find a way to spin this in your favour. A few choice words and all would be forgotten. Yes?”

Valentino looks like the floor has fallen out from underneath him. Pecco sits back down heavily as disbelief colours the air around them. The room drops a few degrees. Valentino’s face crumbles, the fight leaving him.

“You’re lying...”

Valentino doesn’t sound certain as the accusation falls past his lips. Marc simply laughs a harsh, cruel thing.

“Why would I lie about this? Let me guess, you think the rest of it is a lie too, huh? Did I make that up too?”

“Marc, I didn’t know”

Marc scoffs in response, rolling his eyes at his former hero.

“What didn’t you know Valentino? About the press digging up all my pain, your fans abusing me, or about how you left me back in 2015?”

Valentino stutters, grasping at the feeble trails of what used to be his truth - torn to shreds in the light of the motorhome.

“Go on Vale, say it, you didn’t know how bad it was? Didn’t know that I-“

“No stop, don't”

Valentino looks devastated now, eyes darting wildly around Marc’s face, looking for a hint of lies. He doesn’t find any. It makes sense then, what he found earlier, Marc looking out of it, clouded eyes, wobbling when he stood up. He’s spitting nothing but the truth because he’s clearly off his face on something. He shoots a desperate look at Alex, the younger meets his gaze but doesn’t react. Valentino starts to speak but pauses, unable to force the words out. Marc releases a bitter laugh.

“You can’t even say it. I had to live it, at 22. I was almost a CHILD. I LOST everything to you. I almost died. You took my heart with you when you left, and a knife in My back.”

Valentino chokes,

“Why didn’t you say?”

Marc laughs even harder, a manic edge to it.

“Of course, I didn’t fucking tell you. What was I meant to say? Hi Vale, I know you hate me and think I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you and the sport but I’m actually in hospital and I want to die. Just thought I’d let you know.

How about this? Valentino, I'm in love with you but actually, I've overdosed and in about ten minutes my brother will find me half-dead. But I thought you should know what you meant to me”

And God the aim was true on that one, Valentino gasps for air, clutching at any defence he can find.

“You were on track with a death wish? It’s not like I was wrong then”

The room startles at that, shocked by his cruelty. Luca puts his face in his hands, muttering obscenities under his breath in Italian as Pecco shoots daggers at his mentor. Dovi honest to God growls, prowling towards Valentino, but is stopped by Dani who is also glaring at the oldest Italian. Alex turns and punches the wall. Hard.

“Really? That’s what you’ve taken from this?”

Valentino seems to wake up to the room’s atmosphere then, realising the stupidity of his statement. He sensibly decides not to elaborate further on that point. Jorge begins to speak, hoping to put an end to the madness but Marc stops him. Now that he’s started laying it out, he can’t stop gutting himself in front of Valentino.

“Shocker but being suicidal doesn’t mean I tried to take myself or anyone else out in style on race day. Well, I certainly didn’t try to kill anyone else. I know you have convinced yourself that I am the devil, that I am dangerous. I can see that you will never change your mind. But you do not get to come here and pretend I have done something wrong by protecting the small amount of will to live I had left by avoiding you. Did you want me to call? In 2015? 2016? You would have loved to hear that you’d broken me. All I did was sleep and cry and be forced to eat when all I wanted to do was stop living. Do you think I should have messaged when I was riding through agony in 2020-2021? Maybe I should have asked you to take me back because I was in so much pain that I was abusing the medication. Do you like my humiliation? Is it some twisted game to you?”

It is then that the final piece of the puzzle falls into place. Valentino realises several truths at once.

Marc had been crying before he had entered and probably for quite some time considering his red-rimmed eyes, filled with hurt. It makes him wonder whether he allowed the others to watch him break apart; the thought makes a spike of resentment lance through him. Secondly, it is jealousy he has been experiencing all weekend, staring at the way Marc relaxes in front of Dovi and the other ex-riders. Valentino can’t pinpoint what he is jealous of, but it sits uncomfortably in his stomach, so he decides not to think about it. Thirdly, Marc hates vulnerability more than anything else; there’s no way he is enjoying this weekend, and he certainly didn’t cause it in a fit of attention-seeking. Valentino used to know him well, he doesn’t know how he overlooked that. For Marc, this must be torture, showing so much weakness to the world. He would be too proud to admit it, but he is hiding behind a wall of fake bravado even in his worst moments, scrambling desperately to hold his defences.

Valentino has seen the reports; the vivid descriptions of Marc’s pain make him wince. Some of them he couldn’t bring himself to read, too painful and gruesome to fathom. Marc’s history is printed out in black and white. He knows what they say, and now he realises with sickening clarity that they are all true. It makes him stumble slightly, horror dawning in his mind like the sun breaking the horizon, lighting up the truth with vivid clarity. He thinks about what he’s read, the graphic details of the overdose in 2015, where Alex had found him on the floor of their bathroom at home, slurring and on the brink of consciousness. All of it is written in stark medical terms, including the resuscitation. Marc had died on the table; it rocks him to the core. He rehashes the reports of Marc depressed and desolate after 2015, a chain he wore for many years to come. Reports of Marc on suicide watch and the subsequent concern of the doctors who cared for him. He feels sick when he imagines the aftermath of Jerez, the surgeries and the subsequent pain, the scribbled doctor’s notes talking about addiction and reliance. Words are thrown around like medical neglect, non-compliance, and risk to self and overdose. Tales of Marc riding through agony only to cram himself full of medication the rest of the time, just to numb the pain. It had all happened to him, to his Marc. And when had it become his Marc?

Vale feels as though he is free-falling off the edge of a building, without a parachute. He is struck again and again by the realisation of the truth of what he has done. He buckles under the weight of it, almost falling to his knees. Distantly, he sees his boys staring at him with a mix of confusion and horror. Valentino has fucked up. All those years, he turned a blind eye, chose to listen to his side of things, and ignored everything that told him otherwise. He’s going to be sick. He has lived in his own little world for too long and now it is as if someone has come along and burst his bubble; they have flicked on the lights. The truth does not portray him in a pretty light. The world outside his bubble is cruel and horrifying. He searches within himself but can no longer find any fury over Sepang, just guilt. He still believes Marx chose vengeance, he still thinks he can be dangerous, but can’t they all? It looks different now, it makes more sense and fits with the other perceptions of Marc. The stone-cold racer who will do anything to win. The suffering man who took solace in his bike. His Marc.

Valentino turns to Marc once more. Tears are shining in his eyes; he looks completely drained of life. Vale feels the same way.

“Marc, I didn’t know. I promise I didn’t know, Oh god, Cazzo. Marc, I had no idea. Cazzo. Cazzo.”

“Leave Valentino, just go.”

“No please, let me explain, I thought-”

“NO. GO! GET OUT. LEAVE. I DON’T WANT YOU HERE AGAIN. PLEASE, JUST GO.”

Marc loses his composure, screaming at Valentino. His voice cracks as the tears begin to spill over. He wipes furiously at his eyes, gazing at Valentino one last time before he looks away. As he turns, he says one last thing,

“You had your chance. Don’t come back”

Alex steps forward then, pushing Valentino to the door, with some delight.  Luca, Bez, and Pecco trail after them awkwardly, Luca puts his hand on Marc's shoulder as he passes, apologising quietly. Pecco pulls him into a tight hug, surprising the older man. As he escorts them outside, Alex turns to Valentino, his tone is crystal clear but simmering with fury, delivering a killing blow.

“Maybe you should spend some time thinking about what it would be like to hold your brother in your arms, minutes away from death. I found him you know. I called for help, I took him to the hospital, and I watched the life fade out of him. No matter how many years go by, I’ll never, ever, forget holding him, thinking it would be his last breath, weeping over him. Nothing will ever be worse.

You’re the reason my brother lost everything, make it right or fuck off and don’t come back.”

The younger Italians look devastated as Alex turns to leave, barely sparing them a glance. Alex slams the door behind him. Vale is breathing heavily as he spins around and meets three disappointed stares. Pecco just shakes his head, turns on his heel and leaves. Bez surprises the older man as he offers Valentino a sad look.

 “You’re a fucking idiot”

Luca’s reaction hurts the most, his younger brother levelling him with a disappointed glare and some harsh words.

“You need to fix it. You fucked up. Badly. Work it out, Vale.”

Vale watches Luca’s back disappear into the darkness, despair threatening to swallow him home. Vale stands there alone, outside Marc’s motorhome, for some time. It feels like time is suspended, the echoes of past mistakes haunting him. He really has screwed up, and he has no idea how to fix it.

[ggomos-maribat]

8 | in which Bruce is not the only aspiring Marinette-adopter

Part 8 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

"A visit to the Kent family farm?" Marinette echoed, "This sounds like a family event only. Are you sure I should be going?"

"I know it sounds like I'm pre-adopting you—"

"Yes, it absolutely sounds like that—"

"But Dick suggested for you to come instead of him since he won't be able to come," Bruce explained. "Besides, Lois specifically asked for you."

Lois, huh. Marinette felt an incoming headache already. On one hand, a part of her knew she should be declining it firmly but it would be terribly impolite to turn down the invitation as well. It was a problem indeed.

But if I go, I can just stick to the Kents and avoid the Waynes, right? She wondered. It's free food too and I won't need to work on a Friday.

One work week later, she ended up squeezed inside a van with Bruce behind the wheel, driving to Smallville. She had a basket of pastries at her feet, window to her left and Damian on her right. Everything seemed to be going fine when—

Screech!

The car suddenly halted and before Marinette knew it, Damian's arm was in front of her to keep her from face-planting on the back of the car seat.

"Sorry! There was a dog!" Bruce apologized from the front seat.

"If you were gonna drive this bad, you should've let me drive instead," Jason groaned from the passenger seat, rubbing his head.

"Yeah, Bruce, you should've told us if you were gonna send us to an early grave," Stephanie piped up from the back. "Damn it Cass, we have to redo the cracker tower."

When Marinette took a peek, she saw that the girls were trying to pile up some Ritz crackers on top of a sleeping Tim's forehead. Tim (lucky for him) was just snoring away the whole time.

Bruce threw his second son a look. "We both know you're going above the speed limit if you drive."

"I only speed when I'm on my bike!" Jason denied. "I can definitely drive better than you, old man."

Marinette figured these were the effects of not having Alfred around. The butler had to go to the farm ahead of them in the promise of helping the elder Kents prepare. But Marinette knew Alfred just secretly wanted to escape the family's chaos.

"Are you okay?" Damian whispered beside her. She nodded and smiled in reply.

In fact, Marinette was about to open her mouth to offer to drive but then she remembered her agreement with Bruce: on the trip, she wasn't supposed to act as an assistant but rather a family friend. She sighed inwardly in defeat.

"Father, if you're already too old to drive, I can take over the wheel as well," Damian said.

"I'm not too old to drive." Bruce rolled his eyes. "It's fine, I can handle this."

"Famous last words," Jason scoffed. "If Dickie were here he'd arrest you for reckless driving."

"I'm not recklessly driving!"

Marinette withheld a chuckle. Seeing someone causing trouble for Bruce other than herself was amusing. She stretched as much as the small space allowed her and whispered to Damian, "Can I rest my head on you?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Of course."

Grinning, Marinette leaned her head against his shoulder. Their arms were only slightly touching but she could feel his warmth. From her position, she could see Bruce squinting at them through the rearview mirror.

"Bruce, eyes on the road please," Duke warned.

Bruce huffed through his nose but focused on driving.

"Why can't Clark take us there instead?" Stephanie complained, "It'll be much faster."

An image was painted in Marinette's head: Superman carrying the van over the skies while Bruce sulked on the front seat.

"He's busy," Bruce replied, glancing towards Marinette (probably checking if she found the statement odd). "Don't you think I'm perfectly capable of taking us there safely?"

"Nope," Stephanie responded.

"Ditto," Cass said.

Stephanie snorted out a laugh. "I only agreed to go anyway 'cause Kara and Lois are there."

"Ditto."

"Hey if he gets any worse at driving, I'll call Alfred and tell him we got kidnapped," Jason suggested.

"No, you're not," Bruce sighed in exasperation.

"Twenty-one crackers!" Stephanie cheered suddenly. "Agghh, hold it there Cass, I'm taking a picture!"

Marinette's gaze strayed downwards. Our hands are really, really close. Their knuckles are just barely brushing. Sucking in a breath, she moved her fingers to touch the back of Damian's hand. To her surprise, his hand wrapped around hers with his thumb rubbing her knuckles.

The car swerved again.

"BRUCE!"

"That's it, I'm calling Alfred."

"Fuck! The crackers!"

". . . Wha . . . huh? What's happening?"

***

"Where is she?! Where's Marinette?"

One of the things Marinette dreaded. Seeing Lois Lane-Kent again. The woman practically squeezed past the other Kent boys to lock her in a suffocating hug the moment she stepped out of the van.

"Marinette!" Lois said, pulling away and squishing her cheeks together. "Jeez, recommend an assistant job to a girl and she never reaches out anymore!"

"I answer your calls sometimes," Marinette weakly protested.

"But no visits." Lois turned to Bruce with an accusatory glare. "Are you overworking the poor girl?!"

"No, no, I'm fine." Marinette gently pulled away from her hold while Bruce escaped to help the others prepare the picnic table. "It's a great job, honestly. The pay is very generous."

"You know Marinette, Lois?" Duke asked as he helped unload another box from the van.

"You haven't told them?" Lois looked at her, and Marinette responded with a sheepish look.

Lois smiled proudly, wrapping an affectionate arm around Marinette. "I had the absolute honor of interviewing this girl about the Paris akuma attacks. She was the civilian aide for the heroes!"

"Lois," Marinette groaned.

"We kept in touch, and I was the one who suggested she get a PA job at WE when she moved to Gotham." Lois patted the top of her head. "Hmph, on second thought I should've kept you as an assistant for myself."

"I told you, journalism isn't my expertise," said Marinette.

"You're a brilliant girl, you can learn! If you stay in Metropolis, you can even live with us!"

Marinette's eyes widened in horror. "No please, I've had enough of serial adopters."

"What? Oh, is Bruce trying to . . ." She scowled at the girl's boss again. "I knew it! I knew this would happen, agh I shouldn't have sent you to him!"

"Lois . . . no, you can't legally adopt me . . ."

The woman's eyes gleamed. "But illegally?"

"You were a civilian aide?" Damian asked, staring at Marinette.

"No big deal. I just worked behind the scenes to help defeat Hawkmoth." She kept a wary eye on Bruce. If he were to find out, he will combust for sure . . . and become more adamant on adopting her.

"Read my article, you'll see how amazing she is!" Lois boasted.

"Lois, please," Marinette sighed. "I'll go set these up at the table."

Fortunately, a savior by the name of Ma Kent called Lois back to the house so Marinette was able to shake her off. She was grateful for the journalist, really—recounting what happened to Paris was no easy feat and often other reporters liked to focus on the heroes and villain only, not the trauma or lasting damage on the city. Lois even helped her settle in, lecturing her on the dangers of Gotham despite not being its resident.

But Lois was . . . the second one who expressed the desire of adopting her before Bruce.

"Didn't know the Waynes had a new one," a new voice said.

"Kon!" Marinette put down the basket and reached up to hug the boy. "I didn't know you're here!"

"When I heard you were coming, I knew I couldn't miss this." Kon raised an eyebrow. "You're such a traitor, Mars, you're one of them now?"

"Of course not!" She huffed. "I wanted to skip out on work and, er, Lois wanted me to come."

Another familiar face approached the two. "Full offense, but you look like you're part of the Wayne family now."

Marinette lowered her tone to a whisper, leaning to give Jon a side hug. "Mr. Wayne wishes." She rolled her eyes. "But he can't, obviously."

A few feet away from them, Clark fell into a coughing fit. Oops, he heard that didn't he? Marinette's cheeks reddened.

She had been visiting Metropolis during her third meet up with Lois. At that time, she had the two boys join them for lunch, and that was when Marinette got to meet them. Both seemed just as energetic as the Wayne boys, by her observation, but in a different way.

Jon threw an arm around her shoulder. "Hey, is it just me or Damian looks extra broody?"

"Probably . . . jealous?" Kon looked at the boy.

"Jealous of what?" asked Jon. Slowly, his head turned towards Marinette, seemingly coming to a realization little by little. "What? No way."

"Maybe . . . yes way." Marinette brushed a hand over her bangs. "There was this, um, thing on our way here you see."

"What is it? What is it?"

Marinette rubbed her heated cheek. "I'll tell you later!"

Just then, Clark came to the table to set down some glasses and utensils. "It's nice seeing you again, Marinette. You haven't run into another Batman-related trouble I hope?"

"Batman-related trouble?" Jon repeated, directing a curious look towards her.

"Nope, not at all," Marinette chuckled. "In fact, he stalked me one night in an empty street just to apologize."

Clark's eyebrows raised. "He did?"

"You never told us that!" Kon chimed in.

"I know, it's a long story." Marinette grinned evilly. "But I think it's best told over lunch with everyone."

***

"Tea or coffee?" Marinette asked her guest, who was sitting at her humble dining table, hands folded together.

"Tea please, my dear. I do miss your personal brew—it's one of a kind."

Marinette rolled her eyes as she grabbed a teacup from the upper cabinets. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

The guest tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "It's not flattery. It's only a comment."

Marinette prepared the tea diligently, and even brought out leftover banana bread she made for herself and her neighbors. From her periphery, she could see the woman looking over the photographs she had framed on the pastel walls. "There's too much of you who want to adopt me, you know," she said.

"Oh?"

"My boss and . . . Lois just the other day. I don't know if she was joking or not." Marinette scrunched her nose. "Seriously, legally none of you can adopt me."

"Who said I was going to do it by legal means?"

"Kwamis, don't say that, Talia. I think Bruce is an inch away from doing it under the table too."

With the tea and snacks prepared, Marinette put everything on a wooden tray she put together herself and brought it over to the table. If she anticipated Talia's visit, she would've cooked an entire meal. Alas, the woman popped up during the most unexpected hours.

"Your honey jar is very cute." Talia chuckled.

"Hmpf. It was a gift." A house-warming (or apartment-warming?) gift from Adrien: a custom transparent jar with a cat design painted on it. The top of the dipper's handle was carved out into a paw.

"How is Damian, by the way?"

"I thought you came here as a friend." Marinette crossed her arms. "It's not my job to keep tabs on your son."

"I know that, my dear, but he doesn't like seeing me . . ."

"Just talk to him." Marinette took a bite of her bread. "You know, the key to being emotionally constipated is to actually let it all out."

Marinette had met Talia al Ghul way before she met Bruce or any of the Waynes. She found out the woman's connection to them much later, however. After becoming guardian and losing Fu to amnesia, Talia had become somewhat of a mentor to her. Someone who taught her more about eccentric skills than magical knowledge and responsibility (the woman was crazy skilled in the most random things, it used to drive Marinette crazy). Since they'd parted aways after she graduated, Marinette saw her more like a troublesome aunt than a teacher.

"He has taken an interest in you, no?" The way her emerald eyes glittered spoke of her slyness. 

"Taliaaa," Marinette groaned.

"What? It is very funny how fate brought you two together." She sighed wistfully. "I never saw it coming."

"Do you seriously want me to be with your son just so you can make me your daughter?"

"What's the problem? You like him too, right?"

"Talia!"

She shrugged. "'I'm just saying I'm not opposed to the relationship."

Marinette rubbed her face, hoping to ease off the heat on her cheeks. "I thought you're here to see how I'm doing, not badger me about my love life. You're starting to sound like my mom."

Talia's grin grew wide. "Your mom?"

"Wait, no—"

Talia set her chin on top of her locked hands. "Would you like a League-themed wedding, my dear? Have a little blood pact mixed in?"

"Damian and I aren't even marrying!"

"Yet," the woman added. "I can't wait to have you in the family. I've got the perfect heirlooms to pass on to you. A sword, if you'd like or even a kunai."

"Oh, come on—"

"You have my complete blessing Marinette," she cooed. "In fact, I'd rather have Damian be with no one else but you."

Marinette stood up so quickly, red in the face, and her chair scraped the floor. "I'm going to bed."

Talia reached over to grab her hand. "Leaving your guest all alone! Where are the manners I taught you?"

"I'd actually love to chat if you have something else to talk about," Marinette huffed.

"Alright, alright, sit down. I'll behave myself, I promise." The former mentor smiled. Marinette narrowed her eyes. She should've closed her window that night.

***

After a debate with herself, Marinette decided to voice out her request to Bruce at the time she served coffee and snacks in his office. She was setting down his mug on a coaster when she popped the question: "Mr. Wayne, can I have next Thursday off? I can work on Saturday to make up for it."

Bruce looked up from his screen. "Hm? What for?"

"I've finally decided to let Lois adopt me."

"What?" Marinette had never seen Bruce so panicked. She didn't know if she should laugh or feel sorry for it.

"I'm kidding." She transferred the snacks next from the rolling cart. "Some of my friends are visiting Gotham, but their only free day is on Thursday. I haven't seen them in a while so I really want to catch up."

Bruce slowly regained his composure, clearing his throat. "Right. Of course you can go, Marinette. No need for the extra hours."

". . . Are you sure you'll be fine without me?"

"Yes, we have no meetings scheduled that day, do we?" Bruce waved the thought off. "Enjoy the day off. You deserve it."

***

It was Chloe who got them the reservations for their dinner: an open air chabudai-style restaurant that served Japanese cuisine. The tables were low, comfy enough for them to sit cross-legged on cushions while still keeping elegance.

Marinette sipped on her drink and nudged Luka with her shoulder. "You never told us what you were in Gotham for."

The now world-renowned musician ran a hand through his hair. "Dad's having a tour around the U.S. He wanted to check the venue here since this is the last stop. Our band's opening."

Marinette sucked in a breath. "Congrats, Luka! I didn't know about that, Jagged hasn't put out a commission yet!"

"Planning's still in the works." Luka smiled. "I'm sure Penny will reach out soon."

Adrien groaned and stretched his arms. "I'm so fuullll." He fell on his back, positioning his head on Marinette's lap.

"I told you to lay off on the maki roll," Chloe tsked to which Adrien stuck out a tongue in reply.

Marinette ignored the bickering pair and turned to Kagami. "What about you, Kags? Have you met up with your new student yet?"

"What new student?" asked Adrien.

"You're not reading the group chat, are you?" Chloe scolded.

"It's alright, I only mentioned it in passing." Kagami poured more cups of beer for Luka and Chloe. "A former coach told me about a rising fencing prodigy in Gotham. I wanted to take a look for myself if I can mentor them. Unfortunately there was an emergency at the airport earlier so I'm meeting them tomorrow instead."

Marinette grimaced, distinctly remembering that some Rogues had broken into the airport in the morning.

"Prodigy or not, the kid's gonna be an international level pro if you're the coach, Gami," Adrien pointed out.

"Hm. You have too much faith in me."

"What about you, Maribug? How's work?" Chloe directed her inquisitive gaze at the girl.

"Just the same old." With a little bit of something going on with my boss' son. "My boss still wants to adopt me, everyday's busy, sometimes I get caught up in robberies and hostage situations for a little spice."

"M'lady?" Adrien suddenly said in a soft voice.

Marinette reached down to stroke his hair. "What's up?"

"I think I saw something move behind the trees over there."

Marinette squinted into the dark, past the lantern lights. Familiar . . . shadows moved around, cloaked by the darkness.

"Oh hell no," she whispered. "What the fuck? Those are the Gotham vigilantes."

Adrien's lips shaped into an 'o'. "Ohhh, I think . . . I think they're here because of me."

"What?"

"Well, the small business I asked to do the landscaping for our runway event is Pam and Harley’s," Adrien explained. "I talked to them earlier and they got worried since it's my first time here in Gotham. They offered a security detail even when I said I didn't need any!"

"And that . . . security detail are the vigilantes?" Chloe stared.

"Guess so. Hey, do you think we should offer them some food?" Adrien sat up and waved at the shadows. "Do you think they'll join us?"

"Adrien," Marinette groaned. "Anyone but them."

"What, why?"

***

Meanwhile . . .

"Rob, you've been staring at Marinette and that guy for a long time."

"I am not."

"Are you jealous? She said they're her friends right? They must be really close."

"Tt."

Taglist: @hammalammadamdam @animegirlweeb @fairlyfatale @agentxx92