#jerky camera motion

[cryptid-stimming]

Source

[not-neverland06]

forgotten promises

pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)

bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader

a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask.  Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.

“What are you doing?”

You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. 

“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket. 

Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes. 

“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”

“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”

You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”

Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both. 

“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less. 

“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid. 

LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING

Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6

Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention. 

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front. 

That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants. 

Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance. 

You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat. 

“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving. 

It hadn’t gone over well for him. 

He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom. 

He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly. 

When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door. 

“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target. 

“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving. 

The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling. 

He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end. 

He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer. 

But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit. 

He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you. 

“All good?” You ask. 

He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer. 

Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down. 

There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work. 

It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him. 

His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long. 

It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you. 

You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.

“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore. 

You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”

Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently.  “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning. 

“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much. 

Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it. 

You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this. 

The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut. 

Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place. 

He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded. 

“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”

Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”

He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”

You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?

He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in. 

You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here. 

You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long. 

It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough. 

As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him. 

Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night. 

A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here. 

The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty. 

Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby. 

“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting. 

The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair. 

“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars. 

He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before. 

You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air. 

You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you. 

It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand. 

For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with. 

You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump. 

A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!” 

“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves. 

“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you.  You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage. 

Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for. 

You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face. 

The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel. 

You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy. 

Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking. 

You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you. 

You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself. 

He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though. 

He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs. 

The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him. 

You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard. 

You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one. 

You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you. 

You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”

He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”

You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it. 

In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands. 

“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”

He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. 

It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish. 

Are you angry?

Are you leaving?

Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?

Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore. 

Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so. 

You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you. 

You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty. 

It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar. 

Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you. 

You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth. 

The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you. 

You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety. 

You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up. 

You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence. 

You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer. 

You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light. 

He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.

Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would. 

You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt. 

His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering. 

He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks. 

He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”

You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly. 

His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips. 

His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you. 

His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk. 

“Logan,” you scold. 

He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him. 

He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours. 

It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”

“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”

You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again. 

“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.

You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime. 

You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you. 

“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze. 

You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips. 

Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another. 

It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either. 

He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan. 

There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried. 

Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt. 

He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”

He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him. 

It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. 

But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him. 

“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be. 

His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again. 

You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back. 

Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good. 

This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy. 

You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped. 

You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want. 

He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out. 

“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.” 

“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”

He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs. 

He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up. 

Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.

You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin. 

Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other. 

One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat. 

But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further. 

You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them. 

You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling. 

The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck. 

He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly. 

But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say. 

“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”

“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him. 

Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”

You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life. 

“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks. 

A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. 

“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt. 

“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow. 

He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you. 

You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh. 

When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him. 

“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth. 

For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead. 

Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy. 

You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes. 

You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings. 

He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?” 

You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner. 

You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago. 

Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both. 

You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you. 

You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”

You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”

He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice. 

You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right. 

Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh. 

He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window. 

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.” 

You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”

He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”  

“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”

His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart. 

It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”

He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again. 

The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes. 

Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes. 

As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different. 

You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan. 

This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out. 

But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street. 

You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left. 

You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all. 

By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark. 

You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine. 

When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable. 

There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down. 

He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep. 

Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning. 

You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something. 

He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive. 

You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste. 

“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him. 

Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night. 

By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road. 

You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight. 

“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower. 

The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is. 

You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about. 

“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest. 

“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him. 

He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”

He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”

Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”

You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now. 

“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”

You’re not gonna like it. 

I don’t want you tagging along. 

You should just stay here and read or some shit.

You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him. 

“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”

He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.

“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”

You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it. 

He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries. 

You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck. 

The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd. 

The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool. 

The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender. 

She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her. 

“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix. 

“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do. 

Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life. 

Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”

The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?

“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl. 

And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched. 

Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.

“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure. 

There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off. 

It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?

“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on. 

“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it. 

The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand. 

You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”

Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore. 

Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you. 

“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly. 

“What?”

He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him. 

He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle. 

She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through. 

“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror. 

You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps. 

You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes. 

“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you. 

“You’re such a softie,” you tease him. 

“Shut the hell up.”

Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags. 

He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment. 

You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything. 

You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing. 

You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement. 

The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on. 

Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here. 

The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it. 

You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab. 

Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you. 

But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?

“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now. 

It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”

You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator. 

When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over. 

You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time. 

You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”

Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing. 

Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again. 

“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap. 

You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you.  You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here. 

It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long. 

“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open. 

Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”

You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”

The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it. 

Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own. 

You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look. 

“What was that about?”

“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging. 

“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured. 

You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”

You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.” 

There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here. 

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

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox  ♡ 

Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo

@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns

@likeficsinthewnd ♡ 

[killiaia]

Sex in unusual places with Dreamcatcher.

Jiu.

You're at the movies with Minji. Everything is going perfectly, the film is great and there are only two of you in the cinema. 

You thought there'd be more people, but at that moment, that's not what you're thinking about. 

You're thinking of Jiu's mouth engulfing your cock. With your hand, you grab her ponytail and help her suck you off. You make pelvic movements to gain pleasure and Jiu slaps your thighs. 

"Cum in my mouth baby. "

You kiss her and put her mouth back on your cock.

----

Sua

You and Sua have been stuck in the elevator for an hour now.

You can't call the technician and Bora is starting to stress. You try to reassure her, but nothing works. But you do have an idea. 

"Lift your skirt. I'm going to eat your pussy. "

Sua opens her eyes wide and looks around. 

"There's no camera. Already looked. "

Bora nods and the young woman lifts her skirt. You recognize the lingerie you bought her and go straight to your knees. You pull her thong down her legs.

"Thanks for the meal Bora. "

----

Siyeon

The sounds of moaning replaced the sounds of the forest.

While you and Siyeon had started the day with a hike in the forest, the day ended with Siyeon leaning forward against a tree and your cock in her pussy.

"Harder. "

You listen to her and your thrusts get stronger and stronger. With your hands you knead her ass as you see your cock making a rapid back and forth in her pussy.

"You're really addicted to my cock Siyeon."

"Your cock was made for me. " 

"In that case your tight pussy too. ",

Siyeon winks at you in response.

----

Handong

You're sitting down and Handong is on your lap. Nothing new except that the young Chinese girl is straddling your cock.

Your hands spread her ass and you have one of her breasts in your mouth. This is nothing new for you. Handong's sexual appetite is well known. What is new is Handong straddling you in a school toilet.

All because of you, she says, because Handong saw you playing with the kids and taking lots of photos of her niece during her school's end-of-year show.

"You were so nice to them. So now you're going to empty your balls inside me and get me pregnant. "

Handong had to bite her hand when you impaled her forcefully on your cock.

----

Yoohyeon

"Oh..oh..oh.." 

Her ass spread wide and your tongue in her asshole, Yoohyeon is just a mess.

With your tongue, you make circular motions around the singer's hole. Yoohyeon presses your head down and you literally have your head up her ass. 

But that's no problem, you love her ass so much. 

"Make me come. Eat my ass."

That's what you planned, but what you didn't plan on was doing it on the premises of Dreamcatcher's agency. Hidden in the parking lot, in your car, you're eating Yoohyeon's ass. 

However, you stop your oral assault on Yoohyeon, who makes a noise of protest. But her protest dies in her throat as you align your cock with her hole. Yoohyeon looks you straight in the eye and says. 

"Fuck my ass."

----

Dami

It's a perfect day. The zoo tour is perfect. What's more, the zoo is almost empty. 

You haven't met many people and you take your time looking at the animals. 

And now you're in front of the panda, Dami's favorite animal and nickname.

However, Dami, who's up against the railing, hasn't said a word, or more precisely, doesn't dare say a word for fear of moaning.

The reason is simple: the vibrator you put in her pussy this morning.

Since this morning, you've been alternating gears, much to Dami's despair. 

"Look my love, panda bears! "you say to Dami, increase the speed of the vibrator.

You see Dami clenching her thighs and it brings a smile to your face. You decrease the speed and Dami sticks to you, her cheeks flushed and her breathing jerky. 

"I need you," Dami says with difficulty.

"Endure this day and I promise for one day I'll be your sex toy. "

Dami straightens up and takes the vibrator remote from your hands. With a look of confidence on your face, you watch the young woman increase the speed to maximum. You open your eyes wide. 

"Here we go. Toy." Dami says.

You swallow hard. You're going to lose.

----

Gahyun.

"Are you really sure no one comes here?" You ask Gahyun. 

"Yes.! " Gahyun replies, aligning your cock with her asshole.

You moan at the contact with her hole and Gahyun silences you with a kiss.

Gahyun came up with the idea of going to the beach and you went right along with it. What could be better than to see Gahyun in a bikini?

However, Gahyun didn't tell you that her goal was to have sex on the beach.

But here you are, lying on a towel and Gahyun is straddling you.

The young woman straddles you like a slut. 

"I love having your cock in my ass."

"I love fucking your ass. Get on all fours. "

Gahyun listens and gets down on all fours. The young woman spreads her ass and says. 

"We're not shy anymore? " 

You insert your cock into her ass as an answer. 

"No. And I want to hear you cum. "

"I'm Daddy's cock slut!"

"That's my good girl. "

[tsukaretartist]

Akechi sketches referenced from P5 dancing

Very long rambling/analysis(?) about his dance and character below:

I genuinely can't believe how much characterization and storytelling was put into his roughly three minute dance in a silly dancing game spinoff. The entire dance clearly imitates Akechi's character throughout Persona 5 (with the cracks in his detective prince persona showing at the beginning and him completely losing it by the end). I'll do my best to skip over the obvious stuff so this isn't too boring.

The dance starts with Akechi looking sad and miserable. I find this pretty telling, as while it's never explicitly stated that Akechi is depressed, there are certainly a lot of hints. His line of "god, I live for this" during his all out attack also says a lot. Of course, the sad expression almost immediately fades once he takes on his role as the "detective prince."

During the first section of the dance, he starts off casual and completely in control. As time goes on, the mask begins to slip a little, as he throws quick evil smirks towards the camera. Towards the end, he slips up slightly, and for a moment his movements become extremely robotic and rigid. I could be overthinking this, but I think this could be meant to mirror his phone call with Shido. The slip up is him failing to kill Joker, after which he behaves a lot more timidly than usual when talking to Shido. He even struggles more during his interviews and gets distracted with his thoughts.

Just like in P5, a wild Joker then appears! Initially, the two are perfectly in sync with each other, but Akechi starts to feel like he's loosing. I think this is a parallel to their first fight in the engine room. Just like Morgana said, Akechi begins throwing a tantrum like a little kid. You can see him flailing around wildly behind Joker just after the two jump (I don't know dancing terms sorry), while Joker carries on, seemingly unbothered. If you slow it down though, you can see that Joker clearly looks sad and regretful, despite dancing normally. (This says a lot about Joker's character too, but that's an entirely different analysis.)

Mirroring the game, Akechi tries to pull himself together and keeps dancing, the equivalent of fighting in P5. The two dance a bit more, which is analogous to the black mask fight.

For me, one of the saddest parts of the dance is when the two lean in towards each other, before pulling away. The two move in again, closer this time, and you can see Akechi screaming angrily at Joker. Joker is saying something too, probably desperately trying to convince Akechi to join him despite everything that's happened.

But it's not enough. Akechi pushes him away, and is left alone again. You can see Akechi walking over the line for the watertight door as Joker goes the other way, literally sealing their fates. Akechi seems incredibly upset through both his face and body language, though it's hard to guess at who. My guess would be he hates both himself and Joker, though his "hatred" towards both is very complicated.

After this, his dancing somehow becomes even more unhinged. He seemingly can't control his body, his motions are robotic and jerky, and for the most part he isn't smiling any more. While he was dancing somewhat robotically before, this could also be a reference to cognitive Akechi revealing that Akechi was just a puppet the entire time.

At the very end, his head whips around towards the camera, and his expression is just...completely empty. At this point, Akechi has lost everything. His mother is gone, Joker is on the other side of the door, and he won't get his revenge on Shido the way he wanted to. All that's left for him is to die.

If this was at all interesting to you, the channel "Designing For" has a really good video analyzing Akechi's dance. It goes into a lot more depth on the actual dancing aspect, which is something I know nothing about.

[firefly-factory]

WIP Wednesday :D

Thanks for tagging me @sulphuricgrin @skyrim-forever @changelingsandothernonsense

Imma no pressure tag @emicat1159 (because Astor! and Shayfer James!! Together!!)

Anyways it feels like it's been ages since I felt up to posting a WIP (it probably hasnt been that long lol) but I do have something this week! Dabbling in animation/animatics again and although it's slow going I feel like I'm getting better at the whole process (and better at choosing reasonable milestones lol

So far the characters are Astor (age of calamity) and my oc/his mom Leah :D Music is "Lighthouse Keeper" by Shayfer James.

I'm trying to do an animatic that follows some of the moments/feelings from my story (and also play around with putting art to music!). The goal is to do the whole song (it's about 2.5 mins long, so it seems doable)

Here it is so far-

Besides doing more art and stuff I think I need to work on the camera motions (make them a little less jerky). I also think I'm going to want to add subtitles to go with it. But so far, I'm pleased with this, and it's been going quicker than a lot of my other attempts at animation.

[mlobsters]

the old guard 2

what is up with this herky jerky filming, kept feeling like i was blinking and the camera was halfway across the screen. reminds me of like, motion tracking that's following a face or something. doesn't seem too weird on a smaller screen but at a larger size it was giving me some weird whiplashy vibes

[pynkhues]

Okay.

so like, you want me to die then? I have supported you and loved you and you still wont give me what I need..i can take it anymore..im standing on the top of my house...

DEMANDING MORE!!!

GIVE ME BONELESS 3 BEFORE I JUMP!!!

you dont have to post this..im clowning with you

Ahahaha, I'm sorry! I promise I'm working on it literally as we speak. Have a ittle sexy bit to tide you over?

(Below a cut because it is a bit racy).

Lestat slips out from beneath him, hoisting himself up as Louis rests back on his haunches, tucking his still-hard cock awkwardly back into his underwear as Lestat moves down the alcove. Foliage crunches beneath his gentle tread, his hips swaying as he turns away from Louis, making the short journey to the thick-trunked sessile oak, it’s canopy of folding branches and jagged-edged leaves allowing thin peels of moonlight to stream between them.

He hears it almost before he sees it, the sound of Lestat popping the button on his slacks, the zip as he lowers his fly, and maybe it’s the drugs that have him weak, or maybe it’s just Lestat, who slides his pants down slowly to reveal the curve of his perfect ass. Smooth, round, tight in the night, inviting even before he spreads his legs just enough to stop his slacks dropping past the middle of his thighs, bracing his hands against the rough bark of the tree, and tilting his hips back in something like an offer. A show of submission that Louis knows is anything but, but it works on him all the same, because the second Lestat turns his head back over his shoulder, tilts it to look at him, eyes glinting silver in the moonlight, he thinks this is the devil’s fruit. This is temptation in the garden, this is what men sell their souls for, what damns generations, the apple of his ass the one dangling from the serpent’s tale of Eden, and Louis will be Adam if it means he gets a bite, Eve if it means he gets to bite first.

The thought has Louis lurching to his feet, blood-saliva pooling behind his molars, has him following the path of this too-perfect thing, to temptation, a path he’ll maybe ever be on, and he wonders if this is what it feels like for strangers. For those men who have Lestat in these long and lonely nights apart, but then - - he wonders more if this is what it was like for Nicki. For any of the boys in the Auvergne, because Louis’ not first, will never be first, and they’re not losing themselves in the wheatfields here, but there are woods there, he knows there are. Is sure Lestat has told him of them, and he wonders if Lestat brought boys to those forests like Louis took them to the Bayou, if he offered himself like this, a sliver of sin dressed up like salvation in the half light of a place that would kill him if it could.

Louis wets his lips, hand reaching forwards for his own shirt, draped on Lestat’s back, and he pushes the fabric up just to see more of him. To reveal inch after inch of soft, snowy skin, and its got to be the drugs now that have his eyes growing heavy, half-lidded, chasing down the swell of Lestat’s ass, arousal coiling thick between his legs. He drops his hands to Lestat’s hips, tilts them ever further back, only to press his now-clothed, aching cock there between his legs, chest tightening at Lestat’s rough inhale, and he wishes he had a camera. Wishes he could describe what it was like to see his hard, constrained cock pressed into the crease of Lestat’s bare ass, tilting himself so the fly of his own pants rubs a little rough against the inside of one of Lestat’s cheeks, gaze flicking up to see Lestat’s claws dig into the bark of the tree.

“You got lube?” he asks, voice low and gravelly even to his own ears, and Lestat nods, the motion jerky, tossing a hand out behind him in something akin to a direction, and Louis glances down at the slacks halfway down his legs, and takes the hint. Keeping one hand firmly on Lestat’s hip, keeping him in place, he drops the other to rifle a few fingers low in the back pocket of Lestat’s slacks until he finds a thin sachet of lubricant, only to rifle a little longer, slipping into a character – one he played with too many men, across too many years. He purses his lips, gaze flicking back up to where Lestat’s bent forwards against the tree.

“No rubber?”

It’s enough to make Lestat toss back a look, his own role briefly forgotten, the performanceof it all almost lost to the drugs like it was for Louis, and Louis raises an eyebrow in question, even as he brings the sachet of lube to his mouth to tear it open with his teeth.

“A condom,” Louis repeats, keeping his tone casual even as he spits out the torn piece of plastic. “Or you always letting strangers fuck you raw?”

Even in the dark, he can see Lestat’s throat bob, can feel his hips shift beneath his hand, can hear his breath grow a little rough. He shrugs, slipping into a part of his own, as he simpers a little, playing the coquette once again.

[x-heesy]

𝝠 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗨𝗟 𝗛𝝠𝗣𝗣𝗬 𝗘𝝠𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡, 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟 𝝝𝗙 𝗕𝗟𝝠𝗦𝗣𝗛𝗘𝗠𝗬 <𝟯

Paid a fee door let me in free

Some of us pro and don't need id

I speak and birds open up they beak

Fly fly from inside slow motion speed

Loop senses drop your britches and work

Herc power struck down a jerky nurse

Phony medical robe surely came from home

Pull the knot out stoked tag t'the mack en vogue

Que modela Coachella when the tunes released

Planetary domination hardly get to sleep

Marley weekend freak, smoke a blunt and eat

Pancake dirty date kirbey lane on e

Honey claws got the psalms for the junky church

Runny gaws hitting pause so your body don't hurt

I think I'm finally perched on a tree to desert

The underground coma sound bullshit that's the worst

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

Shoot a lot of lip get split like Gemini

Two hemispheres two mind one pan fry

My business truncate nemesis

Now future's free of skirmishes

Deep fucking d cup tournaments

Slow busting thrusting murderous

Nightlife want me back by nine

Finish up exchange and ride

Put a lot into coup de etat none of this is new to me

Fuckers thought they'd play the part super Clarke change the scene

Likely dream cept for the part pertaining to the talent

Them motherfucking money-suckers chop 'em into salad

Ceiling w/a pillow watching the prophecy drop

Somehow feeling halfway guilty sleeping the sympathy off

Pray for anarchist law blind mischivalrous pigs

You can't cuff up my wrist if you can't find it

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

Digital animals freaky folks

Belly covered up t-shirt red tiger

Drool down the lip striped saber-toothed slimmer

Dribble spit tip scale dirty dogma

Puppy love blocked shaka twa ménage

Ninja, ninja, vanish m.o. creep

Naughty fucking freaks and busting techniques

East west battle best turn your bones to ashes

Send 'em to the kin w/ the symbol on the package

Grow the fascination larger than it ever was

Walls kicked over Berlin snap cameras

Gallagher Petey G sledgehammer family

Dabble w/ insanity granted me the amnesty

I learned my lesson messing up my life is not the way to wreck it check the sm58

Replace the vibe behind your face piece

Bass beats your basics plus me it's the combination

Known to defeat the beast and his gatekeeper

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

D d d d d d d d d digital animal freaking folks

Digital Animal by Honey Claws 🦞

Spotify

[adalwolfgang]

Barnaby “Strict” | Headcanons

Featuring @florals-cardigan oc; Morgana Caine

Immediately after getting resurrected, Barnaby accidentally punched Paulo square in the face because seeing his reflection on Paulo’s camera lens scared him. Barnaby wasn’t used to seeing his ghoulish/undead appearance until that moment and Paulo, being the little horror freak he is, wanted to get a close up of Barnaby getting resurrected by Adaru.

Even though he is tasked to stay near an Icon at all times, he tends to wander himself to sting alley a lot. He’s always fascinated by the gritty 1920s-1930s urban backstreet style and the sound his footsteps make as he saunters around. On many occasions has Elsa had to go searching for him and drag him back by his ear.

Paulo gifted him a furry rodent companion (top image) for the 25th anniversary of HHN. He named it Fievel (iykyk).

He’s the one who pin points potential victims for the Icons. Similar to your mom giving you a grocery list, they tell him what kind of victim, or in Paulo’s case “talent”, they’re looking for or want to kill and he goes out in search of them.

Views Albert and Morgana Caine as his parents (dw he’s still loyal to his auntie Elsa), and Cindy as his little sister.

Originally had a fear of men due to his father and his bully’s dad and friends. Albert was the first man of the Icons who Barnaby trusted but he’s slowly warmed up to the others. Except Jack.

Cannot sit still even when he tries. Which also means he cannot sit through a movie. Julian doesn’t understand why but also doesn’t care since he is polite enough to remove himself from the theater if he becomes restless.

He swings between moments of eerie calm and sudden, manic outbursts, making him unpredictable. Barnaby often darts his eyes around nervously and makes sudden, jerky motions, adding to his unsettling presence. This mostly being due to his cerebral palsy.

His auntie raised him well and he was taught to be respectful. He can be talking to the most icky garbage trash person, and he will still be saying “please” and “thank you” (before she rips out their foul tongue of course)

He minds his business because “if it doesn't affect me, I don't need to be involved.” Especially with some of the things he’s witnessed cause of the Icons and Fear himself.

He needs consistency and structure, and doesn’t react well to sudden change. On the rare occasions where none of the icons need his presence or assistance in anything, he quite literally starts walking up to random part guests and asks if they need him to do anything for them. He does this multiple times until a cast member runs him off.

Still has yet to grasp the concept that he looks 17, and will forever, but is mentally 31 as of 2025 since he’s only been around from 1968-1985 and 2011-present.

Was put in time out inside the lantern for 3 days during one year after biting a guest.

[purplesaline]

Momma Merry and Parker playing tug while Lance tries to photobomb

(lots of camera movement, but nothing super quick and jerky, so proceed with caution if you get motion sick from videos)

[cryptid-stimming]

x / x

[heavyfreaked]

The new episode got me thinking about how they animated Gangle's face, primarily because when I play around with Blender, I also like to use 2D animated face textures that look drawn on instead of making a proper face rig, but the way I go about that is having a ton of different face textures that swap out on every frame, giving the face movement a jerky stop motion quality. But Gangle's face moves way too smoothly for them to be doing that unless they masochistically swap between literally thousands of different face textures, and I can't imagine that they'd do that since Digital Circus animation always seemed to me to be taking a "work smarter not harder" approach. It's literally the main reason I love the show so much, every time a new episode goes up something in it makes a lightbulb go off and I think "I could do that." Gangle clearly has a more conventional face rig that conforms to the shape of her mask somehow. I always knew about the Shrinkwrap modifyer but never got it to really work on anything, mostly because I never really had a reason to play with the settings more. So I played with the settings more. Here's the result, the camera moves up and down to prove I didn't cheat the shot by carefully placing the face pieces so they look like they're on the mask through perspective, you can see they are in fact conforming to the shape of her face as they change expressions

[teawithevanandtweam]

Title: Meth? No Thanks! A Public Service Announcement with Evan Peters

Sponsored by: Absolutely No One

The screen fades in from black. Emotional piano music plays softly under a montage of windy American flags, slow-motion bald eagles, and a very confused-looking squirrel rummaging through a bag of Cheez-Its.

Then—BAM.

A dramatic zoom-in on Evan Peters, standing in the middle of a park wearing a beige turtleneck, slightly windblown, holding… a Sponge Daddy for emotional support.

He stares directly into the camera with the intensity of someone who just found out their DoorDash order was cancelled.

⸻

🧼 Evan’s Meth PSA

Evan Peters (serious voice):

“Hi. I’m Evan Peters. You might know me from American Horror Story, Dahmer, or that time I was kicked out of IKEA for trying to baptize a meatball.”

Cut to footage of Evan holding a meatball over a sink, whispering “You are free now, Marcus.”

Evan (back to camera):

“I’m here to talk about something serious. Something that affects communities, families, and your teeth. I’m talking about methamphetamine. Also known as ‘meth,’ ‘crank,’ ‘ice,’ or that stuff your cousin Brad tried once and now he thinks squirrels are spying on him.”

⸻

🚫 “What Happens on Meth”

Cut to a dramatized reenactment starring Evan as every character.

• Evan as “Normal You”: Reading a book, sipping chamomile tea, surrounded by scented candles.

• Evan as “Meth You”: Screaming at a microwave, building a conspiracy board using spaghetti noodles, and attempting to fistfight his own reflection.

Evan (narrating):

“Meth will turn you from a functioning adult to someone who insists their toaster is part of the Illuminati.”

⸻

🦷 “Your Teeth Deserve Better”

Evan stands in a dentist’s office holding a toothbrush the size of a baseball bat.

Evan:

“Your teeth don’t deserve this. Meth mouth is real. It’s when your teeth give up, pack their bags, and move to someone who respects them.”

Cut to Evan crying as he waves goodbye to a tiny molar wearing a hat and dragging a suitcase.

⸻

🐿️ “Brad and the Squirrel Incident”

Evan (leaning against a tree):

“Still not convinced? Let me tell you about my cousin Brad. He did meth once. Once. Now he’s convinced a squirrel named ‘Gregory’ works for the CIA. He hasn’t slept since the Bush administration.”

Cut to a reenactment of Evan playing Brad, surrounded by stuffed squirrels and wearing a helmet made of Fruit Roll-Ups.

⸻

🙌 “There Are Better Highs”

Evan (now in a bubble bath fully clothed, holding a McFlurry):

“You want a high? Try bubble wrap. Try falling in love. Try getting a package in the mail you forgot you ordered. Try eating Taco Bell at 2 a.m. and surviving. Try holding a puppy. Or a bunny. Or a bunny holding a puppy.”

⸻

👀 “Meth is Trash. Literally.”

Evan (wearing a cape made of garbage bags):

“Meth will ruin your life. Your skin. Your credit score. Your TikTok algorithm. Don’t do meth. Or I’ll find you. And I’ll replace your shampoo with mayonnaise.”

⸻

🎤 Closing Message

Evan stands in a field of sunflowers, a single Sponge Daddy in his hand.

Evan (sincerely):

“Say no to meth. Say yes to life. Say yes to Sponge Daddies, bunnies, hydration, and brushing your damn teeth. Be weird. Be wild. Be meth-free. Because you’re too beautiful to look like expired beef jerky.”

The screen fades to black with the words:

⸻

THE MORE YOU KNOW: METH MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A FOLDER LEFT IN THE RAIN

#StaySpongey #Don’tDoMeth #GregoryTheSquirrelIsWatching

⸻

End PSA.

Now go drink some water and tell a friend their hair looks nice.

i’m dying, can someone make the PSA for real 😭😭

“Your teeth don’t deserve this. Meth mouth is real. It’s when your teeth give up, pack their bags, and move to someone who respects them.”

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 24

A Niche Narratives Fanfiction

last | first | next

Aleichem Shalom (Part 2)

Rain continues to pour, soaking those unfortunate enough to be traversing the cobbled streets of New York City that fateful spring night. Gentlemen keep a hand on their hats, while young ladies struggle with umbrellas often turned inside-out by sudden gales that sweep through narrow streets, though they all march with their heads low, eyes to the streets and shoulders hunched against the chill. Following the curves of the street to navigate their way home in the onslaught of a frosty April shower, none look up to the inky darkness of a cloud-soaked sky to note a strange cloud formation cresting a crescent moon.

Where thick cover had so recently disguised a thin sliver of light, the celestial body now peeks through strings of thin clouds that settle across its surface. To the skeptics, it remains a delicate dance of deep gray tendrils cast across a natural satellite, worthy of a photograph for those blessed enough to own a camera. However, others would skim the outline and notice a distinct shape of a skull etched into the sky, then pray to their respective Gods for ill fortunes to pass them by, bless themselves and move on.

Within the ambivalent formation, orbital sockets set within the skull visage watch not all those mortals scampering below, but specifically events involving Mordecai Heller, in the alley behind his converted townhouse apartment. 

The rainfall here is incessant and heavy, dissuading either tom from casting their gazes up as it clatters off of neighbouring roofs and sloshes down gutters in torrents. Even while manhandled into an alleyway towards certain death, Mordecai is grateful for the hat keeping the rain from pounding directly onto his head that night. The splattering of water on cobbles and synchronous clicks of two pairs of loafers aside, the hat allows him to think clearly as he's still urged forwards, dragged by a bicep from the road.

Water collects in sunken pavements and the tuxedo is forced to step in precisely three puddles, instantly soaking his sock through holes in the sole of a shoe he'd booked to be cobbled in two days. Mordecai hasn't time to lament the unfortunate event however, as Gabriel leads him into the relative darkness of the back alley with a firm grip on his bicep. Pulled from the warming light of street lamps, in murky city depths mostly devoid of life and illuminated solely by waning moonlight, the tuxedo shivers from a sudden influx of dread that, thankfully, may be easily misconstrued as a chill.

Planning an escape in the trunk of a car had been far less daunting than facing death. Mordecai can scarcely breathe by the time the persian tells him to stop, the claws in his arm retracting almost as soon as he does so. He shivers in place, ears folded flat to his head and shoulders hunched against the rain, not daring to move as he hears Gabriel begin to go through pockets behind him. The motions are almost drowned by the rhythmic hammering of thick water droplets on the brim of his hat.

Hands deep in his own pockets, the tuxedo traces his thumb against the short blade pressed into his right palm. Mordecai dares a glance over a shoulder at his executioner as Gabriel extracts a new packet of cigarettes and a lighter from an inside breast pocket. The man looks agitated, movements swift and jerky rather than his usually smooth motions, lips pressed into a fine line beneath a broad brim that ensures a smoke teased from the pack remains dry enough to light. 

Gabriel doesn't even glance at his charge before taking a deep drag on the gasper, holding it for a long moment before exhaling sharply into the frigid night air. Hot breath condenses with smoke to make a voluminous gray cloud that dissipates into pouring rain almost instantaneously. Only then do haunted yellow eyes edged with deep lines meet olive for a seemingly endless second of eye contact, before the cleaner shakes his head and looks down to take another drag of nicotine, leaving the now smoldering stick between thin lips as he offers Mordecai one from the packet.

“I don't smoke,” Mordecai asserts in a tone almost entirely lost to heavy rainfall. A shudder of light fills the air as lightning strikes nearby, recategorizing the incessant rain to a fully fledged storm, a deafening clap of thunder seconds later desecrating otherwise intense white noise created by the rainfall. His calm words directly contradict how nervous he feels, an emotion that has his soaking tail tip flick from side to side, but he deflects his lingering internal discomfort with a sharp tongue.“It's a disgusting habit I refuse to indulge. If you have any sense, you’d abandon it.”

The persian takes his critical analysis on the chin, a smile curling the edges of his lips as he straightens up and slips the cigarette carton back into his coat pocket, yellow irises gleaming again. “That's what I always liked about you, Kosher.” Gabriel tucks a hand into his pocket and pauses to breathe another lungful of nicotine and tar, expelling this one with no finesse. “Stubborn as a mule, even to the last, so I'll give you until I finish my ciggie instead, for old time’s sake. Sound good?”

Mordecai doesn't respond, brows furrowing deeply with the insinuation there was something here to be appreciated. If Gabriel is offended, he hides it well, a puff of smoke and a tooth grin still on his muzzle. “It would be polite to turn around and face me though,” he says with emphasis, waiting expectantly for the tuxedo to comply before his lips stretch into a smile. “There we go! Ain't that nicer?” Olive eyes flicker to the smoldering stick between thin lips to gauge how much if it is left and Gabriel tuts. “The more we talk, the slower it'll burn, so let's catch up, hm?”

“Catch up?” The torturer mimics incredulously, scowl becoming confused. The only time they cross paths is when he hands off a target to torture, or Mordecai forces himself to attend a Christmas function. “What precisely could there be to ‘catch up’ with?”

The persian looks offended by the question, almost hurt even as his shoulders sag a little. “I thought you were clever,” he comments, then there's a pause as Gabriel sucks on his cigarette with pronounced eye contact. He exhales when he next speaks, though his tone has lost much of its playful warmth. “I read your file, once the boss marked you for death. You got real lucky climbing the ladder, didn't you? Two different bosses who skimmed profits, both ripe for removal just as you could step up into their shoes? Astounding timing.”

When Mordecai’s only response is a tired glare and a flicked ear, Gabriel pointedly moves the cigarette towards his lips, brow raised. The tuxedo doesn't need to be shown the convenience of answering his questions twice. “I was surprised it went unnoticed,” Mordecai responds just before the cigarette reaches pale lips. When Gabriel subsequently lowers it without inhaling, Mordecai elaborates briefly, stalling for more time. “Jimbo was a mshugener; cruel but shortsighted, making him easy to outwit. Fiores was just unfortunate enough to be in the way-”

“I don't get it, Kosher,” Gabriel interrupts, dull yellow eyes meeting olive greens, though the sharp edge that's been present since Mordecai was ambushed has faded. “You were an underboss, an interrogator, compensated well for both, and you were the first Jew to make it into Savage’s circle, yet you threw it all away for money you didn't even spend?” The persian shakes his head and habitually takes a drag on his cigarette, exhaling heavily afterwards. “Why throw it all away for money stuffed into your walls?”

The tuxedo weighs his options briefly; the truth will put his family in danger, yet lies embedded in truth are far easier to maintain than outright fallacy. With that in mind, he picks and chooses what to share. “I have been embezzling for years,” he admits quietly, seeing the slight surprise on the persian’s muzzle. Their auditor had focused solely on his recent, more obvious money siphoning and overlooked the small amounts he'd taken prior. “I've been scraping profits since I took Jimbo’s job.”

“Been in it for the long haul,” Gabriel acknowledges with a soft whistle. Jimbo was murdered eight years prior. It was the first time he's heard of Elijah Katz back then, or the ‘Little Bookie’ as Fiores called him. No one paid attention to the minor shake up until Fiores also died at Katz’s hand, and even then he'd been the victim, not the mastermind. Now that - plus his swift rectification of Fiores’ poor bookkeeping - put the boy on the Don’s radar, which in turn brought him into Gabriel’s radius. “They told me, when I took you on, that you were clever. But you outdid yourself even by their expectations. Until you got greedy-”

“I didn't get greedy,” Mordecai shoots back, his ears folded back and tail whipping irritably behind him in the rain. “Expenses were piling up, my savings were dwindling and I was running out of time to-” He cuts himself off before he says specifics, very aware that Gabriel raises a brow in question. He swallows hard as his gaze closes focus, tone losing intensity. “I’ve people relying on me. With no additional branches of income and fees mounting, I had no choice.”

It's Gabriel’s turn to soften his gaze, his own ears folding back. “You could've asked for help.”

He snorts harshly, an odd sound from a usually stoic feline that has Gabriel scrunching his nose. “From who?” Mordecai motions around the alley in overt exasperation. “Mr Savage? Jameson? You?” He asks incredulously, baring his fangs as he bears the inane question the Persian gainfully ignored. “I wasn't going to get indebted to the mob, Gabriel. I'd end up taking loans every month, paying back more than I made from the deal. I'd end up working just to pay my debts until-”

“I didn't mean borrowing from the mob,” the cleaner interrupts, cutting Mordecai off sharply, though there is little malice in his tone. If anything, he looks tired again, as he had done back at the factory. The lines of his mouth sag with sorrow while Gabriel drags his hand down his face with a sigh. “I would've lent it to you,” he says gently. Mordecai isn't sure he heard him right as his voice is swallowed by rainfall. He has to ask him to repeat himself and Gabriel does in frustrated tones. “I figured we were friends, Kosher. I would've lent it to you, interest free, as a favour.”

Friendship isn't a concept Mordecai is familiar with; he'd been friendly with Natalya only to discover their parents conspired the entire affair. Though he'd not been sociable before, the tuxedo tom had decided friends were too much hassle after breaking their friendship off and had focused solely on his career and his family since. It hasn't occurred to him that a friendship could spawn one-sided, leaving him both perplexed and surprised.

“I knew we'd be a good team from the day we met,” Gabriel reminisces. “You weren't the usual kind of thug I get thrown, the type who takes pleasure in inflicting pain. They chop an’ mangle long after they get what they want from a mark but not you, Kosher. You’re methodical, calculating, precise, causing just enough pain to make ‘em squeal, then hand them off to me. You were a damn artist from day one and I knew right then I wanted to know you better.”

He pauses to take the last toke of his cigarette, then tosses it to the ground and stubs it out with his heel. Gabriel then reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a very familiar gun, the one Mordecai purchased for self protection when he took Fiores’ job. The tuxedo shrinks back a step as Gabriel checks the chamber and hums softly. Two shots, Mordecai recalls as the chamber is closed and the pistol raised between his eyes, just a foot away from touching his flesh.

“I didn't want it to end like this,” Gabriel laments on the other end of the barrel. The dark and the barrel shield his face, but he sounds regretful as he pulls back the firing pin with a definitive click. “Even back in the factory, if you just said where the money is, it could've been different. Instead, you made us drag you all the way back to the city. All for your Ma. It's sentiments like that have got you here, kid.”

Mordecai doesn't have a plan; his assailant is too far back to attempt an attack with the little blade inside his pocket. Gabriel has him at gunpoint within range to cause immediately deadly damage. Olive eyes go wide as pupils constrict, heart racing and chest tight with sudden anxiety that regardless of all his plans and contingencies, there's no way out this time.

A pale finger flexes on the trigger. Mordecai flinches and squeezes his eyes shut, a cry of fear on his lips as he turns slightly away from the gun barrel. Time seems to slow and a millisecond becomes sluggish, stretching into eternity until a sudden pop has his ears to ring. Stiff muscles jerking in anticipation of impact, the tuxedo gasps and prepares himself for the inevitable.

He waits for the pain, or for nothingness to take him, to suddenly forget he exists like the morphine had robbed him of consciousness. Mordecai silently prays that it will be swift as his chest heaves and his heart thumps in his jugular, body shaking with an unsuppressed fear he's not permitted to show until his last second on earth… a second that becomes two, then three. White brows pull into a frown as three becomes five and he finally feels something, but not what he expects.

Olive eyes snap open as dry lips press to white, his breath finally caught but heart still hammering in his neck as Gabriel leans closer, yellow eyes closed as a hand comes to cup the tuxedo’s jaw and tilts his head up to deepen the kiss, a deep purr rumbling in the persian’s chest. Mordecai can only stare, his lips still with shock against moving whites, his body rigid and ears turned aside in confusion, wondering for a brief moment if he’d actually died and gone to hell.

Then his fingers brush the knife in his pocket and it drags him far more firmly back to reality. Gabriel had shot a bullet wide to fake his execution then stepped close to kiss him, either oblivious or uncaring of the danger he's put himself in while doing so. Now fully conscious and aware again, Mordecai isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Ripping the knife from his pocket, Mordecai plunges it into Gabriel’s neck hard enough to snap the flimsy  blade clean off the handle.

Gabriel jerks violently as pain explodes in his neck, hand leaving Mordecai's chin to shakily grope at the wound in his throat, feeling the jagged blade left deep within soft tissues before pressing splayed fingers either side of the wound, applying pressure. He tries to scream in agony but gurgles a bubbling wave of fresh blood onto white lips instead, a stream that stains his teeth and soaks his chin in a terrifyingly dark crimson beneath lunar light, yellow eyes tinged with betrayal meeting fearful olives.

Mordecai steps backward, lips tingling with residual heat and breathing hard as he watches his victim’s reaction in real time, time suddenly speeding back up as Gabriel gurgles and spits blood. When their eyes meet, honey and olive both glimmer in the low light, white fur of opportunity dyed crimson as the skull visage looks on in disdain. 

The blade handle drops from a shaking hand to the alley cobbles with a clatter that echoes ethereally in heavy rainfall, somehow exceptionally loud in the darkness. Tuxedo stares at bloodied persian for a fleeting moment, a shared silence in the shadow of betrayal. On the precipice of his own mortality just seconds before, Mordecai still shudders, frozen with the fear of taking another's life on a whim, unseeing while his head thumps with his own pulse.

Gabriel struggles to level the gun with his chest with his upper body slumped forward, his own world off kilter from the shock and pain, unable to raise his arm to aim when it feels learn at his side. Mordecai just stands there, lost in his own terror until by some unfathomable fortune light flicks a nearby apartment and startles him to his senses. He sees Gabriel take aim, hears his pseudonym called from the end of the alley, smells the fresh blood flowing from his former friend’s maw mixing with the heavy scent of midnight rain, turning puddles red in the moonlight.

Adrenaline finally turning freeze into flight, Mordecai turns tail. Hat fluttering off his head, he sprints for the train station without looking back to see his fedora flutter into a puddle, white felt turning bright crimson as it soaks up the bloodied water.

[ask-ciaphas-cain]

YES YES play Horizon Zero Dawn!! I've been working my way through it and it's a lot of fun, got a genuinely good storyline and really enjoyable gameplay. they released a remaster a lil bit ago and from what I hear it's worth it to spring for that one if visuals are important to you. I'm playing the original and for the most part the graphics are stunning, but when the camera zooms in for conversations it's pretty uncanny valley (faces and bodies move in weird jerky motions, mouth movements aren't synced). the Frozen Wilds DLC has a very obvious upgrade in that department.

BUT YEAH, the story and world is very intriguing to explore, and the gameplay is really satisfying! I particularly like how it starts you off feeling like prey, and you work up to being a predator and get to enjoy that power for juuust long enough before you encounter something stronger and go back to being prey, and do it all over again. highly recommend :))

*Adds to wishlist* I'll get it when I have money 😭

[rahleeyah]

i know you've talked about it before, but why do you think svu is lit so badly when oc does a much better job with it? do you think the literal darkness is intentional/stylistic? i'd be interested to hear your thoughts! (inspired by me fighting for my life in photoshop - for context, the top corner has no edits done, the bottom has maybe around 12 adjustment layers. if the scene were lit like that in the show, i'd want it brighter, as is its hard to push it too much further in ps without the image starting to degrade)

It is wild how different the two shows are and it really becomes apparent when trying to make gifs!!! I don't know why they're so different but I do think it's stylistic/intentional. OC tends to be very blue, and svu tends to be more brown, and that's down to choices in how the shots are set up. I talked about the lighting recently with the trauma in a pear tree hotel, and with that scene and this one I think maybe an argument can be made that the (imo v poor) lighting is meant to convey a sense of intimacy; it's late, it's dark, the spaces these conversations are taking place in is private, and the dim lighting may be intended to pull the viewer in to that moment. It doesn't; the struggle to make out facial expressions/details is alienating and unsatisfying. In both those scenes you know the actors involved are putting their whole pussy into their facial expressions and we can't see them!!! It's incredibly frustrating. But it's the same thing with the camera work around s21-22; it's so shitty and difficult to watch (some episodes literally made me sick to my stomach) but there's a school of thought that says the jerky motions of the camera are intended to make the audience feel like they're walking alongside the characters. Again, it doesn't work, and I spent all of last season grateful that they'd moved on from that (I will never, ever forgive the shaky camera work in rotps we deserved better). So yeah I think it has to be intentional and I would love to have a chat with the person responsible for making those decisions lmao