#i’m otherwise fine and have been doing really well!!! brain is like ‘it’s been too quiet around here’ i guess

[shoutsindwarvish]

having ocd is dumb

when i told my therapist about my sexual intrusive thoughts back in july, i felt like a disgusting human being and a great deal of shame. she did not blink and gave me tips to stop “compulsing” and face them head-on (basically a form of exposure therapy) and it sucked so bad but i got them fully under control within a month.

i’d barely even noticed them for months but they’ve started getting louder and more insistent again with a slightly different flavor, this time the idea that i’ll actually act on them. i know i will not. i do not believe the thoughts, i have no identification with the thoughts, and i know full well that the brain is bringing it up specifically because it goes against my values and it’s the equivalent of a child showing me a gross bug they found to see my reaction. as of now, i am not in full spiral and am actively fighting the desire to argue with or avoid them and to instead just look straight at them and sit with them…to varying degrees of success.

i’m mostly just exasperated. it feels like i have an obnoxious younger sibling in my head trying to rile me up and telling them to shut up only encourages them that they’re on the right track and it’s like

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

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

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[dduane]

Do you have any recommendations on what to do when you can’t write?

I’ve been struggling to write for years, but telling stories is all I want to do. I have ideas and plots and characters all figured out! But actually getting the words onto paper? I just can’t do it. There’s a mental block or something getting in the way.

I want to write, I so badly do. I want to tell my stories! But no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I love the story, the words never work properly. I can day dream scenes up perfectly, but as soon as I’m near paper the words all vanish.

I guess what I’m actually asking is: how did you defeat the blank page?

Well, first of all, I can confidently tell you that your storytelling per se is working just fine. You just told me a perfectly cogent story right there, in writing. So that's good to know.

Now let me put your mind a little at rest by telling you something reassuring about the Writer's Brain:

It's not the sharpest knife in the block, if you take my meaning. It can be tricked. It can be fooled. It can be bamboozled into working when it doesn't want to... sometimes with embarrassing ease. (And this approach is, by and large, far preferable to sitting around over-analyzing one's interior life to figure out what went wrong with your developmental process somewhere in the dim lost past. Just hornswoggle the silly thing into working and then do the analysis later, if you can be bothered.)

Sometimes just changing something basic in the process the Writer's Brain is expecting is enough to make it lose the plot (so to speak...) and let you get on with work. And in your case I'd say, more or less immediately: Have you tried telling the story to yourself out loud, recording it, and then transcribing the recording?

Because this problem is a commonplace among storytellers. Sit them down in the pub and give them tea or a drink and start them going, and you'll get half an effortless hour of hilarious prose about What The Cat Did In The Middle Of The Night or When The Neighbors Were Fighting In The Street Again Yesterday. But show them blank paper, or an empty screen, and (now that the pressure to perform is suddenly in place) they freeze.

So try doing an end run around your writing brain. Borrow or otherwise procure a little recorder of some kind. (Or if you've got a smartphone, add a voice recording app to it.) Go get comfortable somewhere and get yourself into that daydream state, and then—making sure the recorder's on—start talking.

It doesn't have to be perfect unblemished prose. The pursuit of that comes later, after draft zero-minus-one. Just tell the story... or some of it. Or a fragment of it. Even a few paragraphs is a triumph, in a situation like this. You may, during the recording, have to talk yourself into the story stage by starting out talking about something else first. Let that happen.

Then when you're done recording, listen to it and transcribe it (typed or handwritten, as you please).

And maybe a day later, do this again. And a day or two later, once more. And so forth.

You're going to have to keep at this, because your Writer's Brain may start suspecting what you're up to, and try throwing spanners into the works. (Its favorite being "Oh, this isn't working, I may as well give up..." Pay no attention to that nagging little voice behind the curtain. Just keep doing what you're doing. Persistence is a superpower.)

The thing to keep reminding yourself, as you settle into this process, is that sooner or later the WB's resistance is going to flag, because you really do want to tell stories. It does too. What you have to teach it is that—to coin a phrase—resistance is useless. :)

Anyway: give this a try. You'll need to be doing this daily for at least a couple of months to find out whether it works or not. So let me know how it goes.

(BTW: once you've broken through the barrier, you may well find that dictation is a good routine way for you to generate your first draft. At that point—should you feel inclined to go a little higher-tech than recording and hand transcription—let me recommend Dragon Anywhere. This is a month-to-month subscription version of Dragon's flagship text to speech program—the one @petermorwood and I got Terry Pratchett to use when he started having difficulty typing. I use Anywhere a lot, on days when it's easier to write stretched out or lying down than it is sitting up. It transcribes what you say, and then you can just email it to yourself and cut-and-paste it into your writing document. Very handy.)

Hope this helps!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey! Sorry if this is weird or something you have answered before.

I’m a teenage girl, and I tend masterbate at least once a day, but I had accidentally fallen down a rabbit hole of porn addiction and that kinda stuff.

Now I’m really worried that my frequency in which I masterbate is bad for me. I haven’t felt and adverse affects in my personal life (still hanging with friends, still getting good grades etc) and masterbation has actually seem to have a positive effect on my mental health (the first time I used me rose toy the mental fog that had been covering my brain first months cleared lol)

Still, is this a dopamine hit that’s bad like doom scrolling? Or am I freaking out over nothing

Thanks

hi anon,

I'm really glad you took the time to send this ask in! I've noticed a lot of folks younger than me are VERY worried about porn addiction or otherwise being too sexual lately, and I'm very happy to be able to help alleviate those fears.

I would recommend starting with the answers to both of these previous asks, which I hope will provide some comfort. if nothing else, please read this concluding paragraph from the latter:

is it possible to become overly reliant on sexual stimulation as a form of self-soothing? sure, of course. it’s possible to become overly reliant on anything; absolutely any positive behavior can become detrimental if it’s performed to extremity. again, read that ask I linked! but pivoting from a breakdown to jacking off isn’t a bad idea. it can help you calm down, can be a great transition into a nap or sleep, and pops off a little burst of dopamine and oxytocin that’s probably very badly needed if you’re on the verge of a breakdown. of course it’s ideal to have other healthy outlets for when you’re feeling bad - making art or doing something else with your hands, doing some enjoyable physical activity, talking with friends or family, keeping a journal - but as one part of a larger diet of support and coping mechanism, horny behavior is great, normal, and very healthy.

masturbating regularly, even once a day, is completely fine. it doesn't sound as if it's disrupting anything of importance in your life, which says to me that it's a nonissue, and it's a nice little treat for you. and if masturbating daily is wrong, then rest assured that you and I will be in horny jail together 🫡

it always bums me out when I see people, especially teenagers, voicing suspicion about sexuality specifically because of the feel-good reactions that sexual pleasure can trigger in your brain. you can get the same feeling by taking a walk, petting your cat, spending time with a friend, or getting a tattoo, but none of those are treated with the same kind of suspicion. it speaks to a deep fear and distrust of sexuality, which is completely normal and natural, that I fear will not serve anyone well in the long run, so it's a pleasure to help unravel that a little. I hope this has been helpful to read!

[running-with-kn1ves]

🧎‍♀️more edira????? in evil old lesbian office worker we trust 🙏

how about a honeymoon-esque vacation scenario??? I am dying to see more of casual edira, the way she was in that last drabble ahgdgshababnabab

ur writing is just so good 💝

A/N: This is so kind! I was really surprised that Edira kept showing up in my inbox but I can't complain! I didn't want to jump to honeymoon just yet so here's a little vacation/beach episode :D

CW: blackmail/forced relationship, power imbalance, edira grabbing reader’s butt, overall possessive red flags --WC:2300

Synopsis: vacay with your powertrip of a girlfriend Edira! But her workaholic tendencies are hard to escape. 

Taking “official” photos was always a humbling experience. You looked down at your passport ID for the hundredth time, grimacing at how dead you looked in the grainy picture. 

“It’s not that bad. And see, the light hit your eyes perfectly,” Edira promised, but it didn’t fix the frown on your face as you focused on each blemish and pore that was exacerbated tenfold in the tiny image that represented who you were across country lines. 

“Easy for you to say, you look the same as you did in your headshots on the branch website..” 

You looked at her from the bed, watching the back of her sandy grey-blonde head shake with a sigh. The business woman rapidly typed away on her glowing laptop, seemingly irritated by the crashing waves outside the open sliding doors. 

“Well, if you really want we can get it taken again, when I put my last name on there too.” 

At that, you were quiet. Moving in together, and now vacations across boarders…. Her reference to marriage shouldn’t have been shocking, but it put all other thoughts in your brain to a stop. You didn’t really want to marry her, did you? Your blackmailing boss who was more like a war general than a tender lover, one who daydreamed about bending you over her desk more than what flowers she’d want at the ceremony venue. The possibility of staring into her bleak expression at an empty, cold courthouse and being forced to elope was something that made your frown droop even further. 

The sad excuse of a wedding depressed you more than the thought of marrying Edira at all. 

But you shook that despairing vision out of your head-- you were here to relax, to get away from the stress of your office environment (your coworkers)  and neverending projects with cutthroat deadlines (running reports and files to Edira as soon as she requests them.)

“Well, I still don’t know how I convinced you to let us do this. I mean, I didn’t think you ever took vacations. When’s the last time you went on a trip that wasn’t for work?”

Edira stopped her clacking, french tips scraping along one of the computer’s keys. 

“This is my first. I never had any reason to use my PTO days, until now.”

Wow, you really WERE dating a workaholic. What kind of insane person doesn’t use their personal days the second they get the chance? If you had been more than a temp, you would’ve taken all of yours the second Edira tried to indoctrinate you into her little play “date” plan.

“Well then why are you doing work!? This is one of the few times you can get away with not being available every other second of the day. You’ve been on your computer since we got on the plane-- isn’t it time we actually, you know, vacationed?”

Edira returned to her email writing. “They might need me, I’m the only one who has access to the other branches’ inf--”

“C’monn, I think they’ll be fine without you for an hour or two. Otherwise, what was the point of coming here..” You hopped to the screen doors, opening the curtains to see the glimmering ocean right outside your suite.The sand rippled with the blowing wind, completely void of footsteps or life.  “I mean we LITERALLY have the ocean right here and you’d rather stare at your laptop.” 

Edira hummed, not convinced. 

Yikes; If you wanted to explore the island you were supposed to be vacationing on, you’d need to pull out the big guns. 

“You’d rather focus on your work than… spend time with me?” Your voice cracked, looking at the ships far away from your corner of the coast. It was physically sickening to sweeten yourself up in order to get Edira’s favor. But how else could you actually use this once-in-a-lifetime chance to swim in the Indian Ocean, to experience something, anything, outside of your boring desk job and droning urban life. 

At your buttered up question, Edira paused. You could see her looking at you from the corner of her eye, unreadable. 

She shut her laptop. Pushing away from the desk she sighed, running a sharp hand through her hair, tight jaw clenching and unclenching. 

“Put your bathing suit on.” Was all she said, unzipping the back of her form-fitting dress. 

You didn’t say anything, no claps of excitement or relentless thank you’s-- lest she change her mind to ruin your fun. You hurried to change your shorts and souvenir shirt (A present from the airport gift shop; Edira saw you eyeing it) as the businesswoman walked to the master bathroom. 

You prayed to be faster than her, hoping she wouldn’t catch you in a position that sparked her lust.

You were running around looking for sunscreen and towels when she came out, hands on her hips and dark sunglasses propped on her head. Even in her backless one piece, she looked like an executive on a business trip,  hard glare in her eyes and a muted black covering the front of her body. From the back however, a different person was hidden. The cheeky bottoms exposed nearly the full of her, well, bottom, as ruffled locks of hair fell like messy feathers down her shoulders, exposed to the salty wind. She was the sexy women in swimsuit magazines, meant to be a fantasy of maturity and dominance way out of your league. But here she was, looking you up and down as you hopped on one foot to try and grab a towel on the other side of the bed. 

“You know, i’m not really a big fan of the beach. I don’t know why I picked this place… should’ve chosen the mountains or something. Someplace we wouldn’t be bothered.”

Someplace she could have you all to herself, she meant. Somewhere you wouldn’t be distracted by things to do and  would come looking to her for warmth by the fire. 

“Maybe next vacation!” You hoped, praying that it turned the cogs in her machine brain to take you somewhere else, anywhere else, soon. “Meanwhile, we have our own private beach, thanks to you. We’ll only be bothered by the occasional seaweed. And maybe a fish or two.”

You gathered up the beach necessities in your arms, full of towels and a beach umbrella, along with small must-haves like water bottles and sunscreen spray cans. Edira looked at you with an incredilous stare, grabbing the towels and water from your hands to shove into her beach bag. 

“Yeah, didn’t really think of that.” You said, noticing how most of the things you grabbed could be fit into her infinite ‘lifes a beach’ tote-- complementary from your Airbnb hosts.

“Let’s go.” 

She walked out to the naked patio, locking her pointer finger with yours as you hiked the umbrella on your shoulder. You had come to learn Edira well; she didn’t like the sun, hated most gelatinous sugary mixtures, and was incredibly stubborn if an activity included something she found beneath her. Getting sand between her toes, included. 

You found a place far away from the shore and began spinning the umbrella’s pole into the ground. Edira would surely make use of its shade, but the ocean was calling your name as she sat down on her beach towel, squinting behind her sunglasses. 

“I can see the harbor from across the water; not particularly private, I’d say. The hosts’ll make sure to hear about this when we leave.”

“It’s private enough. What, did you want to go skinny dipping or something?” You laughed, clumping sand at the base of the umbrella with your foot. “The press would have a field day.”

You flumped down next to her, happy to be out of that stuffy, although beautiful, beach house that reminded you too much of Edira’s apartment. The warm sand was comforting, shells and rocks placed around you like little treasures. 

“If I want to go skinny dipping with you I should be able to, not have to worry about some fisherman watching while I touch you.” She pulled at your thigh, placing her hand on the inside as she lifted up her sunglasses. “Or maybe, you’d like that, letting them watch you frolick and squirm. Maybe we should find out if they can really see us--”

She had the full intention of digging under your bottoms to make a statement, but your reaction time to her had improved. 

“You’re such a worrywart, can we just swim now please? It’s better than sitting her in the hot sun, on the sticky sand..” You knew you caught her when she turned her nose at the mention of the sun, only worsening as she started to feel the sand cover her feet. 

She was a priss through and through, and sometimes it worked in your favor.

“Fine… but if I’m touched by something slimy I can’t help what I do.” 

You grinned with your teeth, unable to hold back a smile at finally getting to experience the beginning of your vacation. 

You ran to the waves crashing against the sand, feeling them flick up at your ankles and knees as you waded in the water.

You turned around to walk backwards into the sea, watching as the woman hesitantly took out a hairtie that once had her hair in a high pony. 

“Come on! Slowpoke!” 

Edira reached the gap between land and water, frowning at schools of tiny fish and jagged rocks that would surely make it hard to walk in heels the next morning. 

You had to drag her further, holding her outstretched hand as she let you lead her deeper into the water. 

“It’s not so bad, right? Nothing slimy thus far…”

“Something’s definitely touching my leg.” She remarked, linking arms with you as if you were a safety floaty. “And it smells like fish.”

You both trudged far enough from shore, a little more than waist deep as you watched the sun near the horizon line. 

You took a moment to look at it, staring as the boats pass by from far away, seeing the empty houses on the beach neighboring yours between areas of trees. 

Edira turned towards you, the same moment something coming to grip your bottom. 

“Something nabbed me!” You nearly shrieked, only to feel the same sensation on your other cheek, pulling you forward against Edira. She had her arms wrapped behind you, squeezing your ass like it was dough to be kneaded. 

“Thought I was the scared one, hm?” 

You looked away, putting your hands against Edira’s abdomen. She leered over you, ignoring your attempts to create distance as she caged you in. The waves pushed you together, water swaying as her legs brushed against your knees deep below. 

“don't look away from me now, you're too adorable like this…”

She watched your eyes barely peek up, defensive fists flattening against the bare of her collarbone. She was almost spotless, save for a few sun-kissed freckles sprinkled here and there. 

Edira grinned a wolfy smirk. Even despite her discomfort in the sea she knew you were wrapped around her finger, nervous lips twitching while watching her bring a hand from your bottom to your neck.

Her hands  were salty and wet from the sea, pulling at the base of your head to bring you closer. The workaholic almost seemed to begin destressing as her nose pressed against yours.. Edira nuzzled with her forehead pressed to your sweaty one, fine fingers caressing downward to grab your jaw. 

Without warning, her tongue perched itself against your cheek, turning your face to the side as she ran a long stripe up to your temple. It was wet and full, drawing out her time to savor the flavor and discomfort of your expression. 

“What are you--”

“Salty.” She murmured. “You're so soft, getting all mushy in my arms.” Edira laughed-- a real laugh, with a small snort as she leaned into you. She was so close, the intimate entertwining of your bodies so unusual from her normal obscurity.

It was hard not to look petulant when her eyes peered down at you with a gleam, as if you were a cute drunk thing at the bar she wanted to take home safe, or a pampered puppy ready to be suffocated with attention. 

“So cute.. might make me jealous letting all these boatmen see you in such a little bathing suit.” She teased, progressively in a better mood now with the clouds blocking the sun and your body so cooperative in her grasp. 

“Jealous?” You rolled your eyes. “Oh noo, I could never imagine my girlfriend being jealous.”

All the times of her domineering possessive behavior ran through your head, the sarcastic comment truly not detailing how severe she had gone.  

“I am your girlfriend…” she grinned, kissing your shoulder with a tight grip arpund your hips. “Now that I hear it,I want more… it sounds too, loose.”

Wait, did you really call her your “girlfriend”? Hell, maybe the sun was starting to get to you. 

“We'll it’s not like we can get MARRIED, haha,” you awkwardly brush off how romantic she's being all of a sudden, soft circles created by her nails running along the dip of your back. “I mean… right? We're too uncommitted for marriage, and I mean who would want to marry someone the’re in a fake relationship with.”

You couldn’t tell if you were talking about her or you anymore. Edira’s chest pressed against yours, arms tentatively keeping you trapped against her. 

“Mm… Still feels fake to you?” She questioned In your neck, surprisingly calmer than you expected her to be at that comment. “How much more do I need to convince you that this is real,” Those soft lips came to brush against your ear. “That you’re not going anywhere.”

[hrryshoney]

Oh god I’m greedy can we please get a 13 as well 🧡🧡🧡

i’m just fine ‘cause i know you are mine

A/N: fleshing this one out a bit, maybe just cuz the other one i was bad at writing head🤨 bit self conscious about this one but… oh well. about 4k words by the way, give or take

warnings: alcohol mentions, jealous!matty, fem!reader, use of y/n, ummmm thigh riding, fingering, dirty talk ig, wordyyy, daddy kink… used in 2 spots that’s it, semi-public? things ensue in a closet, kinda long buildup, i think that’s it!

prompt: “What exactly are we doing right now?” Character A whispers, breathing ragged against Character B’s lips, their heart beating erratically in their chest. “Fooling around,” Character B answers, squeezing their waist. “We’re fooling around, that’s all. That’s what we’ve been doing all along, right?” (The look in their eyes says otherwise, but Character A chooses to ignore that as they give in once again.)

You were sitting next to Matty on the couch at one of his friends’ parties. You weren’t going to go in the first place. But, when he begged you, you didn’t really have the heart to say no. You didn’t know the host all that well, therefore you only knew a couple people at the event. It was awkward, but you didn’t want to be one of those people. Matty looked like he was having fun, so who were you to say something?

You were picking at your nail beds when he spoke up. “Having fun there, love?” You looked over to see his eyebrows raised, a couple strands of hair fallen in-front of his eyes.

You blew a breath from your nose, “loads. Can’t you tell?” You gave an over exaggerated smile, putting your two hands under your chin. Matty chuckled, raising his cup to his lips.

“Cute. If you wanna leave, we can?” Now it was your turn to take a sip of your drink. You didn’t particularly enjoy whatever was in the cup, he had handed it to you when you both arrived. You had been nursing it the whole night.

When you lowered the cup from your mouth, you regained a neutral expression. “Don’t wanna take your fun. It’s fine, I’m a big girl.” While in reality, you felt like a toddler who needed a nap. It was only 20 past 10:00. Maybe you were a grandma. Matty pursed his lips. His leg stretched out to kick at your shoe. He gave you one last once over before rejoining his conversation. Some debate over alcohol, you weren’t really paying attention.

You grabbed your phone out of your back pocket to check the time. Or, to look like you were busy in some sense. It had only been 4 minutes since your interaction with Matty, and now you were sorta wishing you took his offer. Sliding your phone into your front pocket this time, you wiped your palms on your jeans and stood. You looked at Matty with a smile when he was pulled out of his discussion. “G’na go mingle.” You said in a singsong voice. He smiled back and nodded.

It was a short journey to the kitchen from the living room. There was only a few people. It was dimly lit and a little too stuffy. You just needed to stretch your legs. You could see two couples grouped together, a girl eating leftover pasta at the island, and a guy standing in the corner drinking a beer. You walked over to the counter and started picking at the chips that had been left out all night. You ate a handful and looked up. The guy with the beer was looking at you. You smiled. It couldn’t hurt, he was cute. Fluffy blonde hair, maybe a couple inches taller than you, light eyes, and a few visible tattoos. He was cute. Maybe he’d be alright to go home with. You hadn’t gotten laid in a bit, so why not a stranger to provide you with a one night stand?

You were broken from your haze when he smiled back and started approaching you. You shifted your eyes and pursed your lips coyly. You could do this. Talking to men was.. okay. Yeah, it was okay. It wasn’t okay when your brain decided to do the thing and compare every guy to your best friend, Matty. But that was a problem for another day.

“Hello,” Cute guy speaks in between a smile and holds his hand out. “m’ Luca.” His skin is clear up close. You held your hand out to take his and shook. His hand was soft, too. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Luca.” You smile as you shake his hand. You were already a bit tipsy, and honestly tired. The smile didn’t really meet your eyes. Especially when you would rather be touching Matty’s hand.

There you go again. You guessed you would compare every guy you meet to Matty. Considering Matty was the one you really wanted, most other people didn’t stand a chance. But, when Matty showed no reciprocation you had to make do. Although, your inebriated brain wasn’t making your thoughts about your best friend any better.

“I was kinda looking at you.. not in a weird way! But, I saw you when you came in. I thought you were cute so.. hi.” Luca ends his rambling and you give another smile. You thought it was cute even though you knew he saw you come in with Matty. You would say he was pretty presumptuous to pursue you after he watched you walk in with him, but after all his presumption would be right.

“Hi. Thank you, you’re cute too.” Your eyes dart toward the kitchen counter as to avoid awkward eye contact. “How do you know the host?” Polite small talk was the way to go. Even if you yourself didn’t know the host.

“Oh! Yeah, we went to uni together. She-“ Luca ends his story no longer before he starts it. He looks behind your head and squints his eyes. You were about to open your mouth and ask why, but then you felt it. Well, you felt him. Him, being Matty himself. His hand went to your stomach, his chest pressed to your back. He rested his chin on your shoulder. “Hey.” He breathes into your ear. You smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath. If he wasn’t acting like this, you wouldn’t think he had enough to be drunk. “Hey back.” You say, looking at him through the corner of your eyes. “Um, Luca. This is Matty. The- friend I came with. Matty, this is Luca.”

“Ah, yes. Hi, man. Nice to meet you.” Luca offers a smile and a raise of his brows. Matty stands up straight again, hand lingering on your stomach. “Likewise. Sorry, mate. Can I steal her a sec? I’m sure you understand..” His hand trails to your shoulder, then down your arm. He eventually interlaces his fingers with yours, and starts to tug you in the opposite direction before Luca can give an answer. You shoot him a sympathetic smile and scramble so your feet can keep up with Matty’s.

“Where are we going? And why did you take me away from him! You’re such a cockblock, y’know that?” You roll your eyes at his drunken antics. Now you’d have to be babysitter for him, you guessed. The last time Matty was drunk and acted like this, the night ended in kisses and some heavy petting. To be fair, you were both pretty intoxicated. The morning after neither of you had talked about it, and that cycle would generally continue when you were both drunk. There were chaste kisses on the cheek and forehead shared when you were sober, but they were in the best friend manner.

You hadn’t been paying attention until Matty dragged you down a hallway with a sharp turn. He opened a door, that you soon realized was a closet. He pulled you in behind him and slammed the door. “What the fuck, Matty.” You rolled your eyes, exasperated. He pulled a chain from above you. Then, a flickering, dull lightbulb turned on illuminating the closet. He looked directly into your eyes, licking his lips.

“So what, you were planning on fucking him?” He looks at you incredulously, eyes blown out and lips slicked with spit. “What? Yes, of course I was! Did you not hear my speech about you being a cockblock or..?” You looked at him like he was dumb, now. “How much have you had to drink, actually?”

“Not much. Almost sober. He wanted to fuck you, too. I saw it in his eyes.” He gave you another once over. His hands then fell to rest atop your shoulders. You spared a glance at them. “Okay, Matty. That’s great. But now I won’t be doing any of that because of you, so.” You thought he had to be joking about the sober thing. He was acting like this? Yeah, more like ‘almost drunk’.

“Mhm. Don’t need him anyway, s’ok.” He moves his hands down your arms now, leaving goosebumps in their wake. And then, he nestles his head into the crook of your neck. You feel his lips press a kiss to your collarbone and it makes you still.

“What are you-?”

“Sh. Just, let me.” Matty cuts you off, pressing a few more kisses up the expanse of your neck. You were trying to ask him what he meant. What ‘don’t need him anyway’ meant in Drunk Matty Language. Obviously that strategy wasn’t going to work, not when he was like this.

Your hands come to hold his wrists. “What exactly are we doing right now?” you ask between a ragged breath, his lips continuing their assault. You couldn’t do anything more than kiss right now, not in good conscience. You knew it was the alcohol muddling his brain that had made him act like this. His hands travel down your body and rest above your hips.

“Fooling around,” his fingers squeeze at the skin there. You can feel his hot breath on your neck, now. He straightens up to look you in the eye as he speaks. “We’re fooling around, that’s all. That’s what we’ve been doing all along, right?”His pupils are dilated, chest rapidly falling and rising. There was an expression on his face, one that you couldn’t put your finger on. You didn’t think it was something you’d seen before. But as his hands trail farther down your thighs, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “Every single fucking time. When we would get drunk and make out like bloody teenagers. When you would get on my lap and grind those pretty hips against me. That’s all it was, right? Just fooling around, love?”

You gasp as you feel his hands toy with the zipper on your jeans. Instead of unzipping them, his fingers linger there. He cups you over your pants. “Mhm- Matty! Please, you-“ You’re interrupted yet again when his lips lock with yours. Your hands find the nape of his neck. You grab a handful of his curly hair and tug, moaning into his mouth. He pulls away, hands traveling back to your waist. “Would get pissed just so I could fucking touch ya, it would drive me mad. When we acted like nothing happened the next day. Meant what I said, ‘m barely drunk. Had maybe 2 cups.”

Your head falls back to lean against the closet door behind you. You needed a minute to process what was happening. “You- Mhm, could’ve fooled me. With the way you’re acting, woulda thought you’re blackout.” You take a few more breaths, then picking up your head to look back at Matty. He’s been staring at you the whole time. “Drunk on you, maybe.” Is the lame reply he gives you, a shrug of his shoulders to punctuate it. Though, you don’t miss the way his lips quirk.

“Fuck off, Matty!” You giggle as he grins with you. “M’being dead serious. I- I never knew you, y’know, felt that way. Like, wanted to go further. Thought it was just a one-off thing.” You’re still looking into his eyes, but you feel a heat radiating off your body. You guessed what he said earlier meant he has feelings for you, too. Right? Why not let him know what was going on in your mind.

“Never a one-off with you, angel. Really want to go further if that’s why you’re asking me.” His voice was sincere, and his eye contact was making you melt. You were sure you visibly shuddered when he called you ‘angel’, too. As his thumbs rubbed circles into your hips, you smiled.

“Yeah, I wanna go further too. Really- um, really like you.” You giggled after you said it. You’ve been friends with Matty for God knows how long, and now you were telling him you ‘liked him’. You guessed he was thinking the same thing as he chucked along with you.

“Glad the feeling is mutual, babe.” He doesn’t give you any more time to ponder his words before he dives back in. When Matty kisses, he leaves no room for improving. His lips moving with yours as he bites down on your bottom lip. He begins to suck on it as you open up for him, but no sooner does he slide his tongue into your mouth. You moan and let him kitten lick the inside of your mouth and your tongue. He pulls away then, lips red and swollen.

His eyes go to your neck, again. He starts to leave a trail of kisses towards it. “Couldn’t fucking stand seeing you with Luca,” he says his name tauntingly, almost spiteful. He begins to suck your neck. You knew the goal was to leave a mark. You whine when he then bites down, he’ll draw blood if he keeps this up. “Knew the fucker saw us walk in together. He shoulda known you were mine. That you are mine.” Matty licks over the spot he sucked. He presses his thumb into the bruise, making you wince and mewl. “S’pretty.”

“Matty, please.” You weren’t above begging, at this point. You’d been rubbing your thighs together, trying to find some friction on the seam of your jeans. When you shift noticeably, Matty’s attention gets pulled to between your thighs. Once he realizes what your doing, he kicks your feet apart. You almost lose balance, but his hands keep you in place. He shoves a knee between your legs and pushes up into your cunt. You whimper. “Oh, fuck. Yes, Matty. Please,”

“Ya know how to use that mouth, huh? Beg so pretty, lovie.” His knees pushes further up and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. You knew that if anyone walked by this closet, they would probably hear you moaning like a slut. That wasn’t something you wanted to deal with tonight. Although, your damage control is cut short when Matty grabs your wrist and brings it back down to your side.

“Nuh uh, wanna hear ya. Finally sober when I’m touching you, should get the pleasure of hearing you too.” You bite your lip trying to suppress the moans. Even if Matty had encouraged it, it would still be really embarrassing. You didn’t think your ego could take it. “We’re not the only ones here, Matty. Other people are… present.” You vaguely gesture to the closet door you were pressed up against. The walls were thin, you knew this. But, when you pout at him he grins even wider.

“Even more reason to be loud. ‘M a bit jealous, but I think they’d be blessed to hear your pretty sounds. Though, can’t promise I’ll be too willing to share in the future.” Matty pins your hands to either side of you as he begins to work his knee between your thighs again. You preen under his gaze, letting out a small moan every now and again. He rolls his leg up just right, pushing into your clit. You let out a loud whine as you say his name. “Ah! Matty. S’good, n-need more.” When you manage to open your eyes, you’re met with him smirking back at you.

“Yeah, good girl. Need more, huh? Want Daddy to make it better f’you?” You buck against his leg at the use of the name. He rests his mouth on the top of your forehead, and you can feel his smile against your skin. It’s a bit pathetic at this point, but your mewls and whines are constant now. “Yes! Please, please make it better for me. Please, Daddy.” You grit out the last bit through your teeth. You were kind of embarrassed that it was turning you on, but then again you felt too good be caring about it.

“Okay, baby. Calm down, I’ve got you.” Matty lowers his leg. You open your mouth to protest, but he silences you with his mouth before any words can come out. When you feel his hand finally go to the zipper on your jeans, you understand why. He unzips them and begins to pull the fabric down your legs. You shimmy in motion with him to make it easier, and when your jeans fall to the floor you step out of them. Matty takes the liberty of kicking them to the side, and you sigh in contentment.

His hand goes to cup you over your underwear. He presses his fingers into you, “Christ, so fucking wet. All for me, right? You soak through your pretty little panties for me, babe?” You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Your mouth is hung open in a silent moan, so you nod your head profusely. Matty laughs at you, and it sounds patronizing to the point where you want to cross your legs and squeeze your thighs together.

After spreading his fingers over your panties for a little while longer, he finally moves to take them off. He drags them down your legs agonizingly slow. You buck under him, but his free hand comes to hold your hip. Keeping you still.

Once they’re finally off your legs and out of the way, Matty’s hands go directly towards your clit. When you let out a strained gasp, you open your eyes to see his smile. “Feels good, right?” is what falls out of his mouth, accompanied by a smug smile. In this moment, you think he’s too cocky for his own good. That he needs to be taken down a few pegs. But as his hand speeds up, and he rubs even more tight circles on your nerves… you think he might have the credentials to back that demeanor up.

So, at this point, what’s there left to lose? Why not feed his ego even more? “S’good Matty. Really good. T-the best.” And thought he was keeping a steady rhythm before, he falters at that. Matty pinches your clit and goes to spread his fingers through your slit. You can feel how wet you are, and it makes your body hot.

“Yeah? I’m the best you’ve ever had, right sweetheart? So good for me.” He praises you, still running his fingers up and down through your wetness. His middle finger then stretches out to play with your hole, finger running around the outside of you. “F-fuck me, Matty! C-can’t, need you so bad. Please, will you?” You cried out, needing some sort of friction. Really, you wanted his fingers inside you. You thought about how good this would feel before, and now you had it. You’d be damned if you didn’t get it.

“Need me, yeah? Cute. You’re so cute.” And when he says it, you almost think he’s mocking you. And when his finger slips inside of you, you definitely know he’s mocking you. Especially when you gasp and writhe for him because this is all too much.

Matty’s pumping his middle finger into you now. When you manage to open your eyes, you can see his blown out pupils and swollen lips. Probably from biting them too much. You were trying to keep your moans at bay, but his constant rhythm was making it hard. You had always thought his hands were objectively nice to look at. Now you would know that they felt even better. Still, you weren’t satisfied. You wanted more.

“Matty, more. Please can I have- have another?” It’s a whisper between gasps and moans. You’re honestly surprised he can make out what you said. You continue to babble illegible sentences until he leans in to kiss you. When you lean into him and your breathing goes regular, Matty pulls off. “Want another finger, right? Need Daddy to stretch you out for him?” His voice is so raspy that you think this is the side of Matty you want to see all the time. That you want to hear him whispering things in your ear like this all the time.

You screw your eyes shut tight and nod your head so hard that you can already feel the beginnings of a headache. But when Matty’s fingers still all together, you’re taken out of the experience. You finally open your eyes to see Matty staring at you. When you try to buck your hips to bring his movements back, he withdraws his hand completely. “I- Why-?” You cut yourself off with a moan when Matty lightly slaps at your clit. You’re so overstimulated that it heightens the contact. “If I ask you a question I want you to answer me with your words like a big girl. Okay, babe? Can you do that for me?” Matty’s tone is condescending and it’s making your head spin.

“Mhm! Yes, yes I can.” You rush out the sentence quickly, circling your hips again. Eager to get his hand back between your thighs. Matty smiles, but you see the gleam in his eyes. Your observation is proved right by the next question he asks. “Yes, who?” When you see his grin, you have to fight back rolling your eyes. Instead, you just give him the answer you know he wants. The answer you don’t mind giving, either.

“Yes, Daddy. Please? Want another finger so bad.” Your pout punctuates your words, and it makes Matty take a deep breath. Instead of verbally answering you, he just brings his hand back to your cunt. This time, slipping his middle and ring finger inside of you. Matty’s hand is moving faster now, no more teasing in sight. He takes his thumb to come and circle at your clit, and then presses down and holds it there. This elicits a sharp whimper from you.

“Cunts so wet for me, so tight too. Can feel you clench around my fingers.” Matty keeps running his mouth, and then decides to curl his fingers inside of you. At this point, you’re spasming in front of him. You’re surprised nobody’s alerted the host of your… interesting noises coming from her coat closet. “Like that? C’mon, cum for me. Know you can, such a good girl.” And when he rolls your clit under his thumb, you’re done for.

You were gonna give Matty something, maybe a warning. But when you cum, it hits you hard. You couldn’t even make a coherent sentence. You squeeze your eyes shut to the point where you see white. Your whole body goes hot and you feel the best type of release. His fingers keep moving inside you, working you through your orgasm. You’re a little woozy coming down from it. You open your eyes to be met with a sincere smile from Matty. You give a lazy smile in return. He finally retracts his fingers from you, and brings them to his mouth to lick them. You scrunch your nose up at him playfully.

“You taste good. Gonna have to properly eat you out, soon.” You hit his chest and giggle. You were a bit dazed now, but you knew you went giddy at the talk of a ‘next time’.

“Mhm. Thank you, Matty. That was great. Not being funny when I say it’s the hardest I ever came.” Matty laughs loudly at that. A boyish grin adorning his face. You know his ego has been fed this whole evening, and it’s quite cute. You move to find your panties that have been strewn on the floor somewhere.

“Anytime, love. Gonna be a lot more of that now that your secret’s out.” He teases, pinching your hip in the process. You laugh, but it turns into a feigned gasp soon enough. “My secret? Sure, Daddy. Let’s pretend you don’t feel the same.”

Matty’s eyes go wide as he claps a hand over your mouth. His cheeks go a little pink, too. But you’d never tell him that. “Enough, minx. Get dressed and I’m driving us home.” Your eyes lower to the bulge in his pants, but he’s already two steps ahead of you. He places his hand under your chin, forcing you to look up at his face. “And maybe we can take care of that when we’re home, too.”

Matty lets his hand trail down your back to rest on your waist, and pulls you in for a kiss. A kiss that you both smile into.

[bvidzsoo]

Does he know?

𖤛 Brother's best friend!San 𖤛

TW: none

Word count: 4.9k

A/N: Hii lovelies, got inspired today while listening to some scary Halloween stories, so here's this little drabble (which is not so little lol.)

           Oh, you had a bad feeling. When Jongho, your older brother, came barreling inside your room yesterday evening with an excited grin on his face you just sighed, expecting a half fucked up idea about what the two of you should do over the weekend with your parents absent, but he surprised you with the idea of throwing a party, instead. It really didn’t sound bad. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Besides, he said it would be a smaller get together with his closest friends and perhaps a few other guys from his uni class, so you had no problem with that. Plus, it was Halloween. And a little party never killed nobody. But as you stood by your window right now, curtain pulled slightly to the side to be able to peek out, your face was pulled into a distressed grimace.

“No, Yeri, you don’t understand—” Your words rushed out as the phone was pressed against your ear, “the place is flooded. Okay?! It’s not just Jongho’s friends—it’s his whole fucking university!”

Your best friend giggled annoyingly on the other end of the phone, obviously amused by you overreacting over a small party. It wasn’t small at all, alright?! Your parents would kill you if they were to get home earlier. Jongho informed them of the small get together and they had no problems with it—but this?! Jesus, you were in trouble.

“What are you wearing?” Yeri asked excited, probably grinning. She left on a small trip with her family over the weekend, otherwise, she’d be sitting on your bed and teasing you in person about you freaking out.

“That’s not important—” Your breath hitched a little as you watched two motorcycles pull up in front of your house, rolling up your drive way. You were too lazy to park your cabriolet inside the garage, so the motorcycles were forced to park behind your cherry red car.

“Oh—my—God.” You managed to choke out as Choi San, your brother’s best friend, swung his leg over his very new motorcycle and took the helmet off his head. He ruffled his black hair with his fingers, and the strands fell perfectly back in place, just as it was gelled back seconds ago. Your jaw was on the floor as San placed his helmet on the seat of his motorcycle, turning to face his friend, Seonghwa. Your eyes were glued to San’s outfit, muscles on display through the tight fabric hugging his body.

“Y/N?! Hello—” Yeri’s exasperated huffing finally reached your ears, and brain to be honest, as your eyes fixed on San’s black leather pants.

“Yeri, fuck, I’m going to die tonight.” You mumbled into the phone breathless as San adjusted his leather cropped jacket, which was matching his pants. God, you felt like you were drooling. Which you might have been doing, actually.

“You know I can’t see whatever you’re seeing, right?” Yeri’s voice was amused but slightly annoyed and your eyes widened as San turned and glanced up towards you window as if sensing you were ogling him.

“Sorry, yeah, I—” You speedwalked away from your window, hoping San hadn’t seen you, as you started pacing up and down in your spacious room, “Yeri—San—God.”

There was silence on the other side of the line, that is, until loud laughter almost deafened you, “I know you have the hots for San, but seriously—this much?!”

“You’re not seeing him right now, alright?!” Your voice raised as you joined in on Yeri’s laughter.

“Well, go ahead, I’m all ears—but before that! What are you wearing?” Yeri repeated her question and you giggled as you stopped in front of your full body length mirror. Oh well, what you were wearing, despite it being decent in your opinion, would send your brother into an annoyed rant, his overprotective side, making you change into something else in milliseconds. But it was fine, because tonight, he was preoccupied with his friends and would leave you alone. At least that’s what you hoped for.

“Well, I’m wearing that black leather skirt we bought together last month,” The skirt reached mid-thigh and came up to your belly button, “I have fishnets on too, and—I don’t know, mom gave me this crop top long sleeve blouse thingy she used to wear.” The crop top was burgundy and low-cut, wrapping around your breasts snuggly as the collar of it rested nicely around your shoulders and collarbones. Your stomach was bare and as you weren’t used to dressing like this, it made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but Halloween only happened once a year, you’d survive.

“You have to send me a picture!” Yeri demanded and you hummed, looking around for an accessory to complete the look. Your neck felt too bare, perhaps a black choker would do, “What about your hair?”

“Uh,” You huffed as you walked to your dresser, opening your jewelry box on top of it, “I was lazy, so, a messy ponytail will do.”

“I bet you look hot as fuck,” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed your black choker, “And with San there…Jongho better not cockblock you—”

“Yeri.” You sighed and walked back to your mirror, “Just because I’m into San doesn’t mean he’s into me as well, you know…”

Yeri scoffed and you could have sworn she rolled her eyes too, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you—”

“Okay, enough nonsense.” You cut her off, glancing at the clock. It was almost ten and you could hear the guys setting up the music downstairs, “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Send me a picture!” Yeri exclaimed as you hummed and bid her goodbye, placing your phone on the nightstand. You secured the choker around your neck and then grabbed your phone, posing cutely in front of the mirror to send the picture to Yeri. A loud bang coming from down the hallway made you jump as your thumb pressed against the screen of your phone, but you paid it no mind as you hurried to your door and threw it open. You were about to shout at whoever went inside your parents room, but soon enough Mingi’s pink head poked through the door as Yeosang followed after him, carrying your father’s very expensive speaker set. Oh, you were dying dying when your parents returned home. Your sigh was loud as you shook your head at your brother’s friends and it caught their attention and Yeosang looked sheepish, meanwhile Mingi grinned widely.

“Hi, Y/N!” He greeted excitedly and you nodded with a grin which said ‘I have accepted my fate’ before you went back inside your room, closing your door and leaning against it with a groan. God, you were so going to regret this whole Halloween party idea. But Yeri’s supportive compliments about your outfit did cheer you up a bit.

            Two hours barely into the party and you were praying your neighbors wouldn’t call the police on you. The house was full of people, and as if you had turned into your mother, you were standing on the stairs, screaming at whoever tried going upstairs, telling them that it was off-limits, and that if you caught them there again, you’d kick them out. Most people, who you had no idea who they were, seemed to know you and would greet you like ‘Hi, Jongho’s sister’, and some would even bring you drinks, which you refused. You couldn’t trust guys, it was sad, but true. You were resting against the railing of the staircase, leaning over and gaping at a couple as they were furiously making out and leaning dangerously close to your mother’s plant, about to shout at them to stop, when your brother’s face blocked your view of them.

“Here you are!” He exclaimed with a wide grin, “Someone told me there’s an angry chick screaming at anyone who tries going upstairs—I just knew it was you.”

You rolled your eyes as Jongho started laughing, which quickly died out, as he squinted his eyes at your outfit, “Isn’t that too—revealing?”

“You can literally only see my abs, Jongho, what’s revealing about that?” You raised your eyebrows unimpressed at him and he shrugged, taking a sip from his red solo cup.

“I don’t know,” He extended his cup to you, “I’m just not used to seeing you dressed like this, I guess. What are you dressed as, anyways?”

You grabbed the cup and brought it up to your nose, scrunching it when you realized he was drinking Vodka, “I’m a vampire without fangs, because I didn’t have enough money to buy some. You?”

“Nothing, I’m the host.” Jongho deadpanned as you gulped down some of your brother’s drink, somehow expecting him to not dress up as anything, even though this was his party.

“Jongho, seriously—” You slightly gagged at the disgusting taste of his drink before handing him back his drink, “the host is the most important person at a party, of course you should be dressed up!”

“Good thing my little sis dressed up in my place too,” He chuckled and nodded his head towards the kitchen, “stop annoying others and come to the kitchen.”

You rolled your eyes but followed your brother, you were starting to get irritated by the many drunken idiots wanting to go upstairs, perhaps a drink would do good. Jongho waited for you at the end of the stairs and once you were by his side he draped an arm around your shoulders, making you give him a pointed look. It wasn’t a foreign action, but he was only doing it right now to keep guys away from you. Not surprising at all. A few people smiled and waved at you as you made your way through the crowd and you smiled back awkwardly, asking Jongho who they were, and him explaining with a laugh. You also scolded him for throwing a huge party instead of a small get together and he smiled sheepishly, saying he only meant to invite a few friends over but word got out and he couldn’t do much about it. You knew he was lying, but remained silent as you walked inside the kitchen with him and realized all of his good friends were here. San included. Fuck. You gulped and made an effort to avoid looking in his direction as he had abandoned his leather jacket somewhere and the black tank top he wore exposed his deliciously buff arms and wide back. Oh, God, you truly wouldn’t survive tonight. Suddenly you missed standing on the stairs and shouting at others to stay away.

“Y/N! Finally!” Yunho, Jongho’s guitarist friend from their band, greeted you cheerily and ran up to you. Jongho released you and went to grab a red cup, pouring some whiskey in it as it was your favorite. You knew Yunho was going to hug you, but you didn’t expect the tackle and your legs dangling in the air as he twirled you around, making you giggle half scared for your life.

“How much have you had to drink?” You asked once he placed you down and he just shrugged, grabbing his own cup off the counter.

“A lot.” He muttered into your ear before he went back to his previous spot, sitting up on the counter, next to the sink. Mingi was busy showing something on his phone to Wooyoung, who waved when Yunho was twirling you around, meanwhile Yeosang was pouring coke into your cup, laughing with Jongho about something. Seonghwa was busy talking to a girl, smiling sweetly and playing with a strand of her hair, meanwhile Hongjoong was squinting and squatting, filling nine little porcelain cups with a pinkish liquid. He was pouring shots for everyone. You stood awkwardly in your own kitchen as you waited for Jongho to finally give you your drink, when you felt someone’s warmth engulfing you from your right. You gulped and screamed at yourself to remain calm and not blush, the musky scent of your brother’s best friend too familiar. Fuck, why did he have to approach you?!

“Hi,” His voice was deep and your body involuntarily shivered, “I bet you’re hating this whole thing.” Of course he knew you’d hate this whole big party thing, why did San have to know you so well? How did he even know, was the better question.

“Uhm—” Why did your jaw have to hang a little open? Seriously, you hated yourself right now. But San’s sharp eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner, making them even sharper as he gazed deeply into your own eyes as if he was trying to reach deep enough to see your soul. Which might’ve as well left your body at the moment, “San, hi. It’s—big. The party, I mean, yeah, it’s too much—whatever.”

What were you even saying? If San wouldn’t have started grinning like an idiot at your nonsense of an answer, you would’ve started crying. You still wanted to cry but Yeosang’s quiet ‘hey’ caught your attention as he stood next to you and San, handing you your red cup.

“Jongho said you’re allowed to drink only one more when you’re finished with this one.” Yeosang handed you the cup as you huffed.

“Yeah, tell Jongho he can shove it up his ass since he said he’d throw a small party and this is everything but small.” San giggled next to you and you swore Heaven was calling you as the sound made tons of butterflies erupt in your stomach. Should you really drink with San here? Whatever, fuck it, you took a big gulp of your drink and smiled at the sweet taste of it. Yeosang and Jongho always knew how to mix your drinks. Yeosang just winked before walking back to Jongho, leaving you standing next to San, feeling awkward again. Now it was because you had no idea what to say to him. Seriously, what could you ask him about at a Halloween party? You took a peek in his direction, and almost jumped when you realized he was already looking at you, but his eyes weren’t on your face but on your body. Specifically, legs. Your whole face flushed and you quickly took another gulp of you drink as you tried not to choke at the thought of San checking you out. What kind of fever dream was this?

“Let me guess,” You heard San saying, and you did choke this time, making Jongho glance your way with his eyes squinting at you, “You’re a vampire?”

Once you managed to calm your coughing, you looked at him, more than sure that your whole face was red, “Yeah, without the fangs…and what are you?”

“Ghost rider, without the fire.” You started giggling, it sounded really awful to your own ears, but it made San smile too and suddenly those damn butterflies were back. You could swear you heard him muttering ‘cute’ to himself, but Wooyoung’s witchy laughter echoed around the kitchen and you looked his way, wondering what was so funny. By the look on Hongjoong’s face it was probably nothing funny, Wooyoung just had a death wish.

“Shut up, idiot.” Hongjoong went to place his palm against Wooyoung’s mouth to shut him up, but he escaped and raced towards you, hiding behind you as he knew Hongjoong quite liked you and wouldn’t try to deck him as long as you’re standing in front of him.

“Can we just drink those shots?” Wooyoung whined from behind you and Hongjoong gave him one last scrutinizing look before he went back to the counter and clapped his hands together.

“Shots are ready!” He grinned and the boys approached the counter, excitement showing in their eyes as they all watched the pink liquid, Mingi leaning close to sniff it before Yunho pulled him backwards and shook his head at his best friend. You were just about to walk over, Hongjoong having made eye contact with you with a smile signaling the ninth cup was for you, when San grabbed your forearm and gently pulled you towards the counter. Your whole body went stiff and you focused on gripping your red cup, afraid that it would slip from your grip. God, why did your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden? He just grabbed you, for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t that serious. He did that to many others, you really needed to get out of your head. Everyone grabbed a shot, San’s grip was still on you and your hand slightly shook as you grabbed your own cup, and then Hongjoong raised his high. Everyone extended theirs, you were struggling a bit as you were further from the group, but San pulled you closer and you positively fell into his side, brain shutting down for a few seconds.

“Cheers!” Everyone shouted loudly but you could only mumble as San turned to face you with the cutest, warmest, sweetest smile of all times before he downed his shot, never breaking eye contact. Oh, for God’s sake you truly were about to pass out as your trembling hand raised to your mouth, throwing the shot back, not quite expecting the sour taste of the pink liquid as you cringed. Hongjoong saw and chuckled, grabbing your empty cup before gathering the other ones too. Jongho had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he clapped his hands together, asking for attention.

“Seonghwa and I made a bonfire in the backyard, everyone’s welcomed to share scary stories for the next hour.” Mingi and Yunho shared a smirk as they raced outside, their tall bodies crashing almost into everyone as they made it a race as to who got there first. Wooyoung’s arm around your shoulder made you jump as he started pulling you after him, San’s grip from your forearm disappearing.

“Wanna tell that story which happened like two weeks ago?” Wooyoung asked excited, pushing the door open for you.

“I’m pretty sure it was just a cat, Wooyoung…” You trailed off, still getting goosebumps from that day. Wooyoung tsked and shook his head as he walked the two of you to the empty log at the bonfire, pushing you down to sit.

“If it truly were a cat, we would’ve seen it, Y/N.” He wasn’t wrong about that, but to be honest, it still freaked you out so you hoped he’d leave you alone. The log wasn’t too big and soon Jongho joined the two of you, handing you a blanket from your parent’s room, you thanked him with a smile. His good friends all made themselves comfortable around the bonfire, a few strangers joining the nine of you as Yunho was the first one to start, with Mingi adding some information here and there, making sound effects with his mouth which only made everyone either laugh or cringe, despite his attempts to make it scary.

            You weren’t dressed accordingly for the late October, early November weather, so you quickly left the bonfire, of course, only after Wooyoung told his story and kept you there to vouch for the authenticity of it. You made yourself another drink while you were downstairs and even joined in the dancing in the living room, thankful that Jongho had pushed the sofa aside for more space. You got quickly bored of that too as the played music wasn’t really your thing, so you went back to the stairs and screamed at anyone who wanted to go upstairs. At some point you had to pee as you had finished your second cup of whiskey coke and opted for the bathroom upstairs, scared that you’d walk in on some horny university students in the downstairs bathroom. Jongho would be cleaning that bathroom, not you, that was certain. The upstairs bathroom was just across the stairs so you didn’t have to do much walking, you weren’t drunk, but your legs felt a little jittery and you knew the alcohol would soon kick in. You didn’t drink much, so you knew it wouldn’t be anything serious, but you also felt like changing into your fuzzy pjs and playing some games on your PC before going to sleep. As you washed your hands you nodded to yourself, having agreed to that idea, and left the bathroom quickly. Barely few steps away from the door, you heard footsteps behind you and when you glanced back, two Ghostfaces were charging towards you, making you shriek as you took off down the corridor, slapping their hand away when they reached for your middle. You knew these were just stupid guys playing a prank on you, but those movies have seriously scarred you, and you blamed Jongho for letting you watch it at a fragile age. You yelped again as one of them popped their head next to yours, giggling deeply, making you realize who it was. However, you had no intention of stopping before you reached your room, but as you grabbed the doorknob, you were swept off your feet and twirled around again, making you curse loudly as your head became hazy.

“Jeong Yunho!” You screamed and slapped the arm holding you, “Song Mingi!”

The two boys erupted into laughter and Yunho lowered you as you swung around and punched his middle, making his laughter turn into coughs, making Mingi laugh even louder. But you were soon facing him and trying to punch him too, but he was quick on his feet and dodging your frail attacks skillfully.

“You two are assholes!” You huffed once you realized you couldn’t get Mingi and he just chuckled, pulling the mask off his face, “You know I’m scared shitless of Ghostface!”

“We know.” Mingi giggled as you glared at him before turning around and glaring at the other culprit too. Yunho was still rubbing his stomach, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, mask clutched in his hand.

“Told you it would be funny scaring her.” Yunho told Mingi and you shook your head, flipping the two giants off as you grabbed your doorknob.

“I’ll tell Jongho you two keep bullying me—” You smirked when Mingi’s eyes widened and Yunho stopped looking so amused, “And then I’ll be the one laughing and having fun.”

“Don’t do that!” Mingi whined as you narrowed your eyes at him, but didn’t say anything, just pushed the door to your room open, watching Yunho pout at you before you closed the door in their faces, darkness enveloping you. You sighed and leaned against your door for a second, waiting for your heartbeat to return to its normal rhythm. That didn’t last for long, however, as you turned around and caught glimpse of the dark shadow standing by your desk, making you shriek again and grab your phone off your nightstand. It probably wasn’t a smart weapon of choice, but you chucked it towards the shadow, slightly thankful when they caught it, confirming that it wasn’t an actual ghost. Until it dawned on you that someone was in your room and you were about to bolt, but the lamp on your desk was flicked on. Your mouth dropped open for the nth time as you watched San, who was pressing a hand against his lips to muffle his giggles. That is, until he lowered it and the endearing sound overtook your room, butterflies back in your stomach.

“Yah! Choi San!” You exclaimed, storming over and grabbing your phone from his hand, “That wasn’t funny! I nearly had a heart attack when I realized someone was standing in my room! What if you were a creep?!”

San’s giggles died down as his eyebrows furrowed, the weight of your words getting to him. He had quite the intimidating aura at times, when his face was expressionless and his sharp eyes stared you down, and that’s exactly how he was looking at you right now. You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t scary or mal-intended, but your heart picked up again as you watched him for longer. He became serious all of a sudden. The eyeliner got a little bit smudged under his eyes and it added only depth to his mesmerizing eyes under the golden hue of your lamp.

“I would’ve beaten up the creep then.” You puffed and rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, okay, big boy.” You muttered more to yourself, not taking San too seriously and he seemed offended.

“No, I’m serious!” He exclaimed and approached you, a head taller. You looked up and cursed yourself for blushing, his scent enveloping you. Oh, no, the alcohol was getting to you as your eyes could only focus on his lips. This was bad.

“You know you can seek for my help at all times, Y/N?” Yeah, his words were sweet and comforting, but your eyes took in the redness of his plump lips, the curve of it. How would he taste, was the first question that came to mind and you almost gasped at yourself. Oh, man, were you really this far gone for him? Jongho would’ve choked you out by now if he could read your mind. Damn him and his inhumane strength which he seemed to inherit from your grandpa, that man was lifting the heaviest things at the age of seventy without a care in the world or any consequences.

“Yeah, uh—” Wait, what did San just say? Oh, yes, about going to him when you needed help—wait, what? Really? “That’s—uh—sweet. Yeah, thanks.”

You promised you were better at conversations, but San…San just had this effect on you where your brain turned into mush and suddenly you were just simply dumb. San’s lips pulled into a grin and you forced yourself to keep your eyes on his forehead or eyes, and not on his lips.

“I never got to tell you, but your outfit is cute.” Yeah, screw it, your whole face flamed at the compliment, “It almost made me think you matched me on purpose when you sent me that cute mirror selfie.”

Sent him…what? Matching—who was matching? Oh, the leather skirt and his leather pants, yeah, what a coincidence. Wait—sent him a selfie?!

“I sent you a selfie?!” You exclaimed without meaning to, eyes wide as you watched San take his phone out of his pocket, unlocking his phone. Your days were numbered. You wouldn’t be alive for too long, you have concluded, if he showed you what you feared he was about to show you. No, please don’t be it—you bit your lower lip when San turned his phone around, the selfie you intended to send to Yeri only winking back at you from San’s phone. He chuckled and turned the phone back towards himself, looking at the selfie and shaking his head.

“I figured you sent it by accident,” San spoke up, pocketing his phone, “but I had a flicker of hope in me that it wasn’t an accident, after all.”

“What?” You were gaping at him like a fish, it must’ve looked hilarious, but San didn’t look amused as he stepped closer, his boots hitting yours.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” You shook your head no, on the verge of fainting if San were to compliment you once again, “And I mean that in a…I like you, you’re cute, way.”

Stop. Rewind. Did he…just…say that? I like you?! The longer you looked at him expressionless as a deep flush invaded your cheeks, the longer San had to fight off the need to grab you and kiss you.

“You like me?” You managed to ask once your brain tried to work again.

“Yes.”

“You want to date me kind of like me?”

“Yes.”

“Does Jongho know?”

“He’s the one who encouraged me to go for it.”

“He would never.”

“Okay, maybe he didn’t encourage me—but he never said I wasn’t allowed to pursue his little sister…”

“You’re fucking with me right now, Choi San.”

“No, I’m not.”

Oh, boy, perhaps your body has finally given up as you felt your knees buckle underneath you slightly, but San didn’t notice as you huffed and held the bridge of your nose.

“Are your slaps as painful as Jongho’s?”

“More painful.” You muttered and San pouted, making your heart beat even faster than it already was.

“Fuck, then I hope I never make you mad.” San chuckled and you bit your lower lip.

“Are you asking me out right now?” If he said yes, you would faint.

“Yes.” Fuck. Why was he smiling so cutely at you? Did he want to kill you? Your parents wouldn’t even get the chance to do it at this rate.

“Okay, let’s date.” Your mouth was saying things on its own accord, because your brain stopped working a long time ago.

“I knew you liked me.” San giggled and his arms went around your middle as he pulled you into a hug, pressing his chin on top of your head. Why was he so warm?

“I don’t like you.”

“Mhm.”

Okay, maybe he was right. Okay, he was right. You liked him. Painfully much. And as you hugged him back, you were positive he could hear and feel your heartbeat in your chest by the fervor it was thumping with. Lips pressed against your forehead, and now you were positive you were about to pass out as you cursed silently, making San shake with laughter as heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway outside, headed towards your room. Shit, Jongho was coming.

Masterlist ↭ Halloween Prompts

[bookshelf-dust]

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,398

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of neil, reader has insecurities/social anxiety/anxiety in general, billy’s anxiety, descriptions of a wound, fluff, comfort

a/n: hi! so i worked on this for a couple days and i’ve kind of been wracking my brain with trying to figure out where i want to go, if that makes sense, but i think maybe i’ve gotten somewhere with this part. there’s definitely more opening up on both billy and reader’s side. there’s also one bit inspired by good will hunting, incase anyone catches it. anyways, this has been very self indulgent for me, and i hope that maybe you might find something in it. enjoy!! <33

before you read, listen to: fade to black by metallica and/or don’t dream it’s over by crowded house

————

It’s cloudy this morning, and you can feel the cold metal of your car door against your back, despite the layers you’ve got on.

You can feel Billy’s eyes on you too, so you focus on the details of his car rather than on him. On the shimmer the paint has in it when the light hits it the right way, the little scuff at the bottom of the driver’s side door.

You give in and turn your head to look at him, meeting his pretty blue eyes.

Billy takes a drag from his cigarette, assessing you.

He watches you pick at your nails, mess with your hair. Then you finally shove your hands in your pockets, though he thinks there’s probably lint in there you’ll play with too.

You watch him turn his head and blow the smoke in the other direction, like he does every time he has one near you.

Billy realized fairly quickly that you got to school earlier than necessary because you wanted to beat the rush of kids, spare the anxiety that came with parking.

He wasn’t really aware that parking is something that stresses people out. But it stresses you out.

And Billy has anxiety. He knows that. He feels it everyday. When people watch him in the halls at school, when he’s at home. Shit, it never stops at home.

But yours is different. You’re different than he is. He hides his well, and you don’t. Though maybe, he thinks, that’s because you never had to.

So he started getting there earlier too. Max would’ve complained, but she could skate around until the rest of the party got there. She found that she liked it that way.

Now, in the mornings, Billy pulls into the space next to you, tears you away from your book, and spends the rest of the time until you actually have to go into school talking to you—or not talking.

You’ve found that though it’s easy to talk to him, it’s also just as easy to be around him without speaking at all. You’ve found that his company is enough. His presence.

Billy notices, when you’ve turned to look at him, that you’re biting at the inside of your lip. He notices because he recognizes the movement, because he does the same thing. It’s rare that the inside of either of his lips aren’t sore because he’s chewed them raw.

“It’s going to be fine, you know,” Billy tells you. He stomps out the butt of his cigarette.

“You always say that.”

And truly, you know he’s got a point. You’ve studied your ass off for this test, have even had him look over your outlines for the essay portion too. You feel prepared.

But there’s always that voice in the back of your head, telling you otherwise.

The voice that clouds your mind like a shadow, that wraps its arms around your shoulders and squeezes.

It moves your hair to the side and whispers in your ear.

You’re not good enough. You have no purpose. You’re nothing. What are you doing here?

And more often than not, you believe it.

Billy walks toward you, adjusts the collar on your jacket, straightens the pin on the front pocket. He stares at you, a stern look on his face.

“And I’m always right, aren’t I? You’re going to be fine, in the end.”

You nod, and his mouth ticks up at the corners.

Billy bends the middle finger on his right hand and drags his knuckle across your cheek. It’s what he does now when he wants to offer you comfort.

You know it’s in place of a hug, or a kiss, or some passionate string of words that he can’t bring yet himself to say.

It hasn’t been but a couple weeks since that day at lunch.

He’d sat there, stealing food from your lunchbox and reading some book for English class. Something he’d never have picked out for himself and certainly wasn’t enjoying.

After that Billy found himself looking for you in the halls, just wanting to know you were there. It’s like when you’re a kid and your seat mate doesn’t come to school, and you feel this ache for them.

He’s not what it is, but he likes you. He likes your company. He likes that you don’t pester him or try to stomp all over his ego.

Billy Hargrove aches for you.

From then on, it’s been quiet conversations whenever you see each other, joining him for a walk when he’s outside. Sometimes he strolls down your driveway to wait for you.

It’s been nothing more than two lonely people finding solace in one another, in realizing that either person will understand whenever the dam breaks.

Billy might not know all the inner workings of your soul yet, but he feels like he does.

It’s when he asks you a question he hasn’t ventured to ask yet, though, that he realizes he wants to know more.

He wants to be your friend.

You watch the carline for the middle school pick up, listen to the shitty country music that the kids who live further out from town play on their way into the lot.

Billy knocks his ankle against yours softly. You look down, realizing that you’ve both got on the same pair of shoes: converse that look like they’ve seen much better days.

You look up, thinking he wants something. “Hm?”

“Would you want to go somewhere tonight? I don’t know,” he trails off, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth, “the record store? Or the bookstore, if you’d rather that. We could get something to eat.”

You feel yourself get warm all over and straighten from where you’d been relaxed against your car.

Billy senses that what he said set something off in you, and he starts to worry. “We could do anything you want.”

You inhale, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Uh, I don’t know, Billy. I’ve got to study.”

He scoffs. “For what? Your test is today.”

“Yeah, we’ll I’ve got another one next week,” you say.

“So you’re going to start studying a week early?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

You don’t sound so sure of yourself. It’s like you’re scrambling for a way out of this, for an excuse as to why you can’t spend time with him.

“My mom might need me tonight or something. I’ll have to ask her.”

Billy almost makes a quip about you having to ask your mommy’s permission to go out, though he decides against it, because you’re shrinking before his very eyes.

“Yeah?” He inquires.

You nod, shouldering your bag.

————

Billy calls you after school. Your mother picks up.

“Hi! This is Nicky. Who’s calling?”

He takes a deep breath. Your mother sounds kind, which he isn’t used to.

“Hi. This is Billy. Billy Hargrove. I was trying to reach Y/N, is she home?”

“Oh, hi, Billy! Yeah, she’s home. I think she might be asleep though.”

“That’s okay.” He tries to call her by your last name, but she insists that Nicky is just fine.

“Can I ask you something?” He continues.

Your mother doesn’t know a whole lot about your budding friendship with Billy, but she does know that you’ve seemed a little less…empty.

At least she thinks so. She thinks he might be good for you, and based on the fact that he’s calling, you might be good for him too.

“Sure, hon. Shoot.”

“Do you need Y/N tonight? Do you have plans?”

Your mother hums. “Nope to both. Any particular reason why you’re asking?”

“I wanted to see her tonight, but she said she had stuff to do.”

It clicks for him then, all at once.

“But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe she’s nervous? To go out and about? I’m sorry for saying all this, really,” Billy covers.

“No, sweetheart it’s okay.”

That almost does him in. No one parental has ever spoken to him this way. Not since his mom.

“Y/N has pretty bad social anxiety, so oftentimes she gets nervous about going out in public where there are loads of people. Does that make sense?”

“No, yeah that totally makes sense. Thank you for telling me.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking. “Do you think you could check on her? If she’s asleep don’t bother her though.” He finally says.

“Hold on just a second, okay sweetie? I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

Billy smiles, and he’s sure your mother can hear it in his voice when he responds. “Okay.”

The line goes quiet on her end, and he can hear what he assumes is the sound of your mother setting the phone on the counter. He can also hear some muffled voices.

He really wants to see you, but he understands if you’d rather stay home. He would try and invite you over to his, but he’d also like to avoid that.

There’s s a large part of Billy that wants to be there for you and learn what it is that you’re feeling. He can’t say that he doesn’t get nervous to be the center of attention in crowded places, because he does, but he’s never felt like he couldn’t go out like you do.

There’s a shuffling over the phone that brings him out of his stupor.

This time it’s your voice that he hears, and it’s calm, sweet, just like your mother’s had been. You’re not upset with him. His shoulders relax at that realization.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Guess you weren’t sleeping then, huh?”

You laugh lightly. “Nope. Just wallowing in self pity. What’d you wanna talk about?”

“About what I asked you today. I’d really like to spend a little more time with you, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Let me think for a second, okay?”

“Only for a second. I don’t want you to psych yourself out.” Billy can hear you sigh heavily, and he rolls his eyes. He can practically picture you, standing there.

“Um, okay. I’ll-I’ll go. Yeah, I’ll go. I haven’t been anywhere besides school in a long ass time.” That bit seems directed more at yourself than at Billy.

“Okay, little honeybee.” He’d heard your mom call for you and he was saving that one up.

“Fuck off,” you start, though there’s no malice in your voice. “Also, we can go to both, by the way.”

“Huh?” He questions, caught off guard.

“The record store and the bookstore. You offered the bookstore and I’m not letting it go.”

“Stubborn ass,” he mumbles.

“Can it, Hargrove. Are you picking me up? If so, when?”

He knows you could just walk down the street and go wherever with him. But he doesn’t want that. He finds that he’s kind of excited to see you.

“Yeah I can pick you up, your highness.”

————

Billy reaches across and pushes the passenger side door open when he sees you patter down the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” he hears you mumble, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Mhm.”

The both of you are silent for a moment, and you watch houses flick by outside the window. You wonder what people are up to. If they’re comfortable in those houses. If they’ve got carpet or hardwoods or stairs.

The radio volume is shockingly low you notice, but high enough that you catch something you recognize: the beginning of “Fade to Black.”

“Is there a reason you’re keeping the music so quiet?” You ask, and Billy glances at you for just a second.

“I was trying to not be an asshole,” he smirks, but it turns into a full, swoon-worthy smile when he sees you do the same at his remark.

“Well, you can turn it up, if you want. I like this song.”

Billy laughs. “Don’t fuck with me like that, Y/N.” He reaches for the dial and turns it up anyways. “Are you trying to tell me that you like Metallica?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hargrove?” You sit on your hands, the leather seat cold on the backs of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’m just not used to people liking the music I like.”

You laugh.

“So which one is it?” Billy asks.

You ignore him, pretend you don’t know what he’s asking.

“Is it James?”

Your grin is wide.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But Kirk is pretty too. Not that I don’t think they’re all pretty, because they are.”

“Pretty?” He snorts.

“Yes, Billy.” You’re feeling brave, happiness spreading through you because you got to talk about something you like—so you go for it. “You’re pretty too.”

Billy coughs, and you pat him on the shoulder. “That’s a new one,” he tells you.

“Well get used to it, pretty boy.”

————

You’ve only been in the record store for five minutes, but Billy can sense that you’re nervous. There’s a pretty good crowd meandering through the aisles, and it’s a Friday night, so that’s no surprise.

You keep close to him, and you worry that he’s bothered by it, but you really do feel better when he’s right there.

Billy watches you flick through a set of Journey tapes, notices when you seem to panic a little if he goes too far away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes downcast at a stack of magazines.

“For what?”

“Being a buzzkill. I doubt I’m very good company.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice is serious enough that you look up at him. “You’re not a buzzkill. And you’re the best company I’ve had since I got here.”

You keep eye contact with him for a few seconds, realize he’s got freckles. That’s enough to straighten you out.

“Can we go to the back? That’s where they put the random shit they find and then it’s usually like fifty cents.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, come on.” Billy holds out his hand. He wiggles his fingers when you don’t immediately take it. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” he says.

You feel yourself burn, but take his hand, and his palm is rough against yours.

He leads you to the far end of the store, and you find exactly the thing you were looking for. You walk around awhile, looking at everything and nothing.

You see something, and when you go to grab it, you let go of Billy’s hand and move your own up to his bicep, where you hold on to him instead.

Billy likes you holding his arm better, he thinks. It feels more…intimate. Like you trust him. He’s not used to that.

When you catch him looking at where you’re grasping him, you squeeze his arm a little, just above his elbow. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” you say, giggling to yourself. You say it the same way that people day “duh,” and that makes Billy’s heart skip.

You pick up what it was that you saw: an Ozzy Osbourne bobble head.

“What did Ozzy do to them? This is fifteen cents, Billy.”

“Maybe they really like bats.”

That does you in, and the both of you start laughing, enough that you get looks, but neither of you care.

You set it back down and move on, though there really isn’t that much more to look at. Billy buys a Tank tape, and that’s all.

He tosses his bag in the backseat of the Camaro so that he doesn’t have to hold it, and then walks you back down the street towards the bookstore.

You lead the way through the aisles, through fantasy and then romance and then mystery.

It’s obvious to him that you’ve been here loads of times and that you have a plan. You also seem much more comfortable here—like it’s your kind of atmosphere.

It’s in the mystery section that you linger, though, and he watches you pick up the same book, read the blurb, and then put it back three separate times.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Billy.”

You crouch to look at another shelf.

“You should get that one you just put back.”

“I have plenty of books.”

Billy rolls his eyes and reaches for it. “This one, right?”

You look up, nod.

“I’ll get it for you then,” he states.

“Billy—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“Can it.”

“Janet,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Guess that means I’ll have to make you watch Rocky Horror.”

“I’m buying you a present, and you’re going to punish me by making me watch some chick-flick?”

You grab for his arm again, and walk towards the register. “It’s not a chick-flick, Hargrove.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watch him pay, and he hands the paperback to you on your way back to the car.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You both get in, and he sits a second to let it warm a little. “Dinner?” Billy asks.

“Sure.”

————

Your mother is leaning against the counter, making herself hot chocolate when you get home. “Want some?” Her smile is contagious.

You accept, and she spins back around after turning the stove back on, realizing you’re holding something.

She wiggles her eyebrows, which she should really refrain from doing.

“Billy bought me a book,” you tell her.

“He’s a keeper.”

————

It’s been a couple days since your not-date with Billy. That’s what your mom is calling it, much to your dismay.

She’s gone out for a little while, and you’re reading that book the pretty blonde bought you.

You hear a knock and panic, because you don’t do well with unannounced visitors, but you go to the door anyways.

A look through the peephole tells you it’s Billy.

You pull the door open, and panic a little more because his eyes are glassy, though you can tell he doesn’t want them to be.

His hands are clenching and unclenching, and he’s not wearing a jacket, so he’s got no sleeve to mess with either.

“I’m sorry. Your mom’s car wasn’t here so I thought—it doesn’t matter. Can I—”

“It’s okay,” you stop him. “Will you come in please?”Something is wrong, clearly, and frankly, he’s freaking you out.

He doesn’t say anything, just follows you inside, lingering in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to promise you’re not going to flip out on me if I tell you.”

Your breath catches. What the fuck?

“Are you a murderer or some shit? Because I can clean things, but I am not that good.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, no.” Billy runs his hands down his face. “I need you your help. There’s a cut on my back, and I can feel it bleeding, but I can’t clean it up myself. I was going to ask you to look at it.”

You take a deep breath, start thinking about if you’ve got anything to fix him up with.

You turn around and walk towards your bathroom, leaving him there. “I’m assuming you’re following me,” you say.

You want to ask him what happened, but you don’t want to push either.

Because he came to you. And maybe that means something.

You crouch, opening the cabinets under your sink. You gesture vaguely behind you when you wear Billy stop in the doorway.

“Sit down for me, please,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, and though he can’t see your face, he can most definitely feel it.

You push the door open wider, and you come into view for him. You’re sat cross legged on the floor.

Billy watches you pull out a washcloth, some q-tips. A messy assortment of other things.

You look up at him. “Can you show me?”

He nods, and you stand, kicking the cabinets shut. You try not to stare as he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off of his shoulders. He turns so he’s sitting sideways on the toilet.

You bend to look at it.

It’s not horrible or anything, but you know it has to hurt. It’s more of a bruise than anything, starting to get purple around the edges, but he was right about the blood—though it wasn’t a lot.

There’s a thin gash above his shoulder blade. It looks like the kind of thing you get when you bump into something wrong and it scrapes you, leaving a cut just deep enough to draw blood.

“You’re not bleeding anymore, it’s all dry now. I’m gonna wipe it off, okay?”

Billy sniffles. “Okay.”

You turn the tap on and wait for the water to get a little warmer, not wanting it to be too cold for him. You wet the rag and then wipe the dried blood clean from his skin, rinsing the fabric and then repeating that process until it’s clean.

You feel like you need something to put on it. The placement is bothering you and feels more susceptible to getting irritated. You really don’t want it to bother him.

With a little more rummaging, you find some antibiotic ointment that you’ve used for knee scrapes before.

You put some on the tip of your finger. “This is probably going to be cold, I’m sorry.”

Billy nods, and is quiet the entire time you rub it over the cut. You try not to notice how warm his skin is under your finger. Or how his bare back looks.

“You haven’t asked,” he finally says.

You wash your hands. “I didn’t know if you’d want to tell me.”

You pull out one of those oversized bandaids. “It’s my dad.”

Your fingers freeze where they tear into the packaging, but you calm yourself before sticking the bandaid on him.

“He got pissed at me today, and there’s a bookshelf in my room. He slammed me up against it, and my shoulder caught on the edge of a cassette tape.”

You move in front of him to drop your mess of supplies into the trash and sit on the edge of the tub to listen.

“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. He’s fucking hated my guts since my mom left. But I guess I’ve never had someone I felt like I could come to about it.”

You feel that everywhere.

You reach out and push a curl out of his face. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

You move to get on your knees in front of him so that your faces are level and take his hands. “It’s not your fault.”

His brow furrows. You say it again.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sure you think it is, but it’s not.”

His eyes are getting glossy again. “It might be though. If I’d just been different—”

“No. Don’t say that. You’re doing your best, Billy, and that’s enough. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.”

Billy nods again and again as if reassuring himself, as if trying to absorb your words.

“Hug?” You ask.

He nods again.

And you just hold him for awhile. He doesn’t cry, but you can feel him relax in your hold, feel him melt into you.

You think about how much it means to you that he feels comfortable enough with you to share this. That you’ve never felt this way before. This ache and this sincere passion for the well-being of another person.

You also think about how he smells like cigarettes and something fruity, which you assume is in his hair, and like his cologne.

Billy thinks about how he hasn’t been hugged like this since his mom. He thinks about something else he hasn’t felt in a really long time too. He wonders how long it will take for him to get the courage to tell you. If you feel the same.

Eventually, you pull away, and Billy pulls his shirt back on, grinning at you when your eyes linger on his chest as he buttons it up.

“Would you want to stay for awhile? Maybe for dinner or something?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

————

When your mother comes home, she’s not surprised that Billy is there, nor upset by his presence. She’s happy to see you with someone.

She may even have wiggled her eyebrows at you both.

But now, the three of you have not only eaten dinner, but heard every bit of gossip that your mother had to offer. It was after the bean spill that your mom dugout your very worn in copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show for you to watch.

“You know,” she’d told Billy, “when Y/N was a kid, I left her with her with Wendy and went to see a midnight showing of this. It was so beautiful, all of these people dressed up in this room just to watch a silly film.”

Billy hasn’t ever felt this welcome in someone’s home. Never even in his own.

He’s sitting on the floor in between your legs while you braid his hair and he watches Dr. Frank-N-Furter dance around with Columbia.

So, come up to the lab

And see what’s on the slab

You’ve been quiet mostly during the movie regarding talking, though Billy revels in your laugh each time Brad says something stupid—so it’s pretty damn often.

You’d also told Billy he’d look spectacular in a corset, and that was after he agreed to let you practice the makeup someday. He’d hidden his blushing cheeks from you.

“I see you shiver with antici…pation.”

Your mother is sitting in an oversized chair across from the two of you.

“She does that every time,” she tells Billy with the sweetest of grins on her face.

Billy’s hand slips under your thigh and holds on to your knee.

“Done?” He whispers.

You tie the braid off. “Yep.”

When he leans his head back in your lap to look at you, you can’t help but feel like you’re the only girl in the world.

And when he leaves that night, you miss him. You miss Billy Hargrove.

It’s been a long time since you missed someone.

You watch your mother clean up the kitchen before bed.

“He’s a grump, but I like him,” she says suddenly. “I can’t believe he let you braid his hair.”

You hide a smile, not quite believing it yourself either.

“I like him too.”

And she knows you feel more than that for him. She can see it.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[yandere-to-express]

The goth and thembo

Gn

“Detention?! Already?! You just got here a month ago!”

Y/n sighed, already expecting this reaction from their homeroom teacher. Granted, the punishment wasn’t for anything too bad; they just slept in a lot more than they meant to, and the “jet-lag” excuse after moving their whole life across the Atlantic for their parents’ careers must have worn off after the first few weeks. Honestly, with the lack of sleep and stress catching up to them? They thought they were lucky they were making it into school and managing homework at all.

They nodded along as the teacher droned on about responsibility – as if they hadn’t heard it a thousand times over at home already – pretending to listen as the hyperactivity in their brain buzzed and clouded over any form of caring enough.

Hmm, what would they have for dinner tonight? Pasta’s easy, and their parents weren’t going to be back until late in the evening, so they might as well try cooking whilst they could. Maybe clean up and do whatever bullshit homework they were given today so they don’t forget...They should play Animal Crossing, their town was probably itching for all the weeds to be pulled out, maybe a little bit of Pokémon after too, not Crystal though, the battery went all funky on the cartridge...

“...We can work out a way to prevent this from happening again,” came Mrs Stewart’s stern voice through the brain fog and, oh, no, why would she say that? Y/n nodded hesitantly in response, internalising all their complaints. ”Because this can’t happen again, Y/n. You’ve been an excellent student from what I’ve seen and heard so far, and it would be a real shame for this to drag you down.”

“It won’t happen again, I’ll work on it,” Y/n lied through their teeth, hazel eyes attempting to keep to one spot on the teacher’s face, but failing. Mrs Stewart nodded, features finally relaxing. Somehow, she believed them.

“Good, see to it you do. You may go, you’ll be late for second period otherwise.”

“Detention isn’t so bad,” Lucy reassured, making her voice loud enough to be heard over the din of the dining hall. “I had one for a late assignment last semester. It was actually kinda chill, you hear the weirdest stories in there, but it’s really fun.”

Y/n sipped from their drink with a frown, pushing their messy brown hair from their face as they tried to listen. They’d been buddied up with Lucy when they arrived back in January, meaning they were now stuck with all the loud kids at lunch. They weren’t complaining, mind you, the company was nice! It just gave them a headache at best, and at worst so far...Well, they didn’t understand what was wrong with them, but they’d rather not think about it. Anxiety was enough of a diagnosis for them right now.

“Look, I’m just saying, it’ll be fine! Try not to fall asleep in there, though, you might get into more trouble.”

“Thanks, Lucy, real great advice,” they rolled their eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm as they bit into their apple. Lucy just shrugged with a wink.

“Anytime, Y-Y.”

The lunch period continued as usual, and soon enough the bell ringed for the next round of classes to start. Great. Just what they needed right now, two hours sugar-coated history of a country they knew nothing about when they felt like falling asleep at any moment, right before detention. Still, they couldn’t just skip, that’d earn extra punishments. So, they dragged their feet through the halls, somehow staying upright through the hustle and bustle that was 10 times worse than the now seemingly very small Secondary School in England that they’d left behind for this. As much as they hated to admit it, Y/n would love to hear another British accent loudly proclaim someone had cheated on so-and-so in the middle of the corridor, but, alas, that was an experience they’d never burden again. Instead, they had to fight for their life with exhaustion as thousands of students streamed into their classes with the force of a burst pipe.

Somehow, they made it in, grunting at the greeting the person who sat next to them gave – their name was TK, right? They were too tired to remember or care – and flopping down in their chair with a sigh. Curse these huge American schools with huge American student, their poor feet felt like they were going to drop off!

Soon enough, the History teacher – Mr Russel – started his droning on about some time when alcohol was banned across the nation. Or, uh, something like that, Y/n wasn’t really paying attention, doodling on the corners of their pages instead. They did the work! They just didn’t soak in the information. Mr Russel said it was good work later on, so clearly they were doing something right regardless.

Suddenly though, in the middle of the lesson, the door slammed open and a pissed off, lanky ball of edge strode in. The teacher frowned at the intrusion.

“Well, good afternoon, Mr King! Would you mind explaining where you’ve been?”

The student just kept walking, grunting something about being dress-coded, which, uh, yeah that seems likely with that thin mesh shirt in the middle of February, Y/n thought, not realising they were staring by the time the kid sat in the vacant seat next to them. He caught their gaze as Mr Russel continued the lesson, narrowing his piercing, bright blue eyes.

“What?” he snarled, making Y/n flush with embarrassment at getting caught staring.

“S-Sorry,” they quickly whispered, trying their hardest not to look his way again, catching glimpses of him looking bored throughout the lesson.

Little did they know, that wouldn’t be the last they’d see of him.

“Who was that?!” they blurted to TK once the lesson ended, seeing as the goth kid had already left. TK looked up at them from their packing, startled.

“W-Who?”

“Goth kid with the attitude! How come I’ve never seen him before?!”

“Oh, him,” TK grimaced, turning their attention back to their bag. “Yeah, uh, that’s Peter King. Gets into fights and stuff a lot, and honestly that’s what he’s like on a good day. In fact, that’s gotta be the calmest I’ve ever seen him. You have detention, right? He’ll be in there because of the dress-code violation, try not to stare again.”

And so, once they both said goodbye, Y/n trudged along to their doom, knowing they couldn’t stop themself from staring again if the opportunity came about.

Because, honestly? As intimidating as he was, this “Peter” character was rather intriguing. They’d wanted to get into gothic dress themself recently, maybe if they miraculously befriended him, he’d say where he got his gear from. Maybe not the mesh tee...Maybe. At least, not until the Summer...And definitely not without a tank top or a binder...

Soon they reached the classroom detention was being held in, noticing that, well, no one was actually going inside. They spotted the goth from before, swallowing their anxiety down since he was the only one who they really knew of and recognised, and fumbled their way towards him nervously.

“U-Um...” they began, stuttering with uncertainty. Peter looked down with a frown.

“What do you want,” he growled, practically baring his teeth and oh goodness his teeth don’t be into him you don’t know him Y/n you weirdo.

“I-I, um, this is detention, r-right?” they carried on, shrinking under his stare. “I-I’m sorry for staring earlier b-by the way, um, you look c-cool...”

Peter stared a little longer, brows furrowing deeper.

“U-Um...I’m Y/n by the way.”

...That gaze was intense holy shit, Y/n couldn’t help but look away with heated cheeks, sweating nervously. Oh, man, they’d got off on the wrong foot and he wasn’t interested in fixing that, was he?! They didn’t want an enemy! TK said he fights people, God, they hoped he wouldn’t want to fight them ! They couldn’t knock out a butterfly!

“...Peter,” he finally said, making Y/ look back up in surprise. He was looking away from them...Was he blushing? No, no, maybe their eyes were just really tired. “You’re in the right place, teacher’s just late. Uh...Thanks. I guess. The teacher who dress-coded me certainly didn’t think so.”

“U-Uh huh, w-well, what do they know, huh,” Y/n laughed nervously, trying to ease whatever tension they could sense emanating off of the other in droves. “T-They’re teachers, they aren’t the best as, um, fashion, I guess?”

Peter scoffed, shoulders relaxing a little as he pushed some of the long, dark hair out of his face.

“You’re tellin’ me, first day back after suspension and they pull this shit.”

This drew a more earnest giggle from Y/n (really, Y/n, giggling ?!), making Peter chuckle a little too, tension fading away more with each passing second.

Soon enough the assigned teacher showed up, apologising profusely and letting the students in. They answered a brief roll-call, and soon enough there was a muted chatter among the kids, some choosing to work, others ignoring all school-related possibilities. Somehow, Y/n had already befriended the lanky goth enough for him to instantly sit at the desk next to theirs, and they found themselves being watched as they attempted the bullshit Math homework that had been assigned earlier in the day. Not that they minded, they figured the other didn’t have much to talk about, and that was fine with them. It gave them more of a chance to focus, after all.

After about 20 minutes, however, Peter finally spoke up.

“...So what’re you in for?” he asked, voice gravelly and interrupting Y/n concentration. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. “You definitely didn’t get coded, and you look way too small to fight anything.”

Ouch, harsh, not everyone is over 6’ and can fight God. “Um, it’s not that special,” they shrugged, choosing to ignore the slight insult. “I, um, I just slept in a whole lot.”

“Huh,” he nodded, looking away absently for a moment, as if he were thinking of what to say next. “...Not a great sleeper, huh?”

“Nope, haven’t been since I was, what, 5?” Y/n sighed, trying to make sense of the equation on the page in front of them.

“Ah.”

The two were silent again, but y/n couldn’t help but feel it was much more awkward now. It felt like they both had things to say but didn’t know how to string the words together.

“...So, um...” they began, fumbling for a topic. “...Where’d you get your choker?”

“Oh. Uh, just Hot Topic,” he answered, looking away almost sheepishly. “It was on sale, so...”

“Cool, I’ll have to get one,” Y/n hummed, quickly writing it down on their hand.

The conversation came and went throughout the rest of the remaining 40 minutes, but soon enough the detention ended. The class of kids streamed out, Y/n and Peter being the last ones to leave as they trudged out of the school and into the crisp, late-Winter air, clunky shoes and warm boots crunching the powdering of snow on the ground beneath them. They reached the gate, Y/n pointing to where they were going, and the boy paused.

“Hey, uh, you have a cell?” he asked almost hopefully (almost). Y/n looked up at him in surprise; they hadn’t expected to befriend him so soon!

“O-Oh! Yeah, hang on, let me, um-” the fumbled in their coat pockets finally producing the little pink flip-phone, little rainbow and star charms attached and all, clicking through to their contact and holding it up to offer him a view. “Um, here!”

“Mhmm,” he nodded, quickly typing in the contact details on his own, clunky little phone. He looked back at them, almost pouting. “Uh...You were fun to talk to...I’ll talk to you later I guess?”

y/n smiled brightly up at him with a nod, waving cheerfully as they walked away.

...How did this happen to him?

There he was being pissed off at the world when suddenly... They got all fucking cute. How could this not happen to him?!

As he watched them walk away, clutching his phone desperately, he began to grin sinisterly.

He may as well make sure that...his new Darling got home safe, right? He’d get to see their home in the process, after all, and, oh, it was always so dark so early on February nights like these, he wouldn’t want anyone getting any bright ideas, would he?

And so, he stalked after them silently as the sun set, y/n blissfully unaware of the Hell they’d brought upon themself that day.

(I saved this story file that got deleted original from inkblot_skyz)

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 29 - Beginning of Their Nightmares

The hopelessness that had once infiltrated its way into Don’s anxious heart vanished as soon as he heard the sound of his twin’s voice. All his doubts and the many ‘what ifs’ plunged into the forgotten corners of his mind as he called out to his brother.

“Raph, are you alright?? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Do you feel ok? How many fingers am I holding u-”

“- GEEZ DON- You’re makin’ my headache worse! I’m fine, you can stop freaking out now.”

“I wasn’t freaking out. This is not freaking out.”, Don gestured to himself as best he could whilst being tied down to the floor, “You’re ok? No injuries?”

“Yeah, bro. I’m fine.”

Don recognized the exhaustion laced into his brother’s usual tone, but besides that nothing seemed amiss. All the purple-clad brother had to go by at this point was his hearing, seeing how his brother was still morphed and distorted into nothing but tired and angry pixels.

“What can you see?” Don asked with a hint of ember in his tone, still annoyed with the aching reminder that he still didn’t have his glasses.

“Uhhhh..”

Don heard the whispers of fabric sliding across skin. He quickly connected this to Raph’s mask tails moving as he turned his head to search their new cell. Quickly following was the subtle taps of Raph’s fingers, signifying he was beginning to get anxious. He would always do his little taps when school got too boring, or when he was waiting his turn to join in a sparring session in the dojo; He wanted to move.

“Raph, are you tied down too?”

Don’s ears caught the shuffling sounds of his brother squirming.

“DUH. Otherwise I woulda been over there smackin’ you in the head for letting us get caught like this.” Raph’s voice didn’t burn with bitterness, but instead warmed with brotherly affection. Or at least- as affectionate as the hothead could manage, going against every temper-fueled bone in his body. Don could just imagine the smile gracing his twin’s face.

Even when we’re captured he can’t help himself to tease me. Never change, brother.

“Yeah thanks for that lovely sentiment, dear twin of mine. But we still need to focus on an escape plan. Now you, the only one in this room with proper vision, describe to me what you see so I can calculate a way to get us out of here. Please and thank you.”

Don could tell from the muffled vibrations that Raph was biting his lip as he hummed to himself.

“There isn’t much, brainiac.. Four walls, a roof and a floor..”

“Thank you for explaining to the audience that we are indeed in a room.”

Don still had that same feeling of someone watching him and his brother, so going by that, he theorized there was another camera hidden in the walls of their cell.

“Oh shut up, dude.. At least I’m not blind.”

Don’s countenance fell at the reminder. He knew his brother didn’t mean for his words to become sharp blades, but Raph’s ignorance didn’t negate the fact that his simple sentence drove a piercing sting into the freckled brother’s heart.

Even with the pain of his brother’s words pulling him down, Don still took the opportunity to get some ribbing in as well.

“Well, at least I have a functional brain, compared to your useless, tied-down muscles. Intelligence can’t be restrained.”

“Ha! Yeah right. Call me when someone wins a wrestling match using nothin’ but their brain.”

“Not exactly what I meant- but regardless, we need to find a way out of here.”

As much as I’d love to continue in this lovely banter, we really need to focus here, Raph.

“Are you tied to the floor too?”

“Not exactly.. I’m on a table.”

Raph tugged and yanked, but no rings of chains echoed. It sounded closer to straps of leather, accompanied with a small tink of what appeared to be a belt buckle.

“You’re what? On a table?.. Like a surgeon’s table?”

Don should’ve thought through those sentences a bit more thoroughly before allowing his brother to hear them.

“A WHAT? Surgeon?!”

Don’s shoulders rose as he hissed through his teeth in regret. Raph’s tugs and yanks became far less controlled by the second.

Yeah, perhaps I should’ve thought that through a bit more..

“Raph stop- you’ll dislocate your shoulder or break your wrist- just.. Calm down.”

“THIS IS AS CALM AS I’M GONNA GET, DON. Cause if this is ANYTHING like in the movies, THEN I AM WAY PASSED SCREWED.”

“Yeah, we’re BOTH gonna be screwed if you don’t let me use your perfect little vision spheres to find a way out of here!”

“I TOLD YOU THERE’S NOTHING IN HERE!”

Don could sense the stress building in Raph’s body, like lava filling to the rim of a volcano. Only instead of the raging inferno being fueled by his temper, it was being fueled by something far less predictable: his fear.

If Raph has a meltdown he’ll be more useless than I am. Calm him down FAST. Use facts. They almost always help me in stressful situations such as this, so hopefully it will be the same for him.

“Please stop yelling. A headache will make my brain, the only useful internal organ I have left, far less helpful. And panicking isn’t going to help anyone. You’re only going to further injure yourself.”

“I’M NOT PANICKING, I’M STRESSING THE CRAP OUT.”

Ok yeah- that didn’t work. Try being more real and honest with him. Less facts, more truth.

“Noted. But if you continue like this you’ll have a panic attack, and that will render you either catatonic or inconsolably violent. Neither of which will help us here.”

The constant tugs of leather stopped.

“.. Did you just call me a cat?…”

You know what, I can work with this! At least when Raph’s confused he’s not moving or hurting himself.. Yes, keep him asking questions, it’s helping him calm down!

“You know, catatonic. Comatose.”

The pixelated blurb that was Raphael’s head tilted ever so slightly.

Hehe.. This is fun. I should do this more often.

Don continued on as he began to list synonym after synonym, further deepening his fiery brother’s confused, dazed state. As long as it kept Raph from hurting himself and panicking, then he would be happy to oblige to confuse the heck out of his brother. Don couldn’t help the growing grin on his face as he specifically chose the most convoluted of words; ones that would leave Mikey with his pupils slowly separating. Normally it would annoy him that his family and brothers didn’t understand the meanings to his wide variety of vocabulary. But now the thing that he had been teased and ostracized for..

.. had become his greatest strength. And with this assumedly useless gift, he had been helping to calm down his fearful brother.

“Don, what the shell are you even sayi-”

The melodious sounds of Raph’s confused tone were jarringly cut off with a sharp gasp. Don twisted his head to face the blur which was his brother.

“Raph??”

Don REALLY WISHED HE COULD SEE.

“Raph what’s wrong?? What’s going on?”

Did he see something? Is he hurt?

“Quiet Don, someone’s comin’.” Raph shout-whispered to his brother, as his voice changed to ‘protector mode’.

All Don’s work to calm down his brother vanished before his malfunctioning eyes, as the sounds of footsteps drew nearer to the door of their cell.

Don’s posture straightened as much as he could manage while still being tied down to the floor. Memories flashed behind Don’s eyes of the Man touching and prodding him like some science project.. He had felt so small under the monster’s watchful eye.. The cells of humanity flowing in his veins seemed to disappear as he refused to speak in front of his captor. It was worth it though.

It was worth it to not reveal to the Man just what he was up against.

It was WORTH IT to keep his humanity from being seen by the monster.

The door opened. Don’s spine shivered at the sound of boots.

Ochitsuke. Focus, Donatello. FOCUS.

As the Man walked towards the chained-down mutant, his pixels combined and formed into a crisp image. But for once today, Don was absolutely fine with not being able to see clearly if it meant he wouldn’t have to peer into the ghost’s face again. The mutant leaned as far back as he could as the Man’s face edged closer. The familiar sound of Raphael’s growls echoed from the back of the room.

“Welcome to your new home. Here you’ll form so many new memories.”

Don’s muscles all tensed as he fought with all his might to not back down from the creature of a Man. His stiff form wasn’t helping the growing ache in his wrists from the chains and cuffs, but it was worth it to prove his strength and will to his captor.

I WON’T BACK DOWN, YOU DEMON.

The Man reached out his hand to Don’s face, caressing the fabric of his mask. The purple-clad mutant let out his own warning growl, but that did nothing just as it hadn’t before. The Man’s slender hands brushed across Don’s cheek, making that same awful chill enter into the mutant’s soul.

Don wanted to throw up if it meant the horrible feeling of dread in his stomach would cease.

The Man took both his hands and wrapped them behind Don’s head, fluidly slipping off his purple mask. The Man pocketed it with the smoothness of a master thief.

“You won’t be needing this. Not an inch of you will be a mystery once my studies begin.”

Don’s face being fully presented to his captor made the mutant shrink in discomfort. Sure it was just a piece of cloth with two eye holes.. But he had worn that mask since he was twelve years old. It was part of his identity. But now he watched as the Man continued to deny everything that made him him; Proof to Don that what was coming for him and his brother would test everything they had in them:

Their constitutions.

Their will.

Their faith.

And especially..

..their understanding of who they are.

“These walls have kept many different… creatures at bay, and over time all of them fell. Some to their madness.. Some to my blade.”

Don’s spirit suddenly felt the embers from his brother’s seething flame.

The Man turned to face Raphael, but stayed uncomfortably close to Don’s side.

“Ah yes. Rabid Red..” the Man tsked in a facade of pity, “Seems the surplus of sedatives did nothing to cure you of your infuriatingly pitiful temper. But that’s fine with me.”

The Man reached for his coat pocket, while refusing to break eye contact with Raph. By the sound of his brother’s growls not wavering, Don figured the Man’s intimidation attempt wasn’t so successful.

But then…

All went silent as the Man revealed a syringe filled with a noxiously potent green liquid inside. The Man rose off the ground and began walking towards Raph, a frighteningly bright smile spread across his face like some awful infection.

“.. I want you to be fully awake for every second.”

Don’s pupils constricted as he turned his head to face his brother.

RAPH NO!

The cap of the syringe was removed with practiced hands, revealing the needle shining in all its horrible glory.

“.. I want you to feel every fluid ounce of agony slowly creep through your skin and into your blood. I want you to see the monster I know you are.”

Don’s ears drowned out the sounds of his captor slowly drawing closer to his brother, and instead focused on the shivering breaths and tight gasps escaping Raph.

He’s terrified.

“.. This is what you get for biting me, freak.”

NO! PLEASE STOP!!!!

Don’s heart painfully beat in his chest as the Man creeped into the pixelated shadows, once again becoming the faceless Specter that would forever haunt the freckled mutant’s nightmares.

RAPHAEL!!!!!!

Don’s hearing finally betrayed him as the sounds of his brother’s anguished cries seared into his ears.

Andddd that's it for this chapter!....

.. Is it bad that I truly enjoyed writing for Specter in this-??? Is something wrong with me?... Have I officially lost my shell? Heheh.

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[paingoes]

Rubies

Missed Calls

(Content: living weapon whumpee, dehumanization, kinda dubious caretakers???)

=================

“No,” Iza said, “Yeah, I know. No, yeah. Yeah. Okay. No. No. I know.”

She pressed the phone tightly to her ear, her other hand pressed tightly to her forehead as she leaned over the kitchen table. She got up periodically to walk out on the porch if she really had to say her piece, but for the most part she just had to listen. She went minutes at a time without getting a single word in. 

The memo had taken about seven hours to circulate. It’d come in the dead of night, otherwise it probably would’ve received more attention. But by the time Iza had woken up, her phone was already buzzing, and she had a soft ringing in her ears like someone was talking about her. By noon, the phone was ringing nonstop. All of their phones were.

Kitty had stayed up all night. Now, she was crashed out on the couch, all curled up in a ball. Iza shook her gently.

“They want you to send everything. The chatlogs, the archives, everything. What you showed me,” she mouthed, still on the phone. Kitty yawned. She pulled out her laptop from beneath the couch, lazily hitting a few buttons. She’d been expecting this. Apollo told her to prepare their case in advance. It’d all felt very urgent at the time; now she just felt tired. She fell back asleep right after. It wasn’t for long.

“He wants to talk to us,” Apollo said, a weary determination in his voice. Kitty blinked her eyes open, sitting up quickly. Her tail flicked behind her. 

“I can’t believe it got to Levon already,” Willow sat on the counter, staring out into space. The horror had not left her face since yesterday. Apollo gave her a thumbs up. He could believe it just fine.

They went into the upstairs bedroom for privacy. Iza passed them the phone in the corridor. They sat cross legged on the bed as the dial-up sounded.

LEVON has entered a voice call with APOLLO.

LEVON: Hello?

APOLLO: Hey its Apollo. Kitty is here too she just woke up.

LEVON: Good morning, Kitty.

KITTY: good morning :3c

LEVON: Explain yourselves.

APOLLO: I want to say first that technically we had permission.

LEVON: Is that right?

APOLLO: We outlined that we were going to do a strike on the Centennial Ball and simultaneously run a rescue extraction and that is what we did.

LEVON: Very cute. The situation changes a bit when that rescue is of a million mega-joule atom bomb, living or otherwise. Do you disagree?

APOLLO: No. I know its a different situation.

LEVON: Kitty, do you disagree?

KITTY: no 

LEVON: So we understand each other?

KITTY: ya 

LEVON: I really don’t appreciate this kind of slickness when people’s lives are at stake. Lying by omission is still lying. 

LEVON: And to level with you I think it's kind of despicable that you are trying to pass this off as a rescue mission! It's a very transparent power grab and I am really not amused by it.

KITTY: levon

KITTY: thats not true

KITTY: we had plans to break him out well before we knew abt the psychic thing

KITTY: and actually we didnt even know we just suspected!! we didnt have confirmation until yesterday literally it was just a hunch

LEVON: That’s not what Iza said. Iza said you presented it to her as a weapons acquisition.

KITTY: thats because we were appealing to iza!!!!

LEVON: And now you’re appealing to me?

KITTY: yes!!!!

APOLLO: Can I interject? I don’t think thats fair. We briefed Iza on everything we knew for sure and everything that we suspected. The weapon thing only stood out to her because thats how her brain works. We told her we didnt have confirmation.

LEVON: She felt confident enough to bring dampers, which I’m sure you’re glad to have now.

APOLLO: It was better safe than sorry.

LEVON: Of course it was. Look, I’m reading over the logs right now. Tell me this. Why did you promise him amnesty?

KITTY: …becuz ur gonna give it to him right?

LEVON: Who said anything about that?

APOLLO: Captain?

LEVON: What? 

KITTY: ur not gonna give it to him????

LEVON: I’m not saying that. I’m just saying you shouldn’t have promised it.

LEVON: Frankly I don’t think that technology should even exist. Amnesty was not my first instinct.

APOLLO: Okay. I know we messed up. We should’ve told you. But you don’t need to take it out on him. 

LEVON: I’m not taking anything out on anyone. That’s not what this is about. I’m telling you the reality of situation. Just knowing the scale of destruction that he’s capable of, I can’t guarantee his safety.

KITTY: levon we’re sorry :(

LEVON: Stop that. Why are you apologizing to me? You should apologize to him.

KITTY: okiiiiii :(

APOLLO: We will. We know we overstepped. But it’s done now. We’re going to work with you from here and maybe we can figure it out together??

LEVON: For the life of me I can’t understand why you didn’t just come to me with this in the first place. 

KITTY: cause it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission :?

LEVON: Is it really? Is this situation any better for either of us? Better for him?

APOLLO: No, she has a point. Would you really have signed off on this if we asked you first?

LEVON: Probably not. Not the way you did it, anyway. I don’t like that you sent your poor brother in there alone.

APOLLO: Lun’s fine. I know the plan wasnt perfect but its the best we could do on short notice. 

APOLLO: If you saw the kid now, you’d understand. He’s not in good shape.

LEVON: I believe you. I’ve yet to hear anything positive about the treatment of psychics in Empire. 

APOLLO: Are we clear to bring him back then?

LEVON: Put Iza back on. We’ll talk about it.

APOLLO: Okay. Thank you Captain. 

KITTY: thank u!! 

Call with APOLLO has ended.

==============

(Masterlist)

Tags: @catnykit@indigoviolet311@snakebites-and-ink@vivulapom@scoundrelwithboba@whatwhump@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire @micechomper

[persephone11110]

It’s Hurts Me So Much

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: low self esteem issues, negative self-talk, arguments,angst, fluff, hurt/comfort,finding,protective/fluffy bradley bradshaw, reader and bradley verbally hurt eachother, Bradley isn’t innocent, dw angel and bradley are till death do us part, mention of past abuse, mention of drink driving , Bradley’s a dick for a bit, happy endings tho

Summary: It was your fault, you knew one day Bradley would get tired of your insecurities. And that one day is now— at this point you couldn’t blame him. He’s been doing this for five years— you guessed today was his breaking point.

reader nickname is Angel

A/N : this is set after the uranium mission preferably after Hold Me Baby

- apart of FALLEN ANGEL Series

******

One thing for certain the fight ended the minute you flinched from Bradley’s touch.

******

It was textbook knowledge to know that every marriage isn’t perfect and any couple who said otherwise was just spewing bullshit. You knew that—your pretty sure Bradley knew that too but it didn’t stop your brain from forming insecure thoughts about your relationship.

Are you too clingy?

Were your insecurities too much for him to handle?

Was he tired of you?, “I won’t be surprised Y/n, Bradley can only love his broken angel for so long before he gives into urge and leaves you”.

The insecure part of your brain told you relentlessly.“How can he love someone so broken and useless like you?”.

“I don’t know”. He said again. “I don’t know Y/n”.

“I’m sorry Bradley, I just wanted to spend time with love of my life for a change!”. tears welled in your eyes. “You’ve been spending more time with the daggers than you have with me”.

“I’m tired Y/n!” he yelled back at you.“I’m so fucking tired of this Y/n”.

His fist clenched at his sides.“Please, please dont hit me” you quietly thought.

Your standing infront of him with tears in your eyes.

You couldn’t help but cry, why is he being so mean to you?

“I come home from training all day, taking orders all day long— and I have to come home to you.. to a woman who can’t think without a few insecurities taking over her daily life”. He barked at you.

How could he throw that in my face?

You shrink back. “Well I’m so sorry you married me—”. You were doing a piss job at keeping the tears from falling down your face— your pretty sure your ending this argument with mascara streaks.

“So am I Y/n” he interrupted. “It’s so sick and tiring listening to you talk about your insecurities every day”.

“Ok, Lieutenant Bradshaw you win this time, I keep forgetting you care more about your job than me”. Your voice cracking.“I guess our vows mean nothing to y-you right?”.

“Y/n!” Bradley moved towards you.

And out of reflex you step back with your hands infront of your face.

“Please don’t hit me Bradley” those words were meant to be kept inside your head— not outside your mouth, left lingering in the air.

Suddenly his anger is gone, fading away into the abyss the moment he realized he caused you distress.

“Angel I—”.

My actions triggered her flight or fight response.

“I’m sorry” you murmured.

“Y/n please talk to me, i’m so sorry”, Bradley sits down on the bed behind him- trying make himself less threatening.

“It’s okay Bradley— It’s fine, I’m fine” you attempt to sound confident in your answer even throwing on a fake smile to prove it.

He knew you to well. “What happened Angel?” Bradley holds his hand out— you take it with tears in your eyes.

Your still standing, he’s still on the bed.

He’s showing you he’s not a threat.

“No it isn’t Angel”. He starts and Bradley has to stop a river of tears from making his face wet. “If my parents were still alive they’d whoop my ass from here to bum fuck nowhere”.

His jaw clenches“I made a promise to you and I broke it”.

You breathe—taking a deep breathe.“I’m really fine Bradley”. You insisted— you really don’t walk down memory lane.

“Talk to me Y/n, I’m not going to bed until we resolve this—talk about this”.

Like I said he knows me to well. If we go bed like this I’ll spend the entire night awake thinking about how all of this is my fault.

Mister Know it all.

He’s not letting this go.

You step away from him— turning around facing the doorway. “I can’t look at him and say it”.

You don’t attempt to stop the tears this time.

“My ex used to hit me alot, whenever we got into arguments they would also end with me in the shower washing my blood off of me… I didn’t leave him until he got in trouble for drunk driving”.

You told him, confessing about about a part of your life that kept in the back of your head. You gave up on not crying.

“Y/n thats never happening again” Bradley swore to you, “C’mere”. he whispers to you.

“I know you wouldn’t”. Your still facing the doorway, unable to bring yourself to him.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you Angel” he grabs your hands, gently pulling you to him. “Me being tired of work is no excuse for the way I acted”.

“I forgive you Bradley” you look up at him with a small smile on your face. “But you have to clean up Orbit’s dog shit for a week”.

“Oh really?” he pouting at you with a sly smile present on his face.

“Really Mr. Bradshaw”. pinching his sides softly. “Pretty sure Orbit took a shit right next to your car”. you giggle at Bradley’s horrifed facial expression.

“Of course he did” Bradley huffed. “I love you Mrs. Bradshaw”. He reaches down giving you a firm kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you too Mr. Bradshaw, but you still have clean up dog shit”. you smiled— holding his hand in yours.

“Damn it, well I tried”.

[depressopax]

Hii I hope you dont mind me requesting Howie again, but could I request a hurt/comfort scenario of him taking care of a sick fem!reader (she’s having a cold) I hope you have a great day and thank you againn :]

HIIII thank you for requesting again!! <3 And dw about it! I'm just glad you like my stories and want to request again :)) So if you have ideas lmk! :D Hope you like it!! Sorry for the wait! But here it issssss (The plan was to make all the characters on my BrBa/BCS masterlist but my brain is fried atm 😭 But I also added Nacho - because Ignacio Varga brainrot <3)

Taking care of sick reader | Scenarios

Fandom - Better call Saul

Pairing: 1. Howard Hamlin x gender-neutral reader 2. Nacho Varga x gender neutral reader Genre: Fluff, headcanons Warning(s): - Words: 0.7k Summary: How would they take care of their sick partner? English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 » Masterlist || Request «

Howard

“Morning, sweetheart! Ready to start the day?”

You grunt in reply and puld the blanket over your cold body. Howard is already up, enthusiastic as always. But today you’re too tired for that. 

“Come on now… You’ve been snoozing for 20 minutes!”

“I don’t want to…”

His smile fades and he sits down on bed next to you.

“You alright?” He reaches out to stroke your cheek and notices how cold-sweaty you are. “Hmm… That’s not good.” 

“I don’t feel well.”

“I know, sweetie, I know…” 

I feel like he’d be like: YOU’RE SICK??? 😰 at first

But then be like: You’re sick… 💔 If that makes sense LOL

Probably scared of catching a cold etc

But he loves you - so it’s worth the risk 😌✨

Howard is the guy that helps you with everything once sick

He fixes food, makes sure you keep warmth and makes warm tea etc

He basically acts like a maid for you until you feel better lol

But he doesn’t mind, at all <3

He likes taking care of and spoiling you 

“Are you cold, darlin’?” he asks, proceeding to wrap a blanket over your shoulders.

“No, I actually feel quite warm” He looks concerned and feels your forehead “Your fever is not going down… Do you want something cold instead? Water, ice cream… Are you laughing?” “Sorry… You’re just so cute when you’re worried!”

Also… You being sick gives him an excuse to just sit back down and cuddle you

He allows himself to be “lazy” (aka taking a break and not overworking) when you’re around

He loves to set you down in the couch and put on some movie to watch together

If he can’t be at home with you - he texts or calls you at least once throughout the day to check on you 

It doesn’t matter if you only have a simple cold, he’ll take care of you until you feel ok again 

He probably would end up sick too 😭 “But at least we can stay home together now!” he says after waking up with the same cold you had. “...But Howard, I need to go back to work today” “...Oh ☹” But you’re of course there for him too until he feels better <3

Also - I found these two Howard out of context screenshots on my PC LOL, thought you might like them!! 😭

Nacho

“You’re burning up” Nacho mutters, still having his palm pressed against your sweaty forehead. “I’m fine, Nacho”

But the fever thermometer says otherwise.

“Yea… Fine, huh?” He scoffs and strokes the hair that's glued to your forehead, tucking it behind your ear. “Rest.” 

“But…”

“Rest.” His voice gets softer “Let me take care of you, ok?”

“...Fine.” 

He smiles at this.

“Good.” 

This man… (God, I love him, I need him <33)

He’ll be all 😐 towards everyone, all the time

But not with you.

Whenever you’re doing poorly, he’s right there. Whether it’s mentally or like in this case - when you’re sick.

He’s the guy that will grimace and be really judgy if someone sneezes or coughs in public, but he tries his best to not be a baby about it for you.

And he’s good at it

Truth is, he somehow likes it when you’re sick

Just because he’ll get to take care of you 

And have you all dependent on him

It takes his mind off all his troubles, and he can focus on you only.

He brings you tea, soup, painkillers… Whatever you need - whenever.

He also appreciates cuddling up next to you and watch TV, letting you pick out whatever

It’s just comforting to him - somehow - to feel your fever warmth against him.

Basically - he’s already a sweetheart, but becomes the most caring (and worried) boyfriend ever when you’re sick. <3 “Nacho, don’t be so close, I don’t want you to be sick too…” “I don't care.” he murmurs

…And eventually he ends up sick too lol

He’s really overdramatic about it 😭

Before meeting you - he’d overwork himself and not give a damn about resting

But since he takes well care of you - you of course do the same for him.

So when he eventually catches a cold, you’re there for him “Well look at that… Told you that you’d get sick.” “...Shut up.” “Will you let me take care of you?”

And of course… He lets you

Homeboy gets overdramatic af when sick 😭

He likes seeing you all worried for him - it’s cute lol

Nacho makes sure you’re cuddled up next to him all day 

And now it’s his turn to choose movies/series for you to watch with him

“Hey?” Nacho whispers after you’ve both shut the lights off for the night. “Hmm?” “...Thanks for taking care of me.” “Of course, Nacho. I love you” “Love you too”

If you guys liked the concept of this I can make a part 2 with the other BrBa/BCS characters! Lmk and thanks for reading <3 Been feeling down lately but I have plans on some stuff I wanna post this weekend :)) Looking forward <3

[reanbowful]

This is a request from a person who THRIVE on Gerard. So I shall give you. Gerard in caps.

*also I’m back yayy sorry for being absent ehehe

“accidents or fate?”

if you accidentally kiss / compromising position

*sliiiightly suggestive on Ben’s part

(gray, ben, GERARD, jake, wolf)

gray yeon / yeon sieun

The two of you sat side by side in an empty classroom reviewing for a quiz.

It’s been like at least an hour and you could feel your back aching already.

You rest your head on the table, looking at Gray who’s nose is buried in your notebook, correcting any mistakes that you make.

Which made you pout, because what the hell is that? How did you get so many wrongs, and you were confident about it too :(

Sighing, you turn your head towards the glass window.

The sun is setting now. A warm orange glow filled the classroom. It was .. beautiful.

You were about to tap Gray’s arm to show him the sight. But when you turn-

“Gray, look-“

Gray was also trying to get your attention, seemingly leaning in while you turn your head at the same time.

At the brush of his lips, you got startled and jumped back. Hands covering your lips.

When you see Gray frozen in his place, you chuckled speechlessly. Recovering quickly and promptly apologised.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine. It was an accident.”

He could pretend to be stoic all he wants but the red across his cheeks says otherwise.

ben park / park humin

I feel like out of everyone, he would be the most like. Shocked. Flabbergasted.

Parties weren’t Ben’s thing, but this was a special occasion. Gerard had just begin to play music again. That’s something to celebrate about.

The owner of the venue held an after party. Well, not so much for Gerard, but for their 5 year anniversary.

But still. It’s quite a crowded place, so to say.

“I’m going to get some drinks!”

With the blasting music and people screaming at the top of their lungs at every corner, no one could really blame Ben for not noticing the disaster coming his way.

See, you were having a bit of a ‘disagreement’ with a group of girls from your old school. And well, it was quite a mess.

You just wanted to have a nice time away from all the stress and when you came in, your eyes were met with the embodiment of pettiness.

Damn. Which God did you piss off for them to do this?

Letting out an exasperated groan, you rolled your eyes and turn to leave.

“Ok, ok. You know what, enjoy the fucking party. I’ll leave you to it.”

Somehow, the girls seems to be even more annoyed when you left them just like that.

So, guess what they did?

Ben was just collecting his drinks that right when he turned around, he was met with a body shoved harshly onto him. Causing him to lose balance and toppled off right onto the floor.

“Ugh..”

He winced at the sudden weight dropping on top of him, cracking open his eyes only to find your face right in front of his.. yea.

Ben’s whole face burned. Mixed with the alcohol in his system, his brain literally stop working.

But yours clearly didn’t. Nor were you affected at all by the embarrassing situation.

Because that very second, Ben watch you push yourself back up. Angrily stomping towards the three girls.

The rest of it is a blur. He didn’t know how long he sat there on the floor, the blood rushing to his head making him feel a bit dizzy.

What the fuck just happened?

GERARD JIN / JIN GAYOOL

I imagine you guys to be the type of people who would go thrifting or go to these flea market type of events. (you’re not a couple yet)

So, basically Gerard was out on his monthly thrifting day at this particular event.

While searching for decent second hand guitars on the internet he stumbled upon this one shop.

Coincidentally, they were currently a tenant in a famous thrifting event. So, Gerard thought might as well go and see the product for itself.

Now, you play guitar in a band, not big or anything serious. But you guys would occasionally busk and accept gigs for extra cash.

Of course, being high school students, you don’t really have all the money in the world. So, things like clothes, and other trinkets, you try to curate them by thrifting.

Anyways, you were just looking around for the next hidden treasure when you saw it.

A black, vintage, X model guitar.

Oh you gotta have that.

Practically running to get it when you feel yourself pulled forward, stumbling on your feet towards a man with green hair.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

You stared at him, slightly in shock. Your faces are so close together. The man has a soft blush forming, while you gulped when you notice him releasing his hold on the guitar, moving them to your waist to steady you instead.

“I-I didn’t see you, but, it seems that you’re also going to purchase it.”

Also? Wait, but this dude is gorgeous now that you see it.

Gerard stood awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

“It’s a nice model, you have a good eye. Ah, well. I’ll just check out the other models, sorry.”

“NO! No, I mean, no, take this. I insist. Matter-of-fact, I’ll even pay for you.”

You handed over the guitar to Gerard (who looked confused out of his mind), handing in crumpled cash towards the tenant.

“Wha- Why?”

“Since I paid for your guitar, clear out your schedule on Saturday. Come watch me at X bar.”

Y/N investing, I see.

jake ji / ji hakho

This was the situation that got the two of you together in the first place.

When he first met you, Jake thought the two of you have quite similar personalities. You were cheerful, and bright, and live like you have not a single care in the world.

You guys matched with each other right away.

Jake likes you, Dean likes you, everybody likes you. You have an easygoing and friendly personality that people find it easy to find comfort in you.

For Jake, that comfort slowly blossomed into something more.

It started small, the urge to protect. The thought of anyone possibly harming you leaving a bad taste in his tongue.

But then, he started seeing you EVERYWHERE. It’s like you have a magnet on his eyes, even the slight figure or your voice could have him snapping his gaze.

“Excuse me, we are conducting a survey for our university. Would you mind to answer a few questions? It will just be for a bit.”

Jake stared at the bulletin board beside the man. ‘The Science of Love’

Pursing his lips, Jake sighed.

“Okay.”

“Okay! We’re also gonna be recording this, if you don’t mind?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just-“

“Hey, is that you, Jake?”

Jake turned his head, taken aback at how close your face already is across his shoulder. Causing your lips to briefly touch before the two of you pulled away in shock.

You let out a laugh, backing away from the recording camera. Jake felt something in his stomach turn when he saw how nonchalant you acted after accidentally kissing him.

“Oh God! AHAHA I’m so sorry! Please, carry on.”

As he collects himself, you were already strolling away from the scene. Mindlessly walking away like nothing had happened.

“I- sorry. I gotta go.”

“Eh? Wait!”

Catching up to you, Jake pulled you by the sleeve of your puffer jacket. To which, you responded with a neutral look on your face.

“I! Want to kiss you! Again. Properly.”

Face flushed, Jake clenched his fist. Heart pounding as he waited for your reaction.

“Huh? Why? You like me or something?”

“Wha- Y/N, I wouldn’t- Ok. You know what, yes. I do like you.”

Jake waited as your expression lay unchanging, bracing himself for a rejection. Only to feel a pair of lips meeting the corner of his mouth.

“Sure, then. I’ll kiss you until you get bored of it.”

Jake can feel his eyes watering as he lifted you up from the ground.

“I won’t ever get bored!”

wolf keum / keum seongje

I’m actually curious how Wolf would react in this scenario really.

There are 3 scenarios.

If you guys know each other closely / are romantically together, he would be completely smug about it.

But if you don’t, then he’ll simply brush over it.

An interesting thing will happen if YOU don’t know him, but HE has a crush on you.

Wolf was having quite an irritating day.

The leftover summer heat, the homeroom teacher’s lecturing him about his absence record, and all of the union bullshit just have to pile up one after the other on the exact same day.

So, this guy is in a pretty foul mood.

Wolf was smoking by the second floor corridor, watching from above as a baseball game commenced in the field.

For such an expensive school, Ganghak’s facilities are.. questionable.

Wolf watched as you walked out of the student council meeting room, your arms filled with a huge pile of books.

He contemplated on offering to carry them. But, no, that would be awkward. He was just about to turn back when he saw a flash of white through the corner of his eye.

Fucking fuck.

Rushing to your side, Wolf pulled you away from the glass window. The glass window which, not a second later, shattered with a hole and a flying baseball bouncing harshly off of the wall.

You panted in shock, not fully comprehending the situation. Due to the urgency, and the sheer force of Wolf’s pull, you lost your balance and ended up knocking the two of you down.

Thankfully, Wolf was able to break your fall by covering your head.

“Noona, are you ok-“

He frowned at the red cut on your left cheek. Brushing his thumb over the edge of the cut.

“Does it hurt?”

You reached your hand up to examine the cut, accidentally brushing your finger over Wolf’s.

“Uh.. no. It doesn’t.”

Wolf tries to calm his rapid heartbeat, reaching behind him for a bandaid and handing them to you.

When your friends started scurrying over, he moved away from you. Feigning ignorance, Wolf cleared his throat and took the baseball into his hand.

Those athletes are going to have a field day.

[hrokkall]

As autumn colors fall...

Week III: Crossover [x]

(Concepts + bonus sketches under the cut)

I had a LOT in my brain on this one but I’ve been busy pretty much all week. I highly doubt I’m the first to have this idea but hey, here’s my take on it at least.

Leshy takes the role of the Beast. He’s a lot more “neutral” than the Beast we see in OGTW canon, but is motivated by self-preservation all the same. Not so much in terms of living forever, I don’t think he can really “die” in this AU because he sort of embodies the Unknown as much as it embodies him (he’d still be there, but would be without a physical form... not really ideal). But he definitely wants things to stay the way they are, which was going just fine until Luke Carder decided to waltz in and “help”.

On the topic of Luke, he’s pretty much the same as in canon. Maybe he originally had a Halloween costume like the brothers do in the show, but chances are it was either some last-minute “pun” costume or something equally simple and Horribly impractical to run around the woods in (i.e. a sheet ghost), so he loses it pretty early on, leading him to stick out like a sore thumb in the otherwise lost-in-an-antique-shop feel the Unknown seems to have. I’m not sure how he got there—didn’t think that far ahead—but we’ll go with he was lured there (for whatever reason) under the pretense that he’d finally get closure regarding his sister’s death. (He’s not going to, of course—at least not literally, the Unknown isn’t really an afterlife, more of just a “crossing over”—but let him keep thinking that).

That’s all well and good for Leshy; depressing, sure, but he can just subtly shift the trees to redirect Luke’s ass home before he starts inadvertently causing trouble by prodding around (though he can keep him around for a little bit, at least. Just to see what he does, not to trap him forever; he doesn’t exactly have a lot of company in the Unknown that aren’t immediately deterred by his presence). That is, until he stumbles across a group of animals pleading for help only an outsider can give and Leshy’s plan immediately begins to crumble.

The other Scrybes pretty much serve the same role as they do in Act 1 as talking cards, or otherwise fill the same niche as Beatrice in OGTW proper. They weren’t originally animals, but they weren’t human either like Beatrice was. Instead, they were cursed by Leshy (who wasn’t too keen on continuing to share his forest with a gaggle of other supernaturally-inclined assholes) and his Woodsmen to take on their current forms. I can’t see them having been traveling together all this time, so they all individually come to Luke desperate for help and are thrilled (/s) to see the other two have done the same. But hey, they’re pretty desperate for a way out and the previous human who came through actively made things worse for them, so it’s pretty much a last-ditch effort at this point. Cue hijinks.

The previous outsider to pass through was, of course, Kaycee, who arrived in the Unknown via near death experience like OGTW canon seems to imply. Being in the Unknown for long periods of time (assuming you’re not just born there) isn’t kind to the human body; if they don’t immediately start sprouting branches, one can expect lowered body temperature, a slowed pulse, gradually not needing to blink or sleep or eat... just generally weird shit that can’t be healthy. Kaycee’s been through all of that and then some; it’s a stretch to say she’s still alive, really. She’s not really the Woodsman; she opted to befriend the beast instead and now they’re pretty much inseparable (both because they’re genuinely buddies and because it’s mutually beneficial: Leshy ensures she’s not completely consumed by the Unknown, and Kaycee ensures Leshy gets to keep his form by bringing him animals and whatnot. Win for both parties). I’d imagine she’s also the only one who refers to him as just “Leshy” and not some sort of intimidating alias (Stoat, Stinkbug, and Wolf excluded, all of which only use his name when they’re being petty).

The lantern is more of just a thematic convenience here, it’s not actually tied to Leshy’s being. Instead, he has his camera: taking pictures of creatures (or people) with it traps their own life force within the film and therefore allows him to persist for longer. The pictures themselves don’t really do anything special, nor does getting rid of them, but Kaycee probably has a room where she develops pictures anyway, if for no other reason than Luke stumbling into a room lined wall to wall with antique photographs and asking his animal companions to find themselves would be both nerve-racking and a little humorous.

Kaycee is the only other person allowed to use the camera; a little bit of a weak point for Beast!Leshy. Sure, she’s strong too (she lives in the woods mostly on her own, carries an axe, and just generally has had a ton of time to train herself up) but not nearly as much as someone who can quite literally command the trees to kill you. Probably Luke’s best chance to defeat Leshy would be to go through Kaycee, assuming he goes that route (probably not... I don’t know how this AU would “end” though).

Again, Stoat, Stinkbug, and Wolf weren’t human + are similarly unkillable so they’re a little bit of a special case. Getting their visages captured just weakened them, allowing someone else to finish the job and solidify their respective “curses”. To return them to normal... it’s also kind of a Beatrice situation, giving Luke plenty of room to run around the forest in a wild goose chase. Stunted Wolf needs his other eye back, Stinkbug needs her wings plucked, and Stoat... I don’t know what Luke needs to do with those wire cutters, but he’ll figure it out (snip its whiskers, maybe?) He waits to get all three back before returning them to normal, both out of equity (much to their disdain and/or relief) and because... honestly, I don’t think he trusts them 100%. They may be tiny, but these guys clearly still have some sort of ulterior motive, even Luke isn’t blind to that.

Anyway that’s all I’ve got. I guarantee I missed something though. Feel free to send an ask if there’s any glaring issues/places that just need elaboration (or I might add on later unprompted anyway if I have the time). Thanks for reading my massive text walls; here’s a Stoat with my favorite Beatrice line.

[wild-karrde]

Congrats on 400!!!! 😍🥰 I'd like to request Kix with the quote: "Don't touch it, it hurts!" (Gotta love me some major ouch with cute fluffy comfort). Thanks so much and congrats again!

Thanks so much! Alright, I really love writing Kix and don't do it enough. This one got cute and I DIG IT. Thanks again for the ask!

Pairing - Kix x Medic!Reader

Rating - T (mention of injury, language)

“Kix, I’m FINE! Just slap some bacta on it so we can move!” 

“It’s not that simple! You need to stay here so I can work on it, otherwise we’ll be down another medic.”

“If you stay here with me, then we’ll be down two.”

“Coric’s gone on ahead and Sticks and Stones are inbound to support. He’ll manage until they get here, now sit still.” 

“I said I’M FINE.”

The clone medic gave you an unamused look as he gripped your thigh and shin, bending the knee that you’d just taken a blaster bolt to just enough to send pain radiating from the joint. Your stubborn muttering shifts to a yelp.

“Ok, stop, stop, STOP! Don’t touch it! It hurts!” 

He sighs in exasperation. “I know it hurts. So if you’d quit arguing with me for five minutes, I’ll be able to make it hurt less, understand?” 

You finally surrender, laying back on the ground and folding your arms over your eyes in defeat. Kix takes this as you relenting, reporting to Rex on his comm that the two of you will hang back for now, catching up with the others when you’re able. The captain’s voice is strained, but not angry, so you take some solace in that. 

You’ve only been serving with the 501st for a few weeks, but in that time, you’ve managed to become an anxious mess. It was clear that the other medics around you, both civilian and clone alike, were far more qualified, leaving you wondering why you were here and instilling you with a fear of failure that kept you up most nights. You were determined to prove that you could be useful and help those in need, but right now, you feel more like a burden than anything else. 

The sound of boots and blasterfire has faded into the distance as the entire battalion has moved on without the two of you. Now, all you hear is Kix’s modulated breathing as he shuffles around in his kit, looking for supplies. 

Of all of the medics, why’d it have to be him?

You can’t quite put your finger on why Kix is the one you’re most desperate to impress. Maybe because you admire his professionalism, his calm demeanor, the way his brain works. 

And maybe you’re also a bit in denial. While he shares the same face as his brothers, there’s always been something about Kix that you’ve found exceptionally endearing. Sure, you’ve got your face covered right now because you’re embarrassed to be the thing keeping him back, but also, you feel heat rising to your cheeks as he manipulates your leg a bit to get a better look at your injury. 

“Just a graze,” he surmises. “I hope you didn’t like these pants too much though. I am going to have to cut them away a bit to bandage it properly.” 

You shrug. “‘S fine.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then you hear the unmistakable hiss of his helmet being removed. Your arms fly away from your face as you sit up to stare at him in alarm. 

“Kix! You need to keep that on! It’s not safe.”

He tosses you a smirk. “You’re not wearing one.”

“Yeah, well I’m a civ. We don’t get issued armor.”

He glances over at you as he begins cutting away at the leg of your pants. “Still. Most civs have them. So why don’t you?”

He’s distracting you, and it’s obvious, but you’re more than willing to let him right now as your knee starts to noticeably throb. He’s always been good at redirecting attention. It’s one of the things you admire about him. 

You shrug. “Gear’s expensive. Would rather have a kit that holds up.”

Kix is removing his gloves, and you feel your heart thundering in your chest as you start to think about what his hands are going to feel like on your skin. You’ve absolutely thought about this before, but you had somewhat hoped it would be under different circumstances. 

Very different circumstances. 

A sharp prick as he injects the knee with a painkiller jerks you back to reality before your thoughts can wander further. He’s watching you out of the corner of his eye to see your reaction, and you try to not whimper. Instead, you swear quietly under your breath. He doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“So if you can’t afford the proper gear, why fling yourself out here?” he asks, taking out a solution to clean the wound a little better. “Most civs would say that’s justification to stay out of it.”

“F-family business,” you stutter. He pauses to watch your reaction, but you nod at him, urging him to get this done quickly so that you can get moving. “Mom’s a doc. Been following her around since I could walk and eventually went into medicine on my own. Figured my skills would better be put to use here than just staying on some cozy backwater moon and pretending the war isn’t happening.”

Kix pauses, turning to face you fully now. “That’s admirable.”

You feel like your face is on fire, and your eyes burn with tears of frustration. “Haven’t exactly been helpful,” you rasp, gesturing at your leg. 

“This’ll heal quickly,” he replies, gently dabbing at the damaged skin with some gauze before carefully applying bacta. “And you’ve been plenty of help.” 

“Kix, I know I just get underfoot. You don’t have to sugar coat it for me.” Your eyes drop to your lap, where you’re nervously picking at a cuticle. You feel him stop touching you for a moment before his fingers slip under your chin, pulling your gaze up to meet his. All of the moisture evaporates out of your mouth, and you swallow hard. 

“Now let’s be clear about one thing,” he says, his soft brown eyes piercing into yours. “There are plenty of people in this galaxy that see my brothers and I as expendable, nothing more than cannon fodder. Even those that don’t see us that way are more than fine with letting us die anyway. You are here. I see how much you care, how much each loss affects you. People like you are the ones I fight for. You’re the reason I keep going. Because there are good people out there, and you’re a reminder of that. So don’t you dare belittle what you’re doing here. I wouldn’t stay behind for any civ. I stayed because it’s you. Got it?” 

You nod, swallowing hard again. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, and he notes it, his eyes flicking down to follow it. You suddenly become extremely self conscious about the amount of dirt you’ve got covering your face. 

Kix seems to be turning something over in his mind, his brows furrowed in the way they are when he’s thinking. After a moment, his hand slips from your chin to wipe at some grime on your face, and you can’t help but lean into his touch a little. Both of you freeze for a moment, and he chuckles quietly. If he was looking for confirmation as to how you felt about him, he’s absolutely found it, but his reaction is far from what you expected.  

Kix smiles at you, but he almost seems bashful, something you’re not used to from him. “I would uh… also be remiss to not tell you that I enjoy having you around. For more than medical reasons. You’ve got a big heart. It’s… it’s nice.” 

A tear slips from the corner of your eye in relief, and he withdraws his hand quickly, thinking he’s done something wrong, but you grab his hand with yours. “Thanks,” you whisper quietly. “It’s really nice to know I’m not just a pain in the ass.” You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I like being around you too.” 

Kix grins, his cocky smirk slipping back into place as he goes back to work on your knee, carefully wrapping a bandage around the joint. You’re not sure if it’s the pain meds or the high from both of your confessions, but the pain has faded to a dull ache. When he fastens the final end of the bandage in place, he inspects it one last time before nodding. 

“That should do it.” 

You feel a little bolder, for just a moment as his eyes find yours again. “When… when we get back to base, I’ve got a bottle of spotchka in my tent. If you feel like spending some time together where we’re not being shot at.” 

Kix smiles. “I think I’d like that.” He pauses, looking around cautiously. Seemingly satisfied the two of you are very alone, he leans down and places a light kiss on your bandaged knee. “All better?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

You giggle. “Yeah. At least able to walk.” He pulls you to your feet, and you search for something else to say, realizing your time together is coming to a close, and in a few minutes, you’ll be back with his brothers. “You know, I think a lot of you too, Kix. You’re a very skilled medic.” 

You kriffing idiot, could you be any more awkward? You fight the urge to clap a hand to your forehead. 

Kix winks at you, seemingly flattered nonetheless. “I’m skilled at other things as well, but you’ll have to wait until at least our third date to find out about those.” 

Your face burns, but you can’t hide your smile as the two of you make your way back towards the battle.

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