Forgotten Promises
forgotten promises
pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)
bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader
a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask. Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.
“What are you doing?”
You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone.
“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket.
Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes.
“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”
“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”
You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”
Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both.
“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less.
“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid.
LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING
Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6
Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention.
“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front.
That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants.
Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance.
You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat.
“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving.
It hadn’t gone over well for him.
He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom.
He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly.
When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door.
“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target.
“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving.
The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling.
He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end.
He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer.
But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit.
He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you.
“All good?” You ask.
He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer.
Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down.
There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work.
It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him.
His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long.
It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you.
You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.
“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore.
You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”
Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently. “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning.
“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much.
Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it.
You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this.
The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut.
Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place.
He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded.
“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”
Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”
He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”
You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here.
“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?
He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in.
You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here.
You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long.
It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough.
As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him.
Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night.
A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here.
The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty.
Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby.
“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting.
The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair.
“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”
Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars.
He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before.
You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air.
You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you.
It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand.
For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with.
You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump.
A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!”
“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves.
“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you. You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage.
Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for.
You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face.
The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel.
You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy.
Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking.
You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you.
You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself.
He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though.
He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs.
The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him.
You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard.
You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one.
You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you.
You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”
He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”
You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it.
In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands.
“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”
He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.
It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish.
Are you angry?
Are you leaving?
Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?
Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore.
Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so.
You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you.
You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty.
It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar.
Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you.
You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth.
The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you.
You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety.
You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up.
You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence.
You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer.
You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light.
He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.
Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would.
You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt.
His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?
You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering.
He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks.
He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”
You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly.
His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips.
His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well.
He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”
He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you.
His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk.
“Logan,” you scold.
He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him.
He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours.
It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”
“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”
You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again.
“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”
“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.
You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime.
You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you.
“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze.
You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips.
Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another.
It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either.
He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan.
There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried.
Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt.
He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”
He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”
You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him.
It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.
But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him.
“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be.
His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again.
You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back.
Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good.
This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy.
You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped.
You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want.
He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out.
“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.”
“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”
He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs.
He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up.
Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head.
The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.
You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin.
Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other.
One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him.
“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”
“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat.
But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further.
You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them.
You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling.
The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck.
He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”
He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly.
But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say.
“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”
“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him.
Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”
You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life.
“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks.
A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand.
“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt.
“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow.
He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you.
You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh.
When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him.
“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth.
For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead.
Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy.
You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes.
You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings.
He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?”
You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner.
You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago.
Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both.
You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”
He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you.
You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”
You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”
You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”
He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice.
You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”
Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right.
Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”
He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh.
He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window.
He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.”
You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”
He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”
“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”
His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart.
It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”
He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again.
The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes.
Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes.
As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different.
You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan.
This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out.
But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street.
You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it.
“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left.
You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all.
By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark.
You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine.
When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable.
There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down.
He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep.
Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning.
You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something.
He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive.
You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste.
“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him.
Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night.
By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road.
You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight.
“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower.
The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is.
You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about.
“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest.
“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him.
He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”
You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”
He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”
Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”
You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now.
“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”
You’re not gonna like it.
I don’t want you tagging along.
You should just stay here and read or some shit.
You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him.
“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”
He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.
“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”
You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it.
He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries.
You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck.
The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd.
The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool.
The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender.
She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her.
“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix.
“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do.
Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life.
Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”
The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?
“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl.
And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched.
Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.
“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure.
There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off.
It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?
“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on.
“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it.
The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”
Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand.
You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”
Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore.
Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you.
“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly.
“What?”
He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him.
He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle.
She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.
“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through.
“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror.
You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps.
You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes.
“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you.
“You’re such a softie,” you tease him.
“Shut the hell up.”
Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags.
He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”
She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment.
You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything.
You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing.
You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement.
The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on.
Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here.
The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it.
You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab.
Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you.
But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?
“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now.
It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”
You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator.
When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over.
You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time.
You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”
Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you.
“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing.
Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again.
“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap.
You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you. You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here.
It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long.
“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open.
Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”
You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”
The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it.
Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own.
You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look.
“What was that about?”
“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging.
“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured.
You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”
You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.”
There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here.
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡
Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte
@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox ♡
Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo
@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns
@likeficsinthewnd ♡
More Posts from Not-neverland06 and Others
May I just scream to you about "How About A Nuke?" for a sec bc I'm feeling so many feelings about it, many of which I am still processing
Something something about Cooper seeing reader's Nuka Cola ad like this image; parallel to reader, fresh from the vault, looking up to Cooper's movie poster, parallel to the both of them standing next to each other, looking down at a movie poster of their first movie together thinking about how so many things have changed between them and how they're still together despite everything (if they do end up together after everything !!!)
that's all thank you for sharing your fic with us, imma go back to processing my feelings 😂
You have no idea how excited I was when I saw this picture! This is one of my favorite pictures ever, I get so happy every time I see this trope lol
Also, I hope you’re ready because I posted part three and I’m not giving you a break with the angst
(I promise it will eventually get better sort of)
I have so many different fandoms I want to write for. There are years of main character syndrome and high school obsessions built up in my head.
Like the outsiders, HotD, GoT, The Boys, Narnia, about a hundred different small fandom video games like fable and bioshock. I need a button to press where I can just get all the fics out in one go.
(this is an encouragement for requests and convo btw)
The End of the Beginning
Previous Part / Next Part
Cooper Howard x fem!reader A/N: I’m going to use my How About a Nuke? taglist for my Cooper Howard one shots/stories from now on. If you do not want to be on the taglist, please let me know and I will remove you immediately. I’m considering writing some more for these two, let me know what you think in the comments.
Summary: You don’t know how it starts. But you know how it ends.
There’s not a specific moment where you can pinpoint how this whole sordid affair began. Not a true affair, in your own defense. Nothing physical ever happened between the two of you, but what did happen was somehow almost worse.
Maybe it was when Bud first introduced you to him or when you began to eat dinners with his family. It could have been the times he would randomly drop by your home for a drink, you’re not sure. It doesn’t even matter, you know that no matter what it never would have ended well for either of you.
“Mr. Howard, it is a pleasure.” The man in front of Cooper is someone he should recognize, he knows he’s met him before. But his face could blend into any crowd, he’s drawing a blank and failing not to let it show.
“How’re you,” the question trails off awkwardly and the woman beside the man is clearly trying to hide a smile.
“Uh, Bud,” he offers up, his smile waning slightly, “Bud Askins. We met a couple of weeks ago.” He’s grasping at straws, eyes desperate for some sense of familiarity within Cooper’s own gaze. He would feel bad for him, but something about this man sets Cooper on edge.
“Bud,” Cooper offers him the kind of smile he gives every fan and it does the trick like usual. Bud lets out a sigh of relief and shakes Cooper’s hand with a vigor that rattles his teeth. The woman clears her throat, glaring at the back of Bud’s head.
He finally remembers himself and turns towards her. “Right, my apologies.” Bud moves back and she steps forward, her hand outstretched towards Cooper. She’s got a disarming smile which is a nice change from Bud’s overeager one.
She seems happy to have met him, but not the starstruck joy he’s used to. It’s refreshing to not have someone be eagerly shouting at him what his favorite movie of theirs is. She offers him her name and he repeats it, liking the way it feels when he says it. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
She doesn’t get offended by the brusque question. She drops his hand and glances back at Bud, “I work for Mr. Askins. I’ll be helping you in adjusting to your new Vault-Tec life.”
He frowns, brows furrowed in confusion at the way she phrases her answer. “Vault-Tec life? I thought this was just meant to be some ads, a few billboards maybe.” He chuckles, hoping to ease the tone of the conversation, but they don’t buy it. She shares a concerned look with Bud and they glance back at Cooper before whispering something to each other.
Bud listens to her speak, but his gaze stays locked on Cooper. He doesn’t look happy anymore, if anything he looks concerned. Cooper sighs and wonders, not for the first time, what Barb has gotten him into. As if summoning her, his wife pops up behind him.
She wraps an arm through his and he feels himself easing back into her touch, hoping she can provide some clarity. “I see you’ve met Bud and his assistant.” There’s an odd tone to her words when she addresses the other woman.
Her gaze snaps from Bud’s and she shoots Barb a sharp glare. “I am not Mr. Askins’ assistant.” Barb clears her throat and she winces, quickly amending her statement, “If anything, I believe I might be your husband’s.”
Cooper wraps his arm around Barb’s shoulder and draws her closer to him. She smiles and looks up at him but he can’t find it in himself to return it. With each new development in this Vault-Tec partnership he finds himself growing more and more hostile towards the company. There’s just something about this whole idea that has him unsettled.
It’s not that he doesn’t see the need for the vaults, he does. If anyone understands the dangers this war is presenting, it’s him. He’d been on the frontlines, he knows just how bad it’s getting out there. But, the way Vault-Tec is going about everything is unsettling. Capitalizing off the American people’s suffering isn’t something he’s interested in endorsing.
He’s been questioning more and more everyday if that's exactly what he’s doing.
“That’s the confusion, honey,” he glances down at Barb but she’s sharing a look with the other woman that he can’t understand. “I don’t see why I need an assistant.”
She sighs and finally looks back at him. She laces her fingers through his and gives him a comforting smile, “Let’s go talk.”
You watched as Barb dragged Cooper away from you and Bud. You knew this wasn’t going to go over well. You’re not sure why anyone at the company even listens to Bud’s asinine idea’s anymore. You give your boss a discerning look but he’s still staring after his crush, the Cooper Howard.
There must be some cunning snake under the surface of this bumbling baboon. You certainly don’t see it, but someone had to have at Vault-Tec for him to have crawled so high up the ladder. You look over your shoulder at Cooper and, not for the first time, a pang of guilt stabs through your stomach.
Same as everyone else, you idolized Mr. Howard. It was hard not to. He’d fought for your country in the Sino-American War, defending Alaska. And then he came home and instead of protecting America’s citizens, he made it his job to uplift and entertain them.
He was an incredible man, and if you weren’t so worried about protecting your own ass you’d feel bad for what Vault-Tec’s mission is going to do to him.
Barb had brought concerns to you and Bud that Cooper was… slipping. She seemed to think his priorities had shifted and he was growing suspicious of Vault-Tec, and by extension her.
He was right to be suspicious, there wasn’t a day that you weren’t disgusted with yourself for working for who you do. But you also would like to survive this coming nuclear holocaust, so you learned to live with it.
She seemed to think that giving him an assistant, one of Bud’s Buds, would help get him back on track. You’re not sure why Bud had chosen you for the job, but he seemed to think you would be charming enough to snag Cooper’s attention.
You were to bond with Mr. Howard, become his friend and gain his trust. When the time came for him to start questioning you about Vault-Tec and their true intentions, you would say something to calm him.
Essentially, befriend him and then lie to his face and make him think he wasn’t promoting the end of the world. Barb didn’t want her husband to ever learn about the truth of who was really pulling the strings of the war.
Cooper was led back to you both by Barb with a smile on his face. He seemed more open to you now, too, offering you a polite nod of his head which you returned. “Barb, here, seems to think I need myself a personal assistant.”
You laughed amicably and shrugged, “You’re a busy man, Mr. Howard. I’m just an extra set of hands.”
He shook his head and waved you off, “Call me Cooper, please, it seems like we’ll be spending a lot of time with each other anyway.”
You smiled, your gut twisting with disgust when you saw the earnest look in his eyes, “Cooper.”
“Good morning,” Cooper leaned over Barb’s shoulder, landing a quick peck on her cheek. She smiled and squeezed his arm before glancing at the clock and frowning. He already knew what she was gonna say. He was going to be late.
He smiled at her, taking a sip of his coffee. She seemed to notice the look on his face because she just sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to get away with this anymore.”
He laughed and shrugged, “Why not? It’s a part of my signature, I’m always a few minutes late.”
She glanced down at the Pip-Boy on her arm and something seems to have caught her attention. She let out a haggard breath and put Janey’s lunch box on the counter. “Don’t let her leave without this.” She ran to the front door and Cooper frowned as he watched her run around the house, frantically collecting her things.
“Where are you going?”
She was already halfway out the door when she called out a quick, “Work emergency.” He shook his head and rinsed his mug out in the sink. He’s had work emergencies before, none of them so urgent he would have left without saying goodbye to their daughter.
He sucks on his teeth, staring over at the front door. What does she do for Vault-Tec? Had she ever really told him?
Had he ever asked?
His thoughts are interrupted by a series of blaring honks outside his front door. He figures Barb had forgotten her keys in her rush to get out of the house. But when he steps onto the front lawn he sees you parked along the curb, staring expectantly at the door.
You lift your sunglasses up, your lips tilted up into an easy smile and you wave at him. “Morning, Mr. Cooper,” you shout across the driveway.
He scoffs and walks towards your convertible. You’ve got the roof tilted down, a scarf wrapped around your hair to keep the style. You light up a cigarette while he approaches. He leans into the car and stares at you with a disbelieving look on his face.
“What are you doing here?”
“We’ve got a packed schedule today, can’t be late.” Barb’s warning suddenly makes sense now. You, apparently, weren’t the type to let him be a little lazy.
He’d almost forgotten she’d forced an assistant on him. He’s still not happy with it, feeling like he’s being babysat more than anything else.
She’d made it clear, though, that there wasn’t much room for arguments when it came to you. He doesn’t understand why she was so adamant about this. Most wives would prefer their husbands didn’t spend all day with such pretty assistants.
“Barb’s just run out, I’ve got to drop Janey off at school today.” You sigh, face screwing up as he speaks. You flick the cigarette onto the pavement and fiddle with the Pip-Boy you’ve got on your passenger seat. He’s surprised not to see it on your wrist, most Vault-Tec people treat it like a fifth limb.
You screw around with it for a minute before you finally look back up at him. “We can make it, get her out here.” You toss the Pip-Boy in the back and place your hands on the wheel. You give him an expectant look and he realizes you’re not gonna let him argue with you about this.
“Aren’t I your boss, darling?”
You scoff, tone sardonic, “Sure, Mr. Howard.” He sighs and finally heads back inside. Janey is more than happy to ride along with you. Cooper less so. You seem keen on breaking every damn speeding law to get him to work on time. He’s not sure he trusts his life in your reckless hands.
You peel into Janey’s school, practically kick her out of the car, and then you’re off again. “You can slow down, you know.”
You glance over at him, a sly smirk on your lips. “I’m not making you sick, am I?”
He eases up his grip on the door handle and shakes his head. “I’ve worn a power suit, sweetheart, not much can make me carsick.”
You shrug, “Good, then I think I’ll keep going like this.” He shakes his head, slightly miffed by the insubordination, slightly impressed. It’s nice to have someone who treats him like he’s just another regular Joe.
Most of his former assistants kissed the ground he walked on and were terrified to say one word against him. It gets tiring after a while, that sort of behavior. He’s seen plenty of his costars let it get to their heads and turn into someone egotistical and vile to be around. He doesn’t want to turn out like that.
He’s never wanted the fame to twist him into something he isn’t. He has a feeling you don’t let many people walk over you. You also don’t seem to have a problem with being assertive. It’s odd, these behaviors in someone in a position of subordinance.
Makes him wonder if being an assistant is your actual job, or if Bud had demoted you for some other odd reason.
“I really don’t want to intrude.”
Cooper waves you off and shakes his head, “Not at all. I’m inviting you, honey.” You sigh and grit your teeth. You know what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to thank him and accept the invitation to dinner.
But being with him everyday for the past few weeks has made it nearly impossible to keep this up. He’s an incredible man, kind and honest to a fault. He’s got such strong principles, to be openly manipulating those against him makes you sick to your stomach.
You thought you would be able to do this. So many times in your life you’d heard never to meet your heroes. You figured Cooper would be like every other pretentious asshole in Hollywood and you would have no problem lying to his face.
But he is so much more than that. He’s so much better than the people you work with and for, so much better than you.
Still, a job is a job. You don’t do this and you’ll be kicked out of Bud’s program and left out with the rest of civilization to burn up when the fallout begins.
You reason with yourself that by doing this you’re also ensuring Cooper’s safety. As long as he believes in Vaut-Tec, in you, he’ll have a place at the end of the world.
It doesn’t make you feel any better.
“Thank you, I’d love to join you.”
He grins at you and walks off to wrap up his last scene of the day. You let out a long breath, slumping against the concession table and rubbing at your forehead. You’re losing sleep over all of this. Your nails are brittle, hair splitting, and health declining with the amount of anxiety and guilt you’ve been carrying around.
Despite your resolve mentally, you’re really not sure how much longer you can go on like this physically. You’ve always been a horrible liar, especially when you’re lying to people you care about. You should have gotten an Oscar for getting this far with him.
The drive to Cooper’s home that night is silent. To punish yourself, you don’t turn on the radio and force yourself to wallow in self hatred the whole way there. You berate yourself and come up with about five different reasons to get yourself out of being his assistant.
But when you knock on the door and see his smiling face you can’t force a word out. He’s so handsome, cleaned up and his hair slicked back. You could get lost in his eyes when he speaks to you. You force yourself to keep your mouth shut and just eat dinner with him.
Barb keeps sending you appreciative smiles all throughout dinner and you want to stab your fork through her hand. You might be a horrible person for lying to him, but she has to be the worst damn wife you’ve ever met. She claims to be in love with Cooper, to care about him, but the way she manipulates him goes against that.
You don’t get to claim to love someone and then treat them like that. She won’t even let him take Roosevelt! You know for a fact that animals can go into certain vaults, she just hates that dog.
“I have to be a good man gone bad in this one.” Cooper explains to Barb. She’d asked after the latest script changes but she didn’t seem wholly interested as she messed with her Pip-Boy. “I don’t really like it, I’m meant to be a sheriff, not a cold-blooded killer.”
Barb scoffs and shakes her head, “Even good men have to make bad decisions, Cooper.”
Cooper straightens up and glares at her. At his silence she finally looks up, her face quickly becoming guarded at the look on his. “Not all of them,” he argues, voice soft. You and Janey glance between the two of them, this goes beyond a simple script change.
“Well,” Barb goes back to cutting her steak, shaking her head at him, “that’s a very naive way of looking at the world.” She gives him a sharp smile, her eyes empty and cold.
You’re grateful when Janey passes a piece of broccoli to Roosevelt and the both of them are snapped out of their pseudo argument. Barb snaps at the dog and Cooper laughs, you shrink into your chair, wishing to be anywhere else.
When dinner is over, you clean up while Cooper and Barb put Janey to bed. You slide open the door to the backyard and tug a cigarette out of your case. You dig around in your bag for a while, nearly breaking down when you can’t find your lighter.
“Need this?” Fire sparks up before you and Cooper grins as he holds his lighter out. You smile in relief and thank him, sparking up the end and taking a deep inhale. You feel yourself relax slightly, easing off of the meltdown you were about to have.
Little things keep seeming to build and build on top of you. You’re hanging on by a very thin thread and you’re worried about what’s going to happen when it snaps. “You alright, sweetheart?” He seems genuinely concerned and you can’t even look at him anymore.
You take a seat and nod, focusing instead on the stars above you. He’s further out from civilization, he’s got a better view of the night sky than you do from your crowded apartment. “Just been a little stressed out lately.”
He sits beside you and reaches over, his hand lands on your thigh and he squeezes. It lasts less than a second, it’s clearly meant to comfort you but it sets your body on fire and you turn away from him slightly. He frowns, an apologetic look on his face and he backs off.
You can’t find it in yourself to feel guilty. You don’t need to start being attracted to him on top of lying to him. Not when you just scorned Barb for the exact same thing. “I hope I haven’t been adding to that.”
You look over at him and shake your head, “Not at all,” you’re the only reason I’m like this.
He seems to catch onto what you’re not saying. He might not know exactly why he’s stressing you out, but he’s more perceptive than others give him credit for. Still, he doesn’t say anything. He just nods and takes a swig from the glass of whiskey resting in his lap.
“Sorry about earlier.”
“What?” He sighs, giving you a look that tells you not to bother playing dumb. You shrug, “Wasn’t the worst fight I’ve ever had to watch.”
He shakes his head and runs a tired hand over his face. “It wasn’t even a fight. That’s what bothers me, she says these little things and sometimes it just goes right over my head.”
You find yourself speaking before you can stop yourself, “It’s only later that you realize she was being cruel.”
He looks over at you and nods. His head tilts in confusion, “You know what I’m talking about?”
You nod, puffing on the cigarette between your fingers before you continue. You feel yourself starting to ease up again, your shoulders finally lowering from their place next to your ears. “Yeah, I’ve got a long list of ex’s like that.” Your mouth snaps closed when you realize what you said.
You probably shouldn’t be saying ex to the man you’re trying to keep with his wife. But he doesn’t get upset, he only sighs. The sound is resigned, like you’re only confirming something he already knew to be true.
“You don’t seem very happy,” Cooper glanced over his shoulder and spotted you. You had your heels in your hand, making your way across his back deck to stand next to him at the pool. You drop the heels on one of his lawn chairs and sit down to dip your legs in the pool.
He stays standing, staring down at you. You look up and offer him a tired grin. You must have been about as sick of this as he was. After a minute he finally sat down beside you. “Can’t say I’m pleased to have all these people in my house.”
You both glanced back at the party. Dozens of Vault-Tec employees streamed in and out of his living room, their voices carrying, even back to where you and Cooper were hidden away. He hated this, feeling out of place in his home.
“None of your friend’s wanted to come?” You glance over at him, a concerned look on your face. He appreciates it, your concern for his comfort, especially considering Barb doesn't seem to care for it at all. She hadn’t asked if he was okay with this, or comfortable with this wrap party. She’d simply gone ahead with it and then sprung it on him.
“Seb was here a while ago but he left.” He scoffed and threw back the rest of his drink. “Can’t say I blame him, if it wasn’t my house I would have left hours ago.”
You shrugs, “Let’s go.” You’re staring at him, eyes wide and earnest like it’s the simplest solution in the world.
He laughs, more surprised than anything, “What?”
You stand up, tugging your heels back on and holding a hand out to him. “Let’s leave. I can’t say I’m very happy to be here either.”
He argues, “These are your coworkers, sweetheart.” But he still takes your hand, getting back to his feet and letting you lead him through his back gate. You tug your keys out of your purse, sliding into your little convertible and giving him an eager smile while you wait for him to follow.
“They're a bunch of vultures, Coop. Let’s just get out of here.” Hearing you use his nickname affects him more than he wants it too. Affection has been few and far between at the house lately, he finds himself leaning into it when you offer it more than he should.
Things are tense between Barb and himself, but he’s still a married man. He shouldn’t get so happy when you call him Coop. And he really shouldn’t be leaving his wife behind at this ridiculous fucking party and getting in your car. But he finds himself going against his better knowledge and following anyway.
He doesn't ask where you’re taking him. He doesn’t even care, he just wants to be near you. You’re kind, you don’t judge him. You leave him feeling a little weightless everytime you snap one of your witty little retorts at him. He’s charmed by you, more than he should be, but he can’t bring himself to be bothered by it.
You’re eating shitty junk food and sipping on Nuka-Cola’s in the back of your convertible. Cooper kind of feels like a teenager again. It’s been a long time since he’s had some decent greasy burgers. Barb doesn’t like bringing fast food into the house and it’s been a while since he and Janey have snuck some on the way home from school.
You’ve parked your car in the desolate parking lot of the closed shopping center. You’re both quiet, staring up at the stars or the bright flashing billboards across from you. Cooper glances over at you and curiosity gets the better of him.
“How’d you end up working for Vault-Tec?” You give him a questioning look and he shrugs, taking a sip from his bottle. “Just doesn’t seem like your sort of company.” You seem too kind for them, too compassionate.
“I, um,” you chuckle, swiping away some condensation that had dripped onto your bare thigh and Cooper follows the movement lazily. “I got swept up in the war time efforts. There were a bunch of campaigns to get women to start assisting during the war.” You rolled your eyes and laughed, “The Nuka-Cola girl roped me in with her patriotism and I found myself at a plant assembling your power suits.”
Cooper’s shoulders tense up and he has to fight off a nasty retort. You catch his gaze and flinch away from it slightly. He doesn’t blame you for all the faulty defects in those suits, but he’d watched good men and women die on the frontlines because of those damn things. It’s hard not to get angry when they’re mentioned, especially because they’d told them the suits weren’t safe. The government forced them into them anyway.
”I know, there were a lot of defects. A lot of people died because of those suits. That’s how Bud discovered me actually, I raised hell with my supervisor. I tried to get them to fix the issue or just stop manufacturing them. We were wasting good supplies on death traps.”
You shook your head and sighed, “It didn’t matter what I said. They never stopped making them. But, Bud, liked my fire. He thought it showed good leadership skills that I was so willing to stand up for what I belived in. He took me to Vault-Tec when he left the suits behind.” You took in a deep shuddering breath, for a moment Cooper could swear he saw tears in your eyes. “I always seem to work for the wrong side.”
He’d been reaching out, hoping to offer some comfort, when his hand stopped. It dropped back down to his side and he glared at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Your eyes widened and you froze, seemingly caught off guard. “What?”
“‘I always seem to work for the wrong side.’ What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?” Is this it? The confirmation that he’s been looking for that his fears weren’t unfounded. Had you known this whole time he’d been fighting with Barb and not told him?
He didn't want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. How twisted had his life become that he was putting more faith into you, practically a stranger, than his own wife.
You shook your head, a frown appearing on your lips and eyes boring angrily into his. “That’s not what I said.”
His mouth opened in shock, not quite sure he was hearing you properly. “What? Yes, it is.”
“Cooper,” you snapped, his name sounding harsh for the first time. You’d always spoken so sweetly to him, he couldn’t understand where this was coming from. “That’s not what I said, what is your problem?”
Could he have misheard you? You’d never gotten mad at him before. You would only be acting like this if he really was wrong. He sighed, figuring he should just drop it before he made things worse. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
Your eyes softened and you reached out, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “It’s alright. Let’s just enjoy tonight.” He nodded, leaning closer towards you while you reached forward to turn the radio on. Despite the both of you knowing it was a bad idea, you rested your head against him. Snuggled up together and watching the stars, he could get used to this.
You hear your name, rushed and bordering on a shout. You whip around, frowning when you see Cooper barreling towards you. He reaches you, grabbing you by the elbow and dragging you into an empty office.
You’re taken aback by the aggression in his actions but you’re more concerned when you notice his eyes. They’re bloodshot and his cheeks are flushed, like he’s been crying or was trying not to. You reach up before you can think, hand cupping his cheek and ignoring the minute way he leans into it.
“Cooper? What is it? What’s wrong?”
His eyes are wild, darting all around the room like he’s waiting for someone to jump out and grab him. “It’s Barb. I put a transmitter on her Pip-Boy and I heard her in her meeting. She’s talking about starting the nuclear war, she’s going to fucking kill everyone.” You step back from him, arms dropping to your sides.
“Cooper,” his name is a barely heard whisper. “Why did you have to dig?” It’s over. You knew this was coming. Cooper was too smart not to start digging on his own, even without your reassurances. You’d only delayed the inevitable and hurt yourself in the process. Hurt him.
He frowns and shakes his head, stepping back from you. His face moves through a hundred different emotions, faster than you can process, but you manage to catch a few of them. He’s betrayed, hurt, disgusted by the sight of you. “You knew?” The words are spit out with such venom you nearly flinch from him.
You can feel tears burning the back of your throat and you glare at him, “Why couldn’t you have left it alone?” It’s misplaced anger, you know. You’re mad at yourself for getting involved in this, for dragging him down with you. You’re mad at Barb and Bud and all the fucked up corporations you keep finding yourself employed by. But the anger strikes out at him and you regret it immediately.
“You knew!” It’s not a question anymore, it’s a realization. He shakes his head and he almost looks more hurt than when he discovered Barb. “You’re fucking sick, all of you!” He’s out the door and down the hall before you have a chance to stop him.
You sink back against the wall, wiping at tears that won’t stop coming. Betty finds you, she takes one look at you and then a dissapearingCooper before she’s dragging you into Barb’s office. “You need to wait here for them.”
You don’t argue, there’s no point. You’d failed in your mission and Cooper was beyond Barb’s grasp. Maybe it was for the better, that he got away from her while he could. Dying rather than being trapped in a vault with her might be a better ending for him.
You can’t get that look of his out of your mind, not even while Barb berates you. She nearly fires you, but Bud stops her. She storms out of her office and you just keep replaying that moment with Cooper. You could have played along with him, never let him know you knew about Vault-Tec and just run away with him.
But the thought of living the rest of your short life lying to him makes you sick to your stomach.
Bud calls your name for the inth time and grabs your shoulders. You snap your gaze up to his, finally noticing that he’s been kneeling in front of you this whole time. ”You have to go in early.”
You shake your head dumbly, not understanding what he’s saying. He frowns, eyes desperate and he keeps glancing over his shoulder. “Barb is livid. She wants you gone. We’re gonna have to send you down early.”
“You mean…” you trail off, mind going blank at the thought of being put into cryo months before you were prepared to. You want to argue with him and tell him you need more time. Thoughts of going after Cooper and trying to make him see reason float through your brain.
He seems to track your train of thought because he shakes his head. “We can’t delay this. You go now or you don’t go at all.”
You hadn’t realized just how much Bud seemed to care for you until this moment. The sheer determination on his face that he wouldn’t let Barb bury you would have made you sentimental were it not for the current gut wrenching feeling of heartbreak you were experiencing.
He stands up and glances over at Betty. The worry slowly disappears as a plan starts to formulate within him. “Betty will take her car and get you to the vault, I’ll have people there ready to take you in.” He grabs your arm and yanks you out of your chair. “You need to leave now, before Barb comes back with security.”
He and Betty share a look over your shoulder before she nods. She grabs your elbow from Bud and marches you down the hall. You’re barely present for the walk through the hallways of Vault-Tec. You don’t have time to take in the world around you, appreciate the beauty before it’s gone.
You’re numb. Stuck in a limbo and paralysis of your own creation. When you make it to the vault, Betty leaves you there to be taken in by the guards. They lead you to Vault 31 and march you down the long hall until you reach your cryo pod.
You don’t know when you’ll be released, what the world will be like when you come back out. But you know Cooper will be gone and there'll be nothing left for you.
You step into the pod and let your eyes slowly drift closed.
Your pod pops open with a hiss and your head lolls to the side. There’s an odd buzzing noise before you but you can’t see much of anything. “It will take a minute for your eyes to adjust.”
Your brows furrow as you place the voice, “Bud?” Your hands grope blindly through the dark for the edge of your pod. Your eyes begin to thaw, vague shapes and colors making themselves clear to you first. “If you’re here, how long have I been asleep?”
Odd, you can’t make out his form anywhere, but it sounds like he’s right in front of you. You step down and there’s a loud buzz, like wheels rolling across metal. “Watch out!” You tilt your head in confusion, blinking the rest of the frost out of your eyes and gasping when you see what’s in front of you.
A brain on a fucking vacuum. “Bud!” You shout, completely caught off guard by this new look of his.
He sighs, the sound robotic and staticky. “Yes, it’s me. It’s the only way I could stay alive to monitor the success of my vaults.” Even just as a brain, you can still hear the pride in his voice, “I am proud to say that we have been most successful these past two hundred and thirteen years.”
You can’t respond, winded by how long it’s been since you’ve been asleep. Everything you’ve ever known was gone. Officially.
Your mind drifts to Cooper but you stop it before it gets too far. Even before he found out about your role in Vault-Tec, you were never going to be in the same vault as him. No matter what, the two of you would never have seen each other again.
There’s no reason to mourn him now.
Bud rolls in front of you, leading you to the door of the vault. “Hank MacLean and Betty will be here to greet you. You’ll be a part of the Triennal trade, your official entry into vault 33.” He’s rapidly firing off information faster than you can keep up.
You know the protocols, they were drilled into you long before you came down here. For every one of Bud’s Buds they had to marry their way into the vault they were entering. You just prayed Hank was kind enough to give you someone nice to marry, maybe even tall.
The vault’s door is rolling open before you get a chance to prepare yourself. Ten smiling faces stare eagerly at you, you offer them tentative looks. You search among them for Betty and Hank, it takes you a moment to recognize them. To realize that the two old people at the front are Hank and Betty.
They’d been out much longer than you had if the wrinkles were anything to go by.
“Welcome to vault 33!” A big eyed girl shouts at you from behind Hank. You offer her a shaky smile, racking your brain for what you’re supposed to say.
“Thank you,” the words are stilted and you wince internally. “In honor of your welcoming, my vault has sent ahead supplies and crops. My overseer apologizes for not being here to greet you all, but I’m happy to be here!” The words sound scripted, more than you would like.
Betty picks up on your discomfort and ushers you forward. “Come on, you should meet your husband.” You shoot her a scared look but the face she gives you shuts you down. There’s no backing out of this, as much as you might want to. This is your reality now.
“Norm, meet your new bride.”
Well, he’s certainly not tall.
“I still can’t believe you're not pregnant.” You hand Lucy a wrench and she frowns from her place on the floor. She pauses in her repairs of the pipes for a moment to pester you further. “Have you had the doctors check my brother’s sperm count?”
“Lucy!” You admonish, glaring down at her. She shrugs, not finding any fault in the question. You don’t have the heart to tell her that in the three years you’ve been married to her brother you’ve only had sex once.
It was your wedding night, extremely awkward and unpleasant for both of you. Norm wasn’t the type to just easily trust someone he didn’t know and you were still nursing a heartbreak he could never comprehend. He wasn’t a bad husband, he was actually amazing.
You two just seemed to work better as partners rather than husband and wife. You both kept your nightly activities, or lack thereof, to yourselves. It wasn’t exactly smiled upon to not be actively trying to repopulate the earth. But the extremely personal questions about your husband’s sperm and your fertility were beyond annoying.
Still, everytime you even consider trying again with him you think of Cooper and want to cry. “His sperm count is fine. It just takes longer for some couples.” She doesn’t seem like she wants to let it go, but you force her to by shoving her back towards the broken pipe.
You know she’s only been bugging you about it because her time in the trade is coming up. She’s just worried that her relationship will be like yours and Norm’s. She wants kids in a way you can’t bring yourself to and she’s worried her fertility takes after her brother’s.
You understand the fear, but if she asks you one more damn time you’re going to clock her over the head with a hammer. Steph comes up to you both and gives you a placating smile. She must see the murder on your face because she offers to distract Lucy.
You thank her and storm off back to your housing unit. Norm, thankfully, isn’t home when you get there. He’s too perceptive for his own good sometimes. You don’t think you’re mentally there enough to try and lie to him about why you’re upset today.
You decide to just call it a day. You’ll go to bed and when you get up, it will be time for Lucy’s wedding. You can just look forward to that and ignore the issues within your own marriage.
You clutch your bleeding stomach while Norm grabs you and drags you under a picnic table. You both watch in stunned, traumatized, silence as your fellow vault dwellers are slaughtered all around you. Norm’s hand is gripping yours so tight you can feel your bones grinding together but you can’t point it out.
A raider shoots at Bob, the kind old man who would slip you extra jello, and his blood splatters into your open mouth. It’s only a shoulder shot, he could live. But the raider is pulling out his machete and charging towards him. You make to leap out from under the table but Norm yanks you back.
“Norm!” You hiss, but he just shakes his head. Your eyes widen in disbelief, you can’t believe him. Sitting here and watching your friends just die. You could help, you can’t just sit here. You yank your hand out of his and charge out from under the table.
Your arms wrap around the raider’s waist and you both go flying. He lands on top of the wedding cake, frosting smearing across his bald head. You wrestle for his machete, eventually ripping it out of his hand. You thrust it up into his chest and he falls limp on top of you.
You grunt at the impact, slipping on top of Lucy’s ruined cake while you roll him off. Lucy storms down the stairs, holding onto a wound matching yours. She offers you her hand and helps you to your feet. “Norm?” She questions, eyes watering and desperate. You point to where he still sits under the table.
Across from you Steph grabs a gun and starts mowing down raiders left and right. You’re bending over for the raider’s machete when someone knocks into you from behind. You fall forward, head snapping against the concrete and vision going black.
You don’t know how that horrible beginning with Cooper Howard started. When exactly you began to fall for him among your betrayal. But you know how it ends. It ends with you following Lucy MacLean out into the brightness of the Wastelands. It ends with his death and the Ghoul’s birth.
end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
I’m not sure if I’ve put this in my last few posts or not. But, all of my dividers are the creation of @saradika-graphics (give her some love bc she’s amazing)
Broken Machinery
Epilogue (completed series)
Series masterlist
Connor RK800 x fem!reader
A/N: Roses symbolize forgiveness.
I started this story because I thought, if I actually want to start sharing my writing maybe I should start by writing something I don’t really care about. A throwaway story, so if people don’t like it, it won’t hurt me. Ten chapters later and 43.8k (and then some) words later, here we are. I love these characters, and its actually insane how the story developed. It felt like they were telling it through me, that it was the detective and Connor writing not me. I get what fanfiction writers mean now when they say it's hard to keep ‘Y/N’ a blank slate, it’s nearly impossible to stop a unique personality from growing.
Thanks for making it this far, and thanks for taking care of them.
“We’ve got to get you something other than flowers.”
“I have clothes.”
You groaned in exasperation. “Yeah! Hank’s clothes, because you refuse to let me buy you any, for some weird reason.”
Connor gave you a deadpan expression, “I like my flowers.”
You waved him off, “I know, but I want you to be able to put your own touch on the place Connor. I don’t feel like you live here, I feel like you’re couch surfing.” Connor stood up from the couch and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace.
“I’m still figuring out what ‘my touch’ is, Y/N, just be patient with me.” You pulled away and frowned.
“I don’t mean to make you feel bad, Connor. I just want you to feel like this is home.”
Connor smiled and leaned down, pressing a quick kiss against your lips. He pulled back quickly, knowing it was too easy for the both of you to get swept up in your love. Hank would be coming over with Sumo and Carla for dinner soon, he didn’t need him walking in on you two again. The last couple of times were so embarrassing for you, you hadn’t let Connor touch you for a whole week.
He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, he could never grow tired of staring into your eyes. “You are my home, anywhere you are, is home to me. I don’t need a bunch of stuffed animals or knick knacks to know that.” He smiled, “You were my home before I even knew what that meant.”
Tears lined your eyes and you let your head fall into his neck, “This mascara is really expensive, do not make me cry.” He laughed and squeezed you tighter.
“Come on, they’ll be here soon. We should set the table.” You nodded and managed to steal one last kiss before you went off to go set the table.
Connor looked out the kitchen window, out towards the garden.
He had ripped out all the weeds, repainted the fence and planted each of the flowers.
A warm feeling filled him as he stared at his favorite, a lone black dahlia surrounded by roses.
“Connor,” he turned towards you. Hank had arrived while he was staring out at the garden. Carla behind him, holding Sumo’s leash. You were all waiting for him. He left the dahlia behind and made his way towards you.
Towards his family.
Towards home.
end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
Sooooooo
Why have I not seen anyone absolutely wailing over Astarion's reaction if tav is downed in battle after you've got affinity high enough for trust?
"No! You can't die, get up goddamn you!" In the most horrified voice.
Thought about letting myself get merced again on purpose just to make sure I actually heard what I heard.
I watched Prestige (Hugh Jackman movie) at the request/suggestion of one of my anons. What the hell dude? I hated that damn movie. And I am so sorry, but it has to be one of the most infuriating/ridiculously stupid endings I've ever seen.
I will never get those two hours back and it's maddening. WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT WHOLE MOVIE??
It could have been like an hour shorter.
That being said, I might consider writing for it once I cool down from how angry I was at the final scene of that whole thing. The only exciting part was when his wife died.
Broken Machinery
Pt. 2 (completed series)
Series Masterlist
Connor RK800 x fem!reader
A/N: I swear they all get some personality in the next part. Consider the first two chapters ‘world-building’
Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), dead opossum (sorry), Hank’s emotional constipation
Word Count: 3.3k
Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.
“Lieutenant Anderson hasn’t arrived yet, but you can wait at his desk.”
FIND LIEUTENANT ANDERSON’S DESK
Connor examined a wall dedicated to honoring past police officers, before heading towards the back of the police station. A PM700 directed him towards a cluster of three desks. One was positioned horizontally in front of tow others, forming an upside down T. The one to the right was extremely cluttered, you occupied the left. You were writing something down, posture hunched over in a position Connor suspected would leave you with pain later today.
He made his way over to you. “Detective Y/L/N,” you jumped when you heard his voice. On the right of his vision a note reminded him:
MAKE PRESENCE KNOWN
It seemed that you would be startled no matter what warning he gave you. He made the conclusion that behavior like that would prove to be a hazard later. Officers needed to be alert at all times.
You clutched your chest in alarm, “Connor. Sorry, I didn’t see you walk up, and you can just call me Y/N.”
“Do you know when Lieutenant Anderson will arrive?”
You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “If we’re lucky we’ll see him before noon.” There was a hostile tone in your voice, there often was when you spoke of, or to Lieutenant Anderson. He’d have to look into that later, if you two didn’t see eye-to-eye it could compromise the mission.
EXPLORE NEW OFFICE
You looked away from your report as you noticed Connor moving towards Andersons desk. He picked up the headphones lying on the desk and moved them towards his ear.
You could hear the music blaring from where you were sat across from him and had to hold back a smile at the way Connor flinched away from the sounds.
He moved towards the phone on the desk, “Call Hank Anderson.”
“Good luck,” Connor glanced at you but ultimately ignored you as he left a message for Hank.
“This is Connor,” he then added for clarification, “the android sent by CyberLife.”
“I don’t think he knows any other androids, Con, or people.” Again, ignored.
Brat.
“It’s almost noon and I’m waiting for you at the office.” He turned towards you and finally acknowledged your existence once he’d hung up. “Do you dislike Lieutenant Anderson?”
The question shouldn’t have caught you off guard, considering you and Hank don’t exactly hide the hostility. Still, an android calling you out for being a bitch stung a bit.
“It’s not really that,” you paused trying to come up with a way to describe your complicated relationship with Hank. “Simple, it’s not as simple as just disliking him, Connor. We’ve got a lot of history and a lot of complicated feelings surrounding that history.”
He took a seat at the other desk now. Hands in his lap and head tilted like a puppy. He fiddled with his cuff links and examined you, you felt uncomfortable, like he was stripping you bare with those plastic eyes of his. “You were romantically involved with the Lieutenant?”
The coffee you were drinking splashed all over the file in front of you as you choked on it. “What the hell Connor? No! Hank and I were not together.” The thought made you gag. “Why would me saying it’s complicated make you think we dated? There’s so many other explanations?!”
“I apologize if I offended you, Y/N. Police officers are often in high stress, life and death situations. Sometimes partners grow close romantically through those extreme bonds. I just came to the conclusion that perhaps you and Hank were once like that.”
You shook your head vigorously, shaking off the mental image of you and Hank. “Well you’re wrong. And it’s too early to get into this with you.” Connor nodded before getting up from the chair and moving towards the break room.
You saw Gavin go in there earlier and immediately followed behind Connor, hackles already raised.
EXPLORE NEW OFFICE
Speaking with Y/N wasn’t helping Connor with learning more about Hank. From his analysis of her behavior, she didn’t seem to mind androids. She referred to them in gendered pronouns instead of as objects. His relationship with her was lower priority. Her usage of nicknames for Connor led him to the conclusion that she already held an acceptable level of affection for him that would positively affect their working relationship.
Connor entered the break room and scanned the people inside. Detective Gavin Reed and Officer Gina Lee.
“Our friend, the plastic detective, is back in town. Congratulations on last night, very impressive!” The tone was clearly not genuine. You walked into the room silently and began making yourself coffee.
“Hello, detective.”
“I’ve never seen an android like you before. What model are you?”
“RK800, I’m a prototype.”
“A prototype,” he turned towards the officer Lee, “Android detective… So machines are gonna replace us all… is that it?” He pushed Connor back slightly, “Hey, bring me a coffee dipshit.” Connor could hear you slam a cabinet door behind him.
You laughed when he said, “I’m sorry, but I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson.” Gavin almost walked away before turning back around and punching Connor in the middle. That was when you stepped in. You pushed Gavin away from Connors kneeled form and got between the two.
“Make your own coffee dick.”
“You better watch yourself, after last night the captain’s not gonna be too happy if you start another fight.” Connor logged that information away for a later time. Right now he was trying to recover from the blow to a major biocomponent.
“You drew your weapon first Gavin, but go ahead bring that to the attention of the captain.” Gavin scoffed and pushed you back, Connor was finally standing again and stabilized you with a hand to the back.
“What’s your problem, Y/L/N? What would you rather fuck an android than me?” Both you and the detectives cortisol and adrenaline were reaching concerning levels.
“Gavin, get this through your thick fucking skull: I’d rather be fucked gently with a chainsaw than go on a date with you, let alone fuck you.” That seemed to push the detective over the edge, his hand was rising as if to strike you. You just shoved him back and walked out of the break room, “Connor let’s go.” The tone brokered no room for argument. Connor followed behind you and ignored Gavin’s insults that he shot at the both of you as you walked away.
Connor had planned on exploring more but a new objective had popped up.
FOLLOW Y/N
Odd, he’d have to get that checked out. He was only meant to follow Lieutenant Anderson’s orders.
SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^
Hank was at the desk when you made your way back. Your hands were shaking in anger from the interaction with Gavin. The sight of Hank pouting like a petulant child wasn’t helping your temper at all.
“I get the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant.” This was not going to go well and you really didn’t want to witness another temper tantrum this morning. You tried to get Connors attention, shaking your head and mouthing the word stop. He either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “I’d like you to know I’m very sorry about that.”
Hank’s a grown man, he shouldn’t need to have his pride catered to because he was acting like a baby. “Now that we’re partners it would be great to get to know each other better.” Connor’s eager smile was slowly starting to falter and you really wanted to throttle Hank.
Something about Connor made you want to protect him. He was like those little kids with the glasses that made their eyes huge, you wanted to stop anyone that tried to bully him.
Stupid, considering he’s an android and doesn’t actually give a shit about Hank or his feelings, he just wants to complete his mission. “Connor?” He looked at you, the smile back. “Why don’t you get settled at your desk. You can work at this one, since it’s so close to both of us. Deviant files are already on your terminal.”
Connor sat down and you relaxed slightly. Hoping this was the end of the one sided conversation. You should have known better. “Do you like Knights of The Black Death? I really like that music… it’s full of energy.”
That shocked the both of you. You knew he didn’t actually listen to it, he’d just been snooping around Hanks desk, it still was strange to hear an android say he enjoys heavy metal. Seems Hank thought the same, “You listen to heavy metal?”
“Well I don’t really listen to music as such, but I’d like to.” Hank shot you a glare as you struggled not to laugh at his disgruntled face.
“You have a dog, right?”
Hank’s voice got lower and he hunched further into himself, “How do you know that?”
You scoffed, “Jesus Hank, he’s not stalking you. You’ve got dog hair all over.” Hank looked down and frowned at the sight of Sumo’s hair covering his jacket.
“I like dogs.” That was it, you were going to melt. You didn’t care if the feelings were fake or if this was some AI manipulation to gain trust. That was adorable. “What’s your dogs name?”
“What’s it to you-”
“Sumo.” You interrupted Hank before he could act like even more of a jackass. “Sweetest dog ever.” Connor gave you a cordial smile before turning back to Hank.
“I was wondering, do you always arrive at the office at this time?”
“Nope, Connor, no, stooooop,” your whispered warnings weren’t convincing enough to stop his onslaught of questions. You’d noticed Hank had started to relax slightly, but he doesn’t take kindly to people questioning him on his work habits. Or any criticism at all.
“I arrive when I arrive. Now stop busting my balls, okay?” And then he made his final mistake. The basketball game.
“You’re a Detroit Gears fan, right? Denton Carter scored 53% of his shots from the three-point line yesterday. Did you see the game?”
“That’s what I was watching at the bar last night.”
Connors dejected little oh made you glare at Hank. He raised his hands up and glared right back. “Be nice.” Hank waved you off and went back to staring at his terminal.
“What’s your dog's name, Y/N?”
You tilted your head in confusion. “I don’t have one.”
Connor frowned, “There’s dog hair on your jeans.” You looked down and he was right. You hadn’t even noticed this morning, you were in such a rush. Probably should have picked some jeans from the clean pile.
“I volunteer at the dog shelter on weekends, I guess I forgot to wash these. You have a favorite type of dog, Connor?”
“Saint Bernards,” now you know he was just sucking up. Especially with the not so discreet side eye he sent Hank.
“What a coincidence, that’s what Hank’s dog is,” Hank sent you a look that said to keep him out of this conversation. He’d clearly reached his limit for ‘polite’ conversation. “Find anything useful in those reports?”
“An AX400 is reported to have assaulted a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation.” Connor got out of his chair and stood in front of Hank’s desk, Hank who turned his back to him like a child. You were quickly reaching your own limit of how many man-baby’s you could deal with this morning.
“I understand you’re facing personal issues, Lieutenant. But, you need to move past them-” You could perfectly pin-point the moment you knew Connor had fucked up.
“Hey! Don’t talk to me like you know me. I’m not your friend and I don’t need your advice, okay?”
Just as you were going to intervene, Connor did something you should not find attractive but really, really did. He placed his hand on Hank's back and leaned into him. Maybe if you started being a bitch to him he'd get mad at you too.
The thought made you disturbingly excited.
You only checked back into reality when you saw Hank slam Connor against the wall. “Enough! Hank, back off, that’s enough.” He’d been so willing to defend him last night. What had changed? You were both stuck in a pissing match until Chris walked up with information on the AX400.
You straightened Connor’s tie for him and sent him an apologetic smile before grabbing your jacket and following after Hank.
SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^
“We’ve got officers sweeping the neighborhood, in case anyone saw anything.”
Hank sounded as doubtful as you felt when he said, “Okay. Well let me know if they turn anything up.” Connor was just standing in front of the car. Back so straight it made your own ache at the thought of your poor posture.
You walked over to him and it was almost like he was waking up as he addressed you. “It took the first bus that came along… and stayed to the end of the line.”
“Based on her piece of work owner, I’m assuming everything she did was unplanned and out of fear. The android has already been damaged and repaired more times than most. I’m guessing we’ve got another Carlos Ortiz situation on our hands.”
Hank interrupted you with a scoff, “Only one problem, androids don’t feel fear.” You frowned at him.
Connor, however, was quick to back you up. “Deviants do. They get overwhelmed by their emotions and make irrational decisions.”
An idea popped into your head as he spoke. “Then we should approach this similarly to how we would a human. She’s scared, has no money, no plan. She wouldn’t have gone far.”
You examine the area. Abandoned house, desolate parking lot and a motel. “She doesn’t have any money for the hotel, I doubt she’d want to sleep in a broken down car. We should check out the abandoned house.” Connor followed you, Hank somewhat farther behind.
Connor shouted out a quick, “Anybody home?” He looks at the fence surrounding the house and points to something you can’t see. “Blue blood, another android was here.” You nudged Hank none too gently in the ribs.
“Not too bad, huh?”
“For an android.”
You glared at him, “Grumpy old bastard.” You climbed the fence and Connor offered you a hand to help you down. “Thank you.” He led the way towards the back of the house. He glanced through a hole in one of the boarded up windows.
“Android,” he whispered. You were quick to withdraw your weapon. The HK400 from last night had killed itself this morning, Chris had informed you. Slammed its head against the wall until it shut down.
You could never be too careful.
You gave Connor the go ahead to keep moving.
You stopped him when you reached a door. “I’ll handle this.” You entered the house, gun out, and scanned the area. A damaged android was standing in the middle of the room. You slowly lowered your gun and motioned Connor forward when he made no move to attack.
You were still cautious as Connor questioned the android.
“Have you seen any other androids in the area?”
“Ralph seen nobody.”
Something wasn’t right in this house. Call it intuition or the fact that something was seriously disturbed about this deviant, you knew he was lying. You moved slowly behind Connor, trying not to startle Ralph and looked around the room. Was that a-
What the fuck? A burnt opossum, that’s not ever a good sign for someone’s sanity, deviant or not. “That’s Ralph’s blood.” You glanced back over your shoulder at the android. Those wounds weren’t new.
And this table was set for three. Was someone else with the runaway android? A fire was burning, you motioned Connor over and pointed at the fireplace.
“Do androids need heat?” He shook his head and frowned.
“I believe it's lying to us.” You both chanced a look at Ralph but he didn’t seem to be listening.
“I think you might be right.”
“I found the same message from the wall on Carlos Ortiz’s house in another room in here. As well as rA9 scratched into the walls.”
“And the HK400 didn’t give you any helpful information about that?” Connor tilted his head and his eyes scanned your face.
“Were you not paying attention to the interview?”
Heat flooded your face at the question and you could feel it spreading down your neck. “I was … distracted,” by wanting you to handcuff me and talk to me like a-
NOPE! NO!
Boundaries, Y/N, professional boundaries.
He frowned at your admission, “No, he didn’t give me any valuable information. Just the vague admission that it would set me free.” Connor moved away from you, if you didn’t know better you would think that he was annoyed you weren’t paying attention last night. You felt guilt pool in your stomach at the thought that you missed Connors ‘big moment.’
Weapon still in hand you made your way to the stairs, Connor following. Ralph was quick to deny anyone was upstairs, too quick. But Connor shook his head at your doubt, “He’s telling the truth.”
You holstered your gun and moved towards the bottom of the stairs. Movement caught your eye behind a bookshelf. Just as you leaned towards it Ralph yanked you back. Hands under your arms and uncontrolled android strength squeezing the life out of your ribs. “Run, Kara, go!” The bookshelf flew back and two shapes ran out. You were struggling with Ralph too much to realize she had a little girl with her.
Connor rushed over and yanked Ralph’s arms off your waist just as Hank appeared in the doorway. “It’s here, call it in!”
You pushed Connors hands off of you, “Hurry, go after her!” You were still catching your breath when you felt Hank's heavy hand on your back. “I’m fine, let’s go!” He seemed hesitant before following after you. You managed to just barely follow the blur that Connor was forming in the rain.
You were embarrassingly out of breath when you caught up to him, Hank in a similar state of distress. “Shit!” Before you, there was a chain link fence, a busy highway on the other side. You could see the android climbing over the barrier that blocked off traffic, “Fuck, is that a kid?” She was pulling a little girl behind her as they ran into the middle of the busy road.
The cars were going by so fast you couldn’t even make out the colors. The android had a tight hold on the little girl’s arm as she tugged them in between cars, barely missing being hit.
“That’s insane!”
You nodded along at what Hank said, anxiety filling you at the sight of the girl. “She’s gonna get her killed. Jesus!” You wanted to look away as you heard the little girl screaming and the AX400 nearly get its leg taken off by a car going too fast to stop.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Your head shot back to Connor, Hank’s hand was pulling him down as he attempted to climb the fence.
“I can’t let them get away!”
“They won’t, they’re never gonna make it Connor.” Connor shook both yours and the Lieutenants hands off of him.
“I can’t take that chance!” You pulled in Connor again, “Jesus Connor, enough!”
“Hey, you will get yourself killed!” You were shocked at Hank’s reluctance to let Connor go, if anything you would think he’d be more than eager to let Connor get run over. “Do not go after them Connor, that’s an order!” Hank then looked at you and shoved an accusing finger in your face, “And you keep your ass on this side of the fence!”
You shoved his hand out of your face, of course you knew you shouldn’t cross the highway. It was idiotic and you’d most likely distract both the android and the little girl and they’d both end up roadkill. Still, it was hard to just let them go and not try and help at all.
“Oh thank god.” They’d made it across, while it was shocking, at the very least you didn’t have to see a little girl get splattered across the pavement.
Connor seemed almost angry as he walked away from you and Hank.
“That could have been really bad, Hank.” You winced as you took in a painful inhale. Your ribs were most likely just bruised, not cracked, but it still hurt like a bitch.
He nods and gives Connor a strange look. He wrapped an arm around your waist and helped you back to the car. “Yeah, I know.”
end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
Kid?
Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)
It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment.
You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan.
You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation.
And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling.
Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding.
The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”
You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name.
You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.
Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through.
That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected.
He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”
You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head.
Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”
Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit.
You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles.
Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?
You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout.
You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it.
You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.
You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”
The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean.
There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly.
You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.
You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath.
“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something.
Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check.
You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.
“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull.
You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott.
“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger.
You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps.
Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him.
“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be.
You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes.
Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest.
You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.
You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space.
You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices.
You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”
You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together.
He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”
“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart.
You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen.
Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others.
You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal.
Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside.
“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?
Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear.
As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers.
They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds.
You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other.
You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs.
“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan.
You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities.
You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid.
You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode.
“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns.
“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being.
This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”
His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids.
Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone.
“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission.
At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave.
It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy.
You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse.
They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold.
Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen.
He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead.
Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down.
Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue.
Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur.
Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened.
Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash.
They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up.
He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this.
The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize.
You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus.
A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”
Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up.
You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more.
He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”
Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”
He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be.
“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal.
“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”
It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?
Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too.
Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”
He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”
You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia.
Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze.
“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire.
The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”
The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold.
His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you.
He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment.
But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire.
You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you.
“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”
“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”
He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”
You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”
His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming.
“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”
Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”
You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him.
A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus.
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.
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