I Am Absolutely Feral

ELLIE P꩜RN LINKS. mdni (18+)

⪩⪨ CONTENT WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. smut. fem!reader. use of cunt. p 0 r n links below so interact with this at your own risk! these videos include faces fitting, oral receiving on both ends, cunnilingus, use of strap (r!r), reverse and standard cowgirl positions, mutual masturbation, backshots, and orgasms. all videos are from twitter and the hub!

◜◡◝ NOTE: surpriseeeee! i haven't been active too much but i did get a chance to make this for you filthy things ༼;´༎ຶ ༎ຶ༽ . i hope you guys enjoy this while i work on other things! minors please do not interact or you'll be blocked, i do look. do not watch this with your sound up or in a public setting!! thank you for all of the support and don't forget to like/reblog!! <3 feel free to save btw!

☆⺌ ellie's favorite pass time being you sitting on her face for long periods of time, using her mouth as if it wasn't attached to a whole person. her hands can't seem to find a place to settle as you grind hard and slow onto her tongue, too eager to reach your third orgasm to acknowledge the fact that ellie can only go so long without breathing (not that she minds of course).

☆⺌ ellie has no problem manhandling you around when you squirm and run from her eager mouth that has yet to disconnect from you. she ignores your whines and pleads of desperation for her to stop, only forcing you back onto her mouth with strong arms before fucking you dumb on her tongue in return of your third orgasm that night.

☆⺌ if you were capable of thinking right now, you'd estimate that you've officially been fucked into seven different positions by ellie. you don't know when you got home or how your clothes came off, but you were bent onto your hands and knees, ellie's hands tight around the expanse of your hips and her pelvic area slamming into your backside with every mean thrust she gives. by the grin settled between her cheeks when you look back, you think seven might become right.

☆⺌ the whimpers and screams of ellie's name that leave your filthy mouth only urges her to fuck into you deeper. her hands are locked at the back of your knees, pushing both legs into your chest just for each push inside of your soaking cunt to send jolts of pleasure through the core of your body. you've yet to say anything but her name and 'please' and she's well aware you aren't begging her to stop.

☆⺌ ellie pulling you back and forth dead on her strap, cheeks burning when she can't stop smiling at your voice begging and urging her to keep going, but harder and faster and deeper. she'd lean down a bit and ask you while pushing the arch in your back deeper with the front of her body, her dick now reaching unthinkable places. "is this deep enough, baby?"

☆⺌ your breath is warm against ellie's neck as you huff and pant from the pent of energy inside of you, every bit going into grinding yourself on her strap. there's a pair of hands gripping the fat of your ass, squeezing and pulling encouragingly, paired with slight thrusts of her own, unable to help the ache in her own clit that only seems to go away with every bump of the strap from your movements against her.

☆⺌ there's a consistent pattern of sounds that's heard throughout the room. lewd and vulgar slapping noises sounding from the movements of you bouncing up and down repeatedly on ellie's lap. she's laid back tonight, letting you do most of the work and you truly don't mind. to see the amazed look in her eyes, her lips pulled apart and the pull of her eyebrows after the strap grinds against her clit just right. she's so beautiful and ellie is only thinking the same thing.

☆⺌ you're so appreciative of your girl, so you figured it was time to return the favor. you're happy on your hands and knees as ellie holds the back of your head to keep you still, rubbing herself back and forth on your tongue with restricted moans and poorly hidden cries. "ah fuck, y/n. mouth is so good, baby, gonna cum all over it, kay?" her voice is laced with this dominance that never seems to leave no matter her position and you're more than happy to oblige.

☆⺌ it's 1pm and it looks like the two of your overslept once again, but instead of leaving bed to be productive, you decide to do so in other ways. not too soon after waking you, you find your naked body pull tight against ellie's equally naked body, slowly you two move against each other's lean thighs, sighing deeply at the feeling of burning skin rubbing against your throbbing clits. she smiles at the kisses you give to her cheeks and chapped lips, returning the love as her hands caress every inch of your hot skin with her cold fingertips. you're almost 100% sure this is why they call them 'good mornings'

This is so cool omfg

Does anyone actually wanna help me make a dating sim?? <3!!

I have no idea how to start and I would love people to help on dialogue and decision stuff!! <3

Let me know if ur up for it!!

Also it May be a Nsfw +18 plus!!

I'm so happy for him 🦇

I need a part 2 yesterday THIS IS SO GOOD AJDJAJD

— trouble will find me

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship

a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”

You can feel his eyes follow you.

Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

But there’s something in the way he watches.

A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.

Indulging, almost. Unashamed.

You might have a crush.

You're trying not to think about it too much.

Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.

It's all bright lights.

The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.

He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.

Logan is so different from the ones before him.

Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.

Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.

It was exhausting.

Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.

Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.

It's not how you saw him, though.

His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.

You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.

Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.

You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.

Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.

He'll last longer than the others, at least.

More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.

An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.

You’ve been thinking about that for days.

There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.

But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.

It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.

The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.

With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.

A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.

Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.

You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.

Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.

A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.

There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.

"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.

A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.

"Come on, man. I saw her first."

Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."

Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."

And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.

The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.

You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.

Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.

"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.

His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"

Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.

"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.

"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"

That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."

"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.

Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.

You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.

The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.

There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.

But it hasn't been like this.

Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.  

"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."

"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”

Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.

You break the eye contact first.

“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”

Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.

“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”

There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”

The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”

A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.

“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.

Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.

“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”

A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”

Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.

“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”

The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.

You’re undeterred.

“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”

Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.

“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”

All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.

The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.

Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.

“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”

Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.

“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.

The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.

Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.

It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.

“Making a mess.”

You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.

The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.

“That for me?”

Your head nods, “Logan, please-”

There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.

“Ask me.” He coos.

“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”

Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.

The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.

His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.

The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.

Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.

“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”

He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.

The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open.

You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.

Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.

The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.

“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.

Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.

His other hand taps against your thigh.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”

His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.

A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.

Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.

“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”

He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.

“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”

It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.

The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.

It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.

“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”

The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.

His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.

Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.

“Open.”

They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.

“Good girl.”

It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.

A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.

Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.

Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.

Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.

Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.

“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.

All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.

“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”

A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.

“I’m taking you home.”

ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)

Okay, so I’ve been wanting to write a a Logan x OC fanfic with the OC as a professor at Charles school and I wrote the first chapter (really short cause its just sort of a bit of background) and I thought I’d post it here just to see how people would receive it!

(Also this is set when she’s about fifteen, the actual first chapter is going to be a major time jump, so through the fic she’ll be about 30)

Warnings: runaway teen (?), sleeping in a diner, she thinks Charles is kinda weird, not proof read lmao, nothing else I don’t think?

———————

She woke up cold. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, sore with sleep. It was too frigid in the small diner, the heater did little in the winter and they had put her right by the door that let in a breeze every time it swung open; biting her skin. Her own attire wasn’t much help either, she thought.

The too-big sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders wasn’t thick enough to keep her warmer than her own body heat could, and her jeans were still wet from falling into the snow outside of the empty diner. The only warmth she had was from the thick leather boots on her feet that were two sizes too big.

The heavy thrill of hail outside the small diner window was a heavy patter in her ear drums. The bright beaming twenty-four hour sign hummed against the window, the fluorescent light flickering harsh blue and red light.

She pressed her open palm to the side of her cheek, eyes looming over the other patrons. Most of the diner was vacant, the waitresses bide behind the counters and the heavy steam of coffee burned in the air. She felt hunger nestle in the pit of her empty stomach, if she had enough shoved away in her rucksack she could get pancakes, if she had enough energy she wouldn’t need to pay for them at all. But she had a feeling she would.

She pushed against the table, stretching carefully, ignoring the always present ache in her limbs. Her fingers pushed against her scalp, feeling against her boyish cut hair.

It was just getting long enough for the curls to furl beside her ear, but it still bristled against her fingers. It made people stare less the more it grew, and she was thankful. Soon enough she’d attract even less attention.

Maryn could hear the soft clicking of heels, it was the waitress, she could hear the whisper of her thoughts flutter against her skull. Her mind was always hazy after sleeping, so none of the whispers were coherent enough for her to understand. She didn’t look up until she was right beside the table.

“You want anything, sweetheart?” She had a pot of coffee in her hand, and a southern lilt in her voice. “You’ve been here a while, you must be hungry.”

If she had noticed Maryn sleeping only moments ago she didn’t mention it, but her thoughts fluttered with concern.

“Pancakes?” Maryn blinked up at her.

The waitress nodded, her name tag read Hellen. She had blonde straw-like hair and yellow rimmed glasses.

“How about some chocolate chip pancakes, huh? Knock your socks right off.” She smiled, and Maryn nodded, unwilling to deny the indulgence. “I’ll get those right out, sweet pea.”

She walked away, bright red shoes clicking as she did. She was nice.

Maryn sunk back into her seat, one of the waitresses turned on a radio and through the storm the music didn’t sound like it had any words, covered by static, but its gentle tune was nice enough.

She rubs the ache over her tired eyes, she’d have to walk further when the sun finally came up. If her jeans dried before she left the diner maybe she’d make it further than she did today. Just the thought of more walking made her head throb and ache.

Hitching a ride wasn’t a far idea for her, but didn’t like all the questions that came with asking for help. They can’t help it, always the most obvious questions first, Where are your parents? Are you all alone? Shouldn’t you be in school? She was tired of it.

The soft jingle of the bell hanging over the door rang lightly as it swung open. Maryn tugged her sweater closer when the biting breeze crept through the sleeves.

Another soft flutter of whispers filled her head, she ignored them. She didn’t care to hear anyone else's thoughts. But they grew closer, until someone was coming up beside her table again, and then the whispers were gone.

“Hello.” An accented voice greeted. “Mind if I join you?”

She looked up at the man beside her table, her eyes trailing up the silvery metal of the wheelchair he was sitting in before his face.

He was older, weathered and looked at her with a familiar kind of smile while wearing the nicest suit she had ever seen. A deep blue with a matching tie and one of those pieces of fabric people shove into the chest pocket. It made him stand out, looking strange in the rickety diner.

She doesn’t say anything, but he picks up the menu at the other end of the table and she doesn’t stop him.

“I’m Charles Xavier.” He said warmly, he extended a hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

She looked at his hand curiously before reaching out to shake it slowly. His hand is warm.

“Hi.” She said, wearily. He looks at their joined hands when they touch.

“Cold,” He smiles, “I’d imagine this is the warmest place around these parts.”

“For a few miles.” Maryn shrugs, he didn't seem like the worst person to have a conversation with.

“Did you walk yourself here?” She nodded. “The next town isn’t for miles. You must be exhausted.”

She shrugged, again. She felt how she always felt. Cold, tired, achy. His eyes trail over the rucksack tucked into her side.

“Is that all your things?” She nodded, tugging her bag closer.

“What I can carry.” She tells him. He hums.

“It looks heavy. Must have been difficult in this weather.”

“It’s alright.”

“If you say so.” He smiles.

She nods.

Charles, the strange British man, didn’t seem annoyed by her silence, but she was rather perturbed by his. His mind was completely silent, not a single whisper.

Usually she couldn’t keep other people’s thoughts away, only if she really concentrated she could quiet the noise down for a little bit, but it’s like his mind was completely empty.

Her dark fawn-like eyes trail up his head. She usually didn’t have to focus so much, and even now as she did, she heard nothing.

You won’t get anything up here, Maryn.

She jumped in her seat.

“Alright, baby, I got your pancakes and–oh,” Hellen came back with a hot steaming stack of chocolate chip pancakes. She looked between the two, eyeing Charles, “Is everything alright over here?”

“Yes, splendid, could I get some coffee, please? And,” He pauses to look at Maryn, “A milkshake, for my friend.”

There was only one milkshake on the menu, vanilla.

Hellen looks at her first, and then back at him.

“Of course. Coming right up, sugar.” And she clicks away again.

Charles smiled at her, kindly.

“It’s rude to snoop, you know.” He says, though there’s not much sternness in his tone.

“Most people don’t seem to mind.” She said plainly.

Charles dipped his head with a funny smile.

“I’m sure they don’t.”

“How do you know my name?” She asked, picking up her fork and butter knife as she did. She was curious but still starving. She grabbed the syrup at the end of the table, smothering her cakes.

“Because I have been keeping an eye on you for quite some time, Maryn.” He admits, watching her scarf down her pancakes like they’d run away from her. “You are very special.

“Special" isn't the word most people use.” She says out of the edge of her mouth, still chewing.

“We are not most people.” Charles hums.

“Yeah,” she muttered plainly.

“I’ll admit, your…capabilities are more advanced than I’ve seen in others your age.” He observed, “It’s quite impressive.”

Maryn doesn’t say anything to that. She didn’t have anything to say. Charles continues.

“You know, most mutant children I find are often in groups. They find one another, and protect each other.” His fingers drum on the fake carved plastic, “You remain by yourself. Have you not met others?”

She cuts jaggedly into her pancakes.

“I have.” She chews.

“And what happened?”

She thought about not telling him, then she thought he already knew and was just waiting for her to say it. Either way, he waits patiently across from her, waiting for her to say something; same gentle look in his eye.

“There's something inside me.” She admits, dubiously, “It scares people.”

“Does it scare you?” Again, she doesn’t answer.

Charles looked at her for a long time, she almost thought he was going to go away, leave her there, growing frustrated with her insolence. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at her with the same familiar smile.

“I have a school.” He says, “It’s not much now, barely a handful of students, even less teachers, but I created it for gifted children. Children like you.”

Maryn stared at him, her fork stabbing a piece of pancake on her plate.

“A school?”

He nods.

“I’d very much like you to attend.” He tells her, eyes looking her over, “Perhaps I can help you.

He seems to mean it. It’s the first time she can’t see into someone’s mind to know if they’re telling the truth or not, but she has a feeling, an unfamiliar feeling, that she can trust him.

She looked down at her plate, “What if you can’t?”

Charles looks at her carefully.

“Then maybe I can help you learn to control it.” Maryn looks up at him. “At the least, you’ll have a warm bed, food. Clothes that fit.”

For the first time since they started talking, she smiles. It’s small, but it’s there.

“Alright, a coffee for you,” They both looked at Hellen as she came back, “And a milkshake for you, Angel.”

“Yes, we’ll have the check please.” Charles says kindly. Then he places his forefinger and his middle finger to his temple and looks Hellen in the eyes,“You will not remember us once we leave.”

Maryn watches the waitress's eyes glaze over from behind her glasses before she smiles again.

“I’ll get that right out for you.”

Maryn looked at Charles.

“Can I do that?”

“We shall see, won’t we?” His lips spread into a thin smile. “Finish your pancakes.”

——————-

Omg I feel so anxious I literally have never done this before 😭 but please let me know what you guys think! If I do decide to post the whole fic it’ll prob be on ao3 just cause I plan to make it pretty long/slow burn

But I hope u guys like it 🙌🙌

ABOUT CHERRY

NAMES/NICKNAMES: Mar, Cherry

PRONOUNS: she/her

SEXUALITY: biisexual

AGE: 20

RANDOM STUFF: I was named after Bob Marley and Marilyn Monroe, I do my own tattoos so all of my upper body ones (besides one) are all on my left arm, I’m in college for Kinesiology (previously studio art but fuck that), I’ve had a passion for writing since middle school, I’ve had the same best friend for 11 years, I only started writing smut this last year.

FACE DESCRIPTION: I have dark brown hair that reaches my shoulder and baby bangs, dark brown eyes, tawny brown skin tone. No facial piercings. I’ve been told many times I look like Taylor Russell which I always love to hear. Have also been told I look like the female version of Omar Rudberg a lot.

FAVORITES: Favorite color: blue, Favorite video game: the last of us 2, Favorite animal: sting rays, Favorite mythical creature: mermaids, Favorite show: Interview with the Vampire, Favorite Hobbies: writing, singing, shopping

Characters I’ve written for/would like to write for: Abby Anderson, Logan Howlett, Frank Castle, Jax Teller, insomniac!Peter Parker, Ellie Williams, Smallville!Clark Kent, Steve Rodgers, Bucky Barnes, Mickey 17/18, Edward Cullen, Cedric Diggory, Sevika, Remus Lupin, Eddie Munson, any Pedro Pascal character, Armand the vampire, Rodrick Heffley, Steve Harrington, Vi (arcane)

dating apps are the trenches

what business does patrick wilson have looking so good 🙄

mike: doing literally anything in S5

jonathan, behind him, plotting his murder:

"how do you get stuff done?" bitch with tears in my eyes 😭