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It perverts the feeling, somehow, that he wants her back. That he grabs at her hips with large hands, digging into her flesh, bruising, turning her inside out, that he looks at her like that, with furrowed brows and piercing blue eyes. It twists the feeling, somehow, feels like a knife lodged into Lorna’s belly, and it almost hurts, physically inside of her body. Feels like a stain, a bruise that will never heal, that will never fade. Something she can look at and dig into when she spins in front of a mirror like a ballet dancer in a music box.It’s a violating feeling. She feels ill, sick with it, spinning in her guts, like she’s going to pass out, like she’s going to throw up, like she’s going to die. Magneto doesn’t move.She wants to say something. Wants to say something biting, something sharp — for are they not both sharp? Is that not the only thing they are capable of being? — tear him apart, maybe. Bite at his throat until she can rip it out with her bare teeth. Tell him she hates him.“Erik,” slips out of her, instead, and he grabs at her hips harder — so hard it feels like her bones are going to shatter, so hard Lorna groans in pain — face twisting, pulls her closer, until her pelvis rubs against his erection. Pulling her against him, easily like that with just one movement, and it flips in her stomach again, causing her to have to swallow down something that feels like bile, a little bit, almost.“Don’t call me that,” he says, like it’s simple, plainly putting it like that, like he’s not holding her like he is right now. Like he’s not on top of her, like he’s not completely dwarfing her, like he’s not her father, like he doesn’t make her feel like a little girl, like his words don’t make her want to sob in anger. “That’s not who I am. Not to you. Don’t call me that.”It makes her angry. Makes her angry how steady Magneto is on top of her, like none of this matters to him, like none of this makes him stumble, like he doesn’t care. Makes her angry how his hands are trembling ever so slightly where he’s still holding her punishingly. Makes her angry that he’s not even giving her this excuse, not even letting her hide from this, not in the tiniest of ways.Lorna contemplates closing her eyes. Squeezing them shut and telling him to leave, to leave her alone, to never come back. What would he do then? Would he leave? Would she feel better after? Will she always feel this dirty, this rotten, this twisted?“Okay, Dad,” she spits back instead, because there’s never been anything but fire between them. He’s still frowning at her, but his face doesn’t move. Doesn’t indicate anything about what’s in his head, what’s in his heart, and Lorna tells herself she doesn’t want to know about any of that anyway.The thing is: he’s her father and he loves her. The thing is: she’s his daughter and she loves him, too. The thing is: love has always been painful for them, and his love is the heaviest of burdens, like Atlas holding the world on his shoulders. The thing is: where the hell did they go wrong? The thing is: he’s still not letting go of her, and she thinks she doesn’t want him to.It’s strange, how this moment is suspended in limbo, how neither of them moves. How Magneto is still just hovering above her, kneeling, not making any further moves. When Lorna imagined this — and she did, so many times, with that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but now it is worse because now it is real — he was doing things. Guiding her, perhaps like a father should.(Though not in the way he did in her imagination, of course. Not with his hand cupping her between her legs, his other hand around her throat, holding her against his chest. Not with his fingers pushing aside fabric and pushing inside of her. Not with her waking up with ragged breath, lungs on fire, before crying harder than she ever has before in her life.)But now, he’s just not… doing anything. Like they’re not pressed together. Like he’s not bruising her simply by loving her. Like he’s not hard and pressed against her, like he doesn’t desire her. Lorna imagines Magneto watching her, wondering, fantasizing. Lorna imagines Magneto touching himself, thinking about his daughter’s hair, about her skin, about her legs and her breasts and her insides.She wants to throw up. She wants to cry. But, most of all, she doesn’t want to slip in front of him. Doesn’t want to be weak — doesn’t want to hear another speech about their honor and their legacy. This time with his cock pressed up against her.She almost laughs at that thought.“You’re a coward,” she says out loud. Her hands are trembling where she’s twisted them into the sheets — trembling in anger, that neverending burning anger that threatens to swallow her whole. She wants to scream and kick and punch against his chest, but she sucks in a breath, clenches her jaw. “You’re such a fucking coward, Erik.”Magneto’s face twists again, and it almost feels like triumph in Lorna’s chest. Feels like she’s won, feels like she’s won where she always wanted to win. She wants to be his favorite always. She wants to be his most prized possession, his most precious little jewel. She wants him gone from her life forever.“I told you not to call me that,” he hisses, fingertips digging into her hips again, and this time, Lorna can feel the bite of his fingernails through his gloves. This time, she gasps, high-pitched and needy, this time, he leans in until he’s crowding her, his breath on her face hot until she feels feverish, until she feels like she’s going to die. This time, her cunt clenches down on nothing, like all she wants is to be filled by him. Like that would fix her, maybe.Magneto’s face softens at the noise she makes, and somehow, that makes all of it even worse. Somehow, that changes it from uncomfortable but throbbing to unbearable and the best thing she’s ever experienced. No one else has ever touched her like this, this intense, this visceral. It’s always been him, from the moment she was born, echoing in her rib cage, in her soul, pulled to him like a magnet.“I’m sorry,” he says, and Lorna furrows her brows so hard she thinks her forehead is going to split open. Magneto brushes his thumbs over her hips like a caress, and she swallows, swallows, swallows. There’s something raging inside of her, and she’s throbbing where he’s still pressed against her. “You have to know that I — that I love you, child. You have to know that.”It’s everything she’s always wanted to hear. It’s everything she wants to hear, still, every single day. It’s everything, and he’s holding her hips and his cock is pressed against her and he looks at her with an expression so pained that it hurts in her chest, that it cracks her rib cage open, until he could reach inside and pull out her heart.(Not like he doesn’t already hold it in his palm. She tells herself he doesn’t know about that. Who knows, maybe he tells himself the same.)“I don’t,” she says, because she wants to be mean. Because all of this is so much easier if she’s mean. It’s always easier if she’s mean with him. “I don’t know that.”(It’s not because she’s insecure. It’s not because she’s genuinely unsure. It’s not because there’s something trembling in her rib cage. It’s not because the little girl inside of her is crying her eyes out. It’s not because her head is throbbing. It’s not because she wants him so bad, anything, so bad that she’d take it all. It’s not because she wants to swallow him whole. It’s not.)Magneto looks at her for a moment more, and she wants to reach out and cup his face. Drag her thumbs down his laugh lines. Brush her hands into his hair. Touch him, touch him, touch him — he is touching her, too, after all, so why should she not be allowed? — but for some reason, she can’t move.Then he sighs, sags against her just the tiniest bit, closes the gap, and his hair tickles on her forehead when his sinks to it. Like this, he’s all blurry. Like this, Lorna has to swallow again. Like this, she could —“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and just like that, she’s burning again. An explosion of lighter fluid, this anger that drives her to tears, this anger that threatens to tear her apart.(You’re my father, she thinks. You’re my father, you’re my father, you’re my father, chanting it desperately in her head, screaming like a child, sobbing like a little girl. You’re my father, so fucking act like it.)Instead of acting on the bone-deep hurt — something she’s sure would just make her look pathetic — Lorna claws into his neck, under his jawline, into his pulse. Tilts her head so her lips brush against his — and the first touch is violent, feels almost like a slap to the face; his cock is pressed against her and he’s grabbing at her hips but this is the point of no return; this is when everything inside of her explodes in stars and gunpowder — so she can bite down on his bottom lip until she can taste iron.It explodes in her mouth, makes her groan, and Magneto’s cock jumps where it’s pressed against her. Everything goes black, everything goes blood-red, everything vanishes when one of his hands flies up and rests against her throat, thumb tilting her chin up as he kisses her back.Lorna is right back to the beginning. It perverts the feeling, somehow, that he wants her back. It still doesn’t manage to change anything about how much she wants him.“Child,” he groans, voice all smoke and gravel, and she wants him to say her name. Wants him to tell her he loves her again — something he only says once every blue moon, something she can never bring herself to fully believe. Will she ever? Will he ever look at her with anything other than this heaviness, this lead dragging her down, down, down?She bites him again to shut him up. Bites him harder, feeling almost feral in her chest, in her rib cage, trying to claw its way out of her, until he growls, until he presses his palm against her throat, until he presses her into the mattress to keep her out of range.Blood drips from his mouth on her lips, into her mouth, down her chin. Lorna is breathless, chest heaving, lungs raw. She can taste him now, can breathe him in, and right here, right now, she’s closer to her father than she’s ever been before.(She wants to beg him, somehow, for something. Thinks he should know what she’s asking for — almost angrily — because he’s her father. Who would know better than him?And in the end, she’s never been able to accept anything he tells her. And in the end, she rejects everything that comes out of his mouth simply because it comes from him.)“You’re mine,” she says, voice a croak against Magneto’s palm still pressing against her windpipe. She digs her fingernails deeper into his skin, and he doesn’t as much as flinch. “You’re mine.”It’s desperate, perhaps. Clawing at him like he’s going to turn into dust between her fingers, like he’s going to leave her behind, like he’s going to abandon her. Like he’s going to look her in the eye — who she really is, angry and messy and twisted; that want for him carved into her bones — and decide it’s not worth it. Decide to leave her like he’s left so many people, like he’s left her siblings before.(The only difference is that she has his powers. The only difference is that she’s like him, in a way that makes him uncomfortable, but not enough. The only difference is that it’s never been about her.)Magneto doesn’t say anything, but he does lean in and kiss her again. Gently, like he means it, like he loves her, and Lorna hates it. She hates him.