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incognit0slut · 14 days ago

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was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #angst #angst with no happy ending

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actual-changeling · 1 year ago

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welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, today's topic: the chest touch at the pub. that scene has me in a chokehold for some reason and i still cannot stop thinking about it.

the first thing i wanna talk about is crowley's reaction, since this is the shorter part. he did not expect aziraphale to reach out to him like this and freezes for a second while aziraphale happily chatters away.

they were both walking and the hand on his chest stops him, so he comes to a stop right next to him while he was slightly behind him before that. his gaze also snaps to aziraphale's face, who is very much not looking at him.

they were having a conversation, but the touch essentially shuts crowley up and zira leaves him to get their drinks.

now, my question is why aziraphale does it. sure, it could just be an absent gesture since they're in a crowded place, just that he has never really done so before. i think it was very much planned, like asking crowley to dance and grabbing his hand later on.

a second before he actually reaches out, he also looks back to check whether crowley is where he thinks he is. that is the only time he does that, he was busy looking for a free table and miracles them one when he cannot find one - the look back is deliberate. especially since crowley is practically glued to his side, he has no need for confirmation, he can feel him brushing against him while walking.

the hand motion he does gets me, too. he is busy fidgeting with his hands like normal and has them clasped in front of him. aziraphale lifts them once he gets to "that is precisely the point", yet also already moves it slightly towards crowley, realizes he miscalculated where exactly he/his chest is, looks to check, then looks away again before actually touching him. am i reading too much into it? maybe.

i think it is his version of a little temptation. not only does it make crowley's brain short-circuit for a second, he also gets them their drinks and is now (or so aziraphale hopes) a bit calmer and will take the news aziraphale is about to give him better. the conversation at the cafe did not go entirely as planned, after all.

additionally, something i am not sure if other people have noticed or not is that aziraphale does not just touch crowley, it is a caress. he moves his hand down his chest.

the movement in order:

bar girl unfortunately moves in front of them, but you can clearly see the way his hand takes. to give you a direct comparison of the starting and end point:

a good point of reference is crowley's bolo tie but also the angle of aziraphale's arm while it is still visible.

the best part, in my opinion, is that aziraphale puts his hand right on top of crowley's heart. i think the symbolic importance of that is pretty clear and does not require any more explanation, although it makes me want to throw myself into a river. but that's by the by.

to summarize, aziraphale caresses crowley's heart chest to get him to calm down and not go insane over the news he is about to give him. he is also simply a bastard and knows exactly what he is doing to crowley.

as always, this is me going nuts with analysis, but i'm also curious to hear other people's thoughts on this.

don't tell my therapist about my unhinged meta posts or she will probably be very concerned for my mental wellbeing

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #good omens meta #any grammar or spelling errors are my own #my brain is not being coherent lately

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roosterforme · 5 months ago

Text

Mr. Right Now Part 3 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: When Jake teaches you about foreplay, he also gives you a lesson in patience. Your body feels like it wants to rush through the motions, but he has a way of coaxing pleasure from you that you didn't realize any man was capable of.

Warnings: adult language, sexual touching, oral sex, fingering, 18+

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

Your words were echoing in Jake's thoughts.

"I want you to make me feel good."

This was why he wanted to engage in small talk in the first place. To get to know you and let you see that he was capable of being more than a quickie to satisfy your agenda. He could be the opposite of the other guys, especially the ones at the bar. They wouldn't have the patience or take the time to make it good for you. But Jake would make sure you learned what you needed to know, and you'd have a smile on your face the whole time. As he gripped the globe of your ass with one big hand, he was getting more and more certain that he'd be smiling right along with you.

"That's more like it, Darlin'," he crooned. "I'll take care of you."

Your lips were brushing his with every little movement and every breath you took. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been with someone so eager, and it was almost comical how unwilling you were to accept that fact. He smiled as your fingers grasped at the back of his neck while you rubbed your lace covered pussy all over the front of his jeans without much finesse.

Not that it was unappealing. Not at all.

Just as your hand found its way down his body, ready to dip back inside his pants, he started to guide you away from his kitchen counter and your abandoned wine glass full of ice water. "Alright, Darlin'. Time to see how much you've learned so far. What was lesson number one?"

You seemed to be in a bit of a daze as he walked you backwards out of the kitchen and through the living room. "Um... don't talk about another guy when I'm touching your cock?" you whispered, eyes glued to his face.

"Very good. Now it's time for lesson number two: foreplay," he told you as he walked you backwards out of the kitchen and through the living room. You were wearing your tight tank top, a black thong, and your Converse sneakers. Your nipples were hard against his abdomen, making you all too appealing in your innocence. "And if you like the way that progresses, we can head right into lesson number three: oral sex."

Your eager eyes were wide as you looked up at him and asked, "You want me to give you a blowjob?"

He sure fucking did. He could already imagine the way you might hesitate before ultimately letting him guide you. His cock throbbed again as he thought about your excited but unpracticed moves. Shit. But truly, that's not what he'd been referring to.

"Not exactly," he grunted, mouth already watering at the scent of your arousal. You swallowed hard, your brow puckering softly like you couldn't understand his words. "We'll get there soon enough. But first..."

Jake liked to think he was good at foreplay. Whether he actually wanted to know about it or not, his older sisters were never quiet when they used to talk about guys, and he'd picked up a few vital bits of sage advice. One of them was the simple fact that women would go absolutely wild for a guy who was willing to spend the time required to really get them going. Even better if it was obvious he was enjoying himself, too.

So he got to work, but it didn't feel like work at all. Not when he had you pushed up against the wall in the hallway with his thick thigh wedged between yours. "Oh my god," you gasped, fingers tangled up in his hair. He let his lips meet yours before you finished speaking, and he kept them parted with his. One soft swipe of his tongue into your mouth, and you were rolling your hips against him.

You moaned softly as you broke the kiss, head tipped back against the wall. "Damn, you look cute," Jake grunted, and you made another soft sound as he examined your needy face. Then he licked a stripe along the side of your neck before kissing the same path and whispering, "You taste good, too. The other guys don't even know what they're missing."

"Jake." You were squeezing his thigh with your legs now as you clung to him, but he continued to casually sucked on your neck just above your collarbone. "Jake!"

"Feel good?" he asked, determined to make sure you were still enjoying yourself along the way before he kept going further. "Or you want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare stop," you practically shouted, ending on a soft whimper as he nudged at the strap of your flimsy little tank top with his nose. His fingers toyed with the lace thong along your hips as you gasped, "I'm... I'm really turned on."

Jake smiled against your shoulder, giving your hips a squeeze. "We're just getting started."

--------------------------

Foreplay was awesome. Foreplay was your favorite thing in the whole world. You'd never experienced it before, but now that you were in the middle of it, you never wanted it to end. Your skin was slick with sweat, but so was Jake's as he worked his hands up inside your top. Your voice cracked when you said his name which just made his rough fingers knead into you a little harder. God, he was something else.

"Jake," you whispered, already feeling like you were on the verge of an orgasm. He still had all of his clothes on, but his right leg was in between both of yours, and it felt better than it did when you touched yourself. Then his hands started slowly guiding your top up, exposing first your belly and then your breasts, leaving you no time to feel self conscious. He tossed your shirt aside as you stood there before him.

"God damn it," he groaned, and his hands slid around to your butt, hoisting you further up his leg. The sensation of your pussy rubbing his jeans again had you panting and scrambling to get your arms around his neck as your breasts mashed against his chest.

He was carrying you further down the hallway with his big hands gripping the backs of your thighs, and you were sucking in shallow breaths as you managed to ask, "Are you going to fuck me now?"

"Jesus Christ," he grunted. "You know, you're pretty fucking good at dirty talk for a virgin, Darlin'."

You were still clinging to him as you looked around his bedroom. A king sized bed, modern furniture, huge windows, en suite bathroom, and a walk-in closet. He was an adult. Jake was a thirty year old man, and you'd never wanted anything in your life as much as you wanted him. "You didn't answer me," you whispered, your lips brushing his ear before he practically tossed you onto his bed. You squeaked as you sank into the soft, white bedding, making sure you kept your sneakers from touching any of it.

He was looking down at you, eyes raking from your face to your breasts and even lower as he touched himself through his jeans. Then he yanked his shirt over his head, and you gaped at his muscular chest and abs and shoulders. "I promised I'll make sure you come. But I don't need to fuck you to make that happen." He reached for your left ankle, circling it with one hand while he untied your shoelace. "These are cute, but they need to go." He tossed your shoe toward his closet, and soon the second one joined it.

Just when you propped yourself up on your elbows, he was on top of you, kissing your lips as you muttered his name. When his mouth trailed back down along your neck, he didn't stop. You gasped when his lightly stubbled cheek found your breast, but he kept going until your nipple was in between his lips, and you spread your legs wider to accommodate his body. You gave up, letting yourself sink onto your back as his big hand palmed and teased you while he tasted you seemingly everywhere.

Your mind was swimming as you tried to figure out how he was going to make you come, but a few seconds later, you were convinced his tongue swirling around your nipples could be enough. You knew you were making needy little noises, but you felt yourself clenching around nothing, and you were still wearing your thong. Your soaking wet thong.

"Oh!" you gasped when Jake plucked at your nipple with his lips before looking up at you while he stroked your side lazily. He kept his eyes on you as he kissed at the underside of your breast, and you just gaped in response.

"If you were anybody else," he mused, "sure, I'd fuck you right now." Your body felt impossibly warm as his pretty green eyes seemed to darken. "But you have a lot to learn about." His hand trailed down your side, over your belly and to the tiny bit of lace covering you from being completely naked in his bed.

"Tell me what I need to learn," you whispered, and Jake slid back off the bed, pulling you to the very edge with him. He knelt on the floor, pushing your thighs apart and planting your feet on the bed. You almost screamed his name when he leaned in and kissed you through your underwear, and something like possessiveness flashed in his eyes.

"It's always about you, Darlin'," he drawled. "That's what you need to know. It's not about me. It's never about the guy. It's about you."

"What do you mean?" you panted as he reached for the lace at your hips and started to pull it down. You had to lift your butt up from the edge of the bed and raise your legs up in the air, but your damp thong was soon on the bed next to you.

Jake grunted, planting your feet in place again as you spread out completely naked for him. When he kissed your bare pussy, you bucked up off of his bed and grabbed at the duvet, trying to squeeze your legs together. His big shoulders were in the way, and his finger was running up and down your slit as he said, "It's always about you. I'm gonna come no matter what. Any guy would if you treated him to your body. So you make sure you get what you deserve before he indulges to the point of no return."

And then his mouth was all over your pussy, and it was better than anything you'd ever felt in your life. "Oh my god." It was like the breath was knocked from your lungs as he licked up and down and back up to your clit. It was as if your body was trying to fight you as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows to watch what he was doing, and you just stared at him, mouth agape. It looked fucking hot as his glistening lips pressed against your clit before he started sucking gently, and you were already so close embarrassingly to an orgasm.

"You don't have to do this," you blurted out way too loud as Jake met your gaze. "Guys don't like doing this?" It sounded more like a question as you watched him drag his tongue in a slow circle around your clit before kissing you there. His pupils were huge, and now you were confused, because it definitely looked like he was enjoying himself as his fingers dug into your thighs.

"Men love this." His words and the way he dragged his nose through your slick pussy left you with your mouth hanging open. "But if you're not enjoying yourself, all you need to do is say so."

Your voice shook as he sucked gently on your clit once again. "I'm definitely enjoying myself."

---------------------------

You were soaking wet, your arousal slick as Jake ran his tongue along your slit. You tasted sweet and tangy, and you smelled so good, he had to bury his nose in you over and over. Just a perfect pussy. Technically you'd never been fucked by a guy before, but maybe someone else already got to taste how exquisite this was? He had to know.

He released your clit and kissed his way up your belly, watching your chest heave with every breath you took as you tried to rub against him for more friction. "Anyone ever get you off with their mouth before, Darlin'?"

Your eyes were wide, and your stuttered response was music to his ears. "N-No."

"Nobody has ever tasted you like this?" he asked softly, as you touched his hair almost reverently.

"Never."

How was he supposed to do anything else at the moment besides guarantee that he was not only your first, but your best. Guarantee that you thought about him anytime any other man touched you here. He never wanted you to be disappointed, ever, but he needed to know you'd think about his mouth when someone else just couldn't seem to get the job done like he could.

If you thought guys didn't like eating pussy, then you must have heard that shit from some college jackasses who had no idea how fucking good it felt to lap up after an orgasm. They were the type to chase their own pleasure instead of finding out how much better it felt to cum after watching your partner fall apart at your touch. They didn't deserve to get to have you, and now he was rejoicing in the fact that he didn't let you go prancing around campus in your little leather skirt after all.

Your hands were wound up tight in his bedding, and your back was arched off of his bed as you keened and gasped his name. You couldn't seem to get control of your own body, but he didn't care. He was rock hard, enjoying every moment of this. He kissed the inside of your thigh to give you a break, and sure enough, you eased your ass back down onto the bed. But as soon as he ran his tongue back from your hole to your clit, your body jerked up again.

"Come here," he crooned, wrapping his hands around your waist, holding you gently in place. "God, you're eager for this. You ready for me to make you come?"

"Yes," you gasped as he held you down and licked his way through your pussy, each stroke more intentional than the last. Each press of his lips to your clit a little bit rougher. And you got louder again for him as he brought you to the edge. Your voice was hoarse as he sucked on your clit, your hips rolling gently in his grasp. "Oh my god, oh my god!" Your feet were digging into the edge of his bed, but he didn't let up until your legs were shaking. Then you reached the peak, and Jake couldn't remember ever enjoying himself this much.

He was never going to forget the pitch of your voice as you cried out and came all over his tongue. He lapped up every last bit of you as you panted on his bed, arms limp at your sides. He ran his nose along your thigh, and when he stood, he looked down at the little grin on your face as your eyes fluttered open.

"Did you have fun?" he asked, and you turned your head to the side in embarrassment as you closed your legs, but you were still smiling.

"Yes," you whispered as he eased himself onto the bed next to you, and you met his eyes. "I can't believe you did that without... you know...."

He ran his thumb along your lip as he lounged on his side in his jeans. "You gonna finish that sentence?" When you shook your head and laughed he said, "Come on, Darlin'. Enlighten me."

You squirmed a bit and sighed as you whispered, "You didn't... penetrate me... at all."

Somehow those words had him wrapping his arm around you and pulling you flush against him on your side. When he kissed you softly, you gasped and tentatively licked his lip. You pulled away, eyes wide before going in for a more aggressive kiss, and Jake groaned as you tasted his mouth. "Oh," he grunted. "You like the way you taste?"

You whimpered into his mouth as you swiped his tongue with yours, and Jake let you taste yourself on him to your heart's content. The only issue he had was the way you kept nudging his erection with your leg, and holy shit, he was starting to get blue balls. He carefully guided your leg over his hip as you licked your way along his cheek with your fingers in his hair. If you were enjoying yourself this much, then he was ready to give you more.

His voice was barely a whisper as you kissed his nose. "You wanna feel a little penetration?" When you pulled your face away from him a few inches and nodded, he said, "Lesson four. My hand."

When he reached between his body and yours and cupped your pussy, your eyes fluttered closed. He kissed your pretty face as he teased your hole until you were grabbing the back of his neck and whining, "Please, Jake!"

He gave you anything you wanted. First one finger and then two. And then his thumb on your clit when you begged for that. Your hips were moving in time with his hand, and it was evident that you were still worked up from your first orgasm. "I want you to think about me," he growled as you started to clench around his fingers. "When you touch yourself, but especially when someone else isn't quite good enough. You think of me."

------------------------------

Jake was pumping two fingers inside you and easing you onto your back, and you'd be shocked if you could ever think of anything other than his soft hair and green eyes ever again. You started kissing him, pulling him closer with one hand one his neck and one on his cheek as he finger fucked you. Your body felt wrung out from your first orgasm, but he had you right there again already.

You shivered as you tasted his tongue, the feel of his sure and steady thumb on your clit making you unable to control yourself. You could feel how hard his cock was, pressed to your leg through his jeans, and you wanted to figure out how to give him a handjob or a blowjob, just like he'd done for you. If he let you try, you'd make sure you did your best, because he was about to make you come again.

"Jake," you gasped, your teeth grazing his lip as you held him close. But he pulled away enough that he could watch you with a little smirk as you looked up at him and started whining. It felt that good, the way his fingers pumped and the way his thumb circled your slick clit. You were riding his hand as you felt yourself clench around his thick fingers, and then it was all over. You saw stars. You heard a high pitched sound in your ears. You were babbling incoherently. You were coming so hard.

Jake's lips were on your breasts, your skin slick with sweat and saliva as the cool air in his bedroom hit you there, and you almost wanted to scoot away from him as you started to feel overstimulated, but he seemed to know it was time to pull his hand from between your thighs. His fingers were glistening, but you caught his wrist before he could wipe them on his jeans.

"Damn," he crooned as you guided his hand to your mouth. "You're the filthiest virgin I've ever met."

You laughed as you let his fingers slip between your lips, and you cleaned your taste off of him with your tongue. Jake's green eyes were wide, and as soon as you let his hand slip away, his tongue was swiping yours like he wanted another taste for himself. Even though he'd had his face buried in your pussy not too long ago. You kissed him and let his hand roam your chest and up to your neck, and just when you felt him grind his cock against your belly, you couldn't hold back your enormous yawn.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, trying your best to cover your mouth with your hand as a second yawn started up. "You wore me out."

"Don't apologize for that, Darlin'," Jake drawled, and he collected you in his arms and helped you stand up on shaky legs. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He held your hand and led you into his bathroom. You glanced around the tidy space at the fancy shower and the double sink vanity while he dug around in a drawer. The room was masculine and smelled good, just like he did. And you kind of liked the way he casually kissed your cheek as he handed you a green toothbrush that reminded you of his eyes. "Here's a clean washcloth, toothpaste and face wash. Let me know if you need anything else."

When he started to walk away, you said, "Wait." He turned back, green eyes on you as you asked, "You want me to stay?"

Jake shrugged and said, "Only if you want to. You've still got a lot to learn. Or I can drive you home instead."

His eyes looked a little guarded now, waiting for your response. "I'll stay," you whispered, and he nodded with a little smile.

You yawned again as he exited the room and pulled the door closed softly behind him, and when you looked in the mirror, you did a double take. It wasn't that you looked different exactly, but maybe you did. Jake hadn't even fucked you, but perhaps you looked a little older now. You laughed, knowing you were full of nonsense as you brushed your teeth. Then you washed your face and used the toilet, biting your lip at the way your body felt kind of sore after two delicious orgasms.

When you walked out of the bathroom, Jake was pulling the duvet back, wearing just a pair of boxer briefs. His cock was still hard, and you desperately wanted to show him some appreciation, but you couldn't stop yawning.

"Climb in, Darlin'." You were about to stay the night with a thirty year old man you just met a few hours ago, but you didn't feel apprehensive at all. Even though his mouth had been all over your body, and he knew what you sounded like when he made you come.

You ducked your head as you climbed under the covers, and Jake surprised you by leaning down and kissing your forehead. When he stood up again, you started to scoot over, but he turned toward the bathroom. "Are you coming back?" you asked softly.

Jake nodded and said, "Yeah, I just need a minute." His voice was strained, and as he turned off the lamp next to his bed, your gaze drifted to one of the huge windows and the stars in the late night sky.

"Can you hear the ocean from your room?" you asked with another yawn as your eyes closed.

"Sure can," he replied with a chuckle. You heard him slide the window open and felt the cool breeze on your face. Almost immediately, you dozed off to the sound of the ocean and the feel of Jake's fingers on your cheek.

-----------------------------

Jake had to be out of his mind for inviting you to stay over, but the last thing on his mind was booting you out like a random tag chaser. And besides, he wanted to spend more time with you. There was something about you that he really liked. You were a smartass, and you were funny. And your body was sweet and sensitive, and as a result of all of those things, he had a problem he needed to take care of.

He watched you curl up in his bed with a smile on your face as you listened to the sounds of the ocean, and then he rushed into the bathroom. With less finesse than he showed you, Jake yanked his underwear down and wrapped his hand around his cock. He was aching with need, your taste still on his tongue as he jerked off. You were in his bed. His room smelled like your arousal. "Shit," he grunted, stroking himself quickly.

When you asked if he wanted you to give him a blowjob, he should have said yes. The idea of you on your knees for him, practically oozing sweet innocence with your lips parted in invitation was too much. But he wanted to spend hours working you up, fucking you until you screamed his name. He wanted to teach you so many things and be the first one to do all of them. He'd already taken you to the brink of overstimulation and exhausted your body, and now he just wanted to do it all over again.

As soon as he pulled up the memory of your hand wrapped around his cock in the kitchen, Jake came. Hard. He was panting your name, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he leaned against the wall. Exhausted and finally sated, he yawned before he cleaned himself up and brushed his teeth. When he walked back out into his bedroom and found you snuggled up in the middle of his massive bed, he slipped in next to you.

"Jake," you moaned softly, rolling to face him and wrapping your arm across his chest. He held you close as he listened to the sound of the ocean in the darkness, and then he was asleep too.

------------------------------

I think she probably needs a few more lessons.... I'm going to let her have a few more lessons. What would you want Jake to take the time to teach you? Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 4

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punkshort · 3 months ago

Text

Something Unexpected

Thank you @pasc4lfuzz for this request!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's been ten years since you lived in Texas, and of course the first week back, you run into a familiar face from your past.

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, mention of OC death (reader's father), romcom vibes (bc of course), meet cute, shy!joel, flirting, sexual tension, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex (reader on BC), sex in public

WC: 4.8K

Dirty Bill's bar was exactly as you remembered.

As the name implied, the place wasn't the cleanest. Even after Bill locked up for the night, your shoes used to stick to the floors and it was almost a guarantee to find a stray lemon or lime somewhere on the bar top.

His definition of clean never matched yours. Hell, it didn't match anyone's, but that didn't stop locals from frequenting the place regularly.

It had been years since you lived in Austin and worked at the bar. At least ten, maybe more. When you tended bar, you actually kept the place relatively clean, but you knew the second you walked in that Bill clearly went back to his old ways once you quit and moved.

To his credit, the place was still packed. You had to stand up on your tiptoes and crane your neck to find your oldest friend, Leah, sitting at the bar nursing a gin and tonic. You grinned and pushed your way through the crowd, doing a double take when you recognized a few poor souls from your bartending days drinking the same bottles of beer.

Some things really never do change.

"Leah!" you cried out excitedly as you approached. She swiveled around on her barstool with a huge grin when she heard your voice. Jumping down, you enveloped her in a huge hug, swaying her back and forth and holding each other as tight as you could. She looked a little older and she gained a bit of weight since she had her kids, but otherwise she was the same. Same bright blue eyes, same wavy blonde hair, same toothy smile.

"Oh, my god! I can't believe it's really you!" she exclaimed, leaning back but still gripping your shoulders so she could get a good look at you. "You look amazing," she added before dropping her hands.

"I was about to say the same to you," you said before sliding onto the barstool next to hers. She scoffed and shook her head.

"Don't bullshit me. After I had Aiden I was never able to lose the extra weight."

"I'm not bullshitting you," you laughed. "You were always too skinny before, I told you that tons of times. You look incredible. I mean it."

She blushed and waved you off. "What're you drinking? They have some specials til nine, that's when the fireworks are supposed to start, but sadly that's also when I'll have to leave," she said with a pout. "Babysitter's got plans. Can you believe the audacity? A twenty year old daring to make plans on the Fourth of July?" she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. You laughed and took the stained piece of paper she held out for you.

"I can't believe he's doing specials now," you told her while you perused the menu.

"It ain't anything earth shattering. Bud's a buck cheaper and well drinks are two bucks each."

"And here I thought he dreamed up a cocktail menu," you replied with another laugh.

"Oh, honey, you know Bill won't even buy a goddamn blender for daiquiris."

It had been ten years since you left Texas and saw Leah, but just the way good friends do, you fell right back into each other without skipping a beat. Although the topics of conversation that had once centered around boys now focused on her children and work, you still found her so easy to talk to.

"And what about you? Now that you're back, what's the plan for work?"

You winced when you tossed back the rest of your drink and shook your head. "Don't know yet. I gotta get my head around going through all of dad's things and trying to sell that house. Hell, maybe Bill will hire me again," you joked.

"I know you're just kidding but he would in a heartbeat," Leah said before clearing her throat and taking on a more somber tone. "How're you holding up? Dealing with your dad passing 'n everything?"

You shrugged and smiled at the cute bartender who gave you both refills without having to ask. "I'm alright. It was a long time coming, he was sick for so long. I'm just glad he's not in pain anymore, but I miss him. This whole town just reminds me so much of him, you know?" you said, furrowing your brow while you watched your ice swirl in your glass. She nodded sympathetically and put a gentle hand on your arm. "It's so weird being back here now without him. Like I keep waiting for him to walk through the front door. It's why I can't keep the place. Too many memories, it's messing with my head," you said with a dry laugh before taking a sip of your drink.

"I get that. I can come by this weekend and help you for a few hours if you like," she said. You smiled at her and tilted your head to the side, overcome for a moment at how generous she was, knowing full well she had enough to deal with at home.

"Thanks, Leah. I'll let you know."

After another hour, the cute bartender cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone and announced last call for drink specials. Leah's face fell and she pushed off the bar with a sigh.

"Guess I oughta get going."

Sadness rippled through your chest at the thought of being alone again, but you tried not to let her see it. She had a family to go home to, a life.

"Thanks again for meeting me, I know it's hard for you and your schedule is so busy now," you said, giving her a hug.

She opened her mouth to reply when the cute bartender you had been eyeing up all evening put a drink in front of you.

"Oh, sorry, thanks, but I'm just about to leave," you told him. He wiped his hands on a towel and tipped his head to the side.

"It's on him."

Your gaze followed the direction in which his head tilted and you could hardly believe your eyes.

"Oh, boy," Leah muttered under her breath.

The man on the other side of the bar lifted his beer bottle to you before stepping away into the crowd. You could see his greying curls making their way through the throngs of people fighting to get one or two more cheap drinks and you felt anger slowly bubbling to the surface.

"Play nice," Leah warned you. You clenched your teeth and shook your head.

"I'm always nice."

She chuckled and gave you a kiss on the cheek. "Call me about this weekend."

"Yeah, okay," you replied distractedly, your heart thudding faster in your chest when the familiar looking man stepped through the crowd and sidled up next to you at the same time Leah disappeared, heading towards the door.

"Hey, darlin'. Hope you don't mind me buyin' you a drink," he said, his southern drawl thicker and slower than you remembered. "I'm Joel," he added, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

You stared at it too long, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and slowing down your train of thought.

"Yeah, I know who you are, Joel," you replied, ignoring his hand to glare up at him. "Do you really not recognize me?"

He swallowed and let his hand fall limp as he scanned your face, the gears in his head working overtime to try and place you, and the fact he didn't remember you hurt your feelings more than you expected.

"I, uh..." he trailed off and scratched his chin nervously. You rolled your eyes and leaned against the bar.

"I used to date your brother. For like, eight fucking months in high school. He stood me up for prom?" you reminded him, your tone turning icy. The realization clicked and his face softened when he quietly murmured your name.

"Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn't... thought you moved outta town."

"I did," you snapped. "I'm back now. Just got here last week."

He nodded and shifted his jaw to the side. It was like you could see the wave wash over him in real time: his memory recalling images of you in his mother's house, probably remembering stories Tommy told him when you weren't around, and finally, the uneasiness settled in when it dawned on him his brother could find out he made a move on his ex girlfriend.

But much to your surprise, Joel didn't come up with some feeble excuse and run off. In fact, he took Leah's abandoned stool and put his beer next to your untouched drink.

"Tommy was an asshole to you, wasn't he?" he asked. And even though it was ages ago, you could feel that wound in your chest slowly begin to open back up.

You shook your head and looked down at your hands.

"He embarrassed me. Dated me the entire school year, went to football games and every single house party together just to bring Jill fucking Parker to prom." You angrily took a long drink from your glass before setting it down a little too loudly on the bar. "Didn't even break up with me. Just... pretended like I didn't exist. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? I showed up an hour late, my hair and makeup all goddamn perfect, just to walk into the gym and see him dancing with her. Kissing her. Fucking dick," you muttered, raking your fingers through your hair.

Joel listened quietly, a sympathetic look on his face while you continued.

"I couldn't stay there. I turned right around and walked home. Cried the whole fucking night in some stupid fucking dress that matched his stupid fucking boutonniere."

Joel winced and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I - I remember some of that but I was too wrapped up in my own shit back then. Had one foot out my parents' door, had a girlfriend and was gettin' started in construction. I remember you at some family dinners but... I don't know, I'm real sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to ruin your night."

You sighed and rolled your shoulders. "You didn't, it's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Yeah, but it still hurts you. I can see it," he replied, his soft brown eyes boring into you.

"It shouldn't. I just haven't thought about all that in forever and so far, being back here is only bringing up shitty memories," you said sadly, stirring your drink absentmindedly.

Joel glanced around the bar, noticing it was beginning to clear as patrons filed out to the parking lot to get a good spot for the fireworks show about start in the town park down the street.

"C'mon," he said, abandoning his beer and taking your hand before sliding off the stool. "Let's go make a good memory. Fireworks are 'bout to start."

Your eyelids fluttered in surprise, first at the way he was holding your hand, and second at his proposition.

"Oh, we don't have to. I was going to head home, anyway," you told him. He was nicer than you expected about the whole situation, but it was bordering on pity, and that was something you certainly were not interested in.

"I ain't gonna keep you from leavin', but I could sure use the company," he said, still holding your hand. You chewed your bottom lip as you silently weighed your options. He smiled softly and gave your hand a little tug when he saw your resolve crumbling. "C'mon. I don't wanna watch fireworks alone."

You rolled your eyes and fought back the stupid smile from spreading across your face. "Alright, why not?" you said, hopping off your stool. You allowed him to drag you by the hand through the crowds of people mingling in the parking lot, through clouds of cigarette smoke and boisterous laughter until you reached his truck parked at the very corner of the lot.

Joel dropped your hand so he could unhook the tailgate, then jumped up with a grunt to unfold the pile of blankets he had shoved in the far corner. You took a few steps forward and watched curiously as he fluffed up two pillows, and you wondered if this was some kind of move he often pulled on girls.

"You came prepared," you said, trying to subtly test your theory. He glanced over his shoulder with a grin.

"Got stood up tonight," he replied, and the irony of it was too much. You burst out laughing, clapping your palm over your mouth.

"I'm sorry, it's just... what are the odds?"

He chuckled and, once he was satisfied with the blanket arrangement, extended an arm out to you.

"It was a blind date. Wasn't nearly as bad as bein' stood up for prom, but still stung a bit," he admitted. He clasped your hand in his and pulled you up into the bed of his truck with so much strength, you nearly fell against his chest.

"Oops, sorry," you said shyly when you had caught yourself from falling into his lap just in time. He just gave you another smile that was beginning to make your knees weak and leaned back into the bed of the truck. He readjusted his head on one of the pillows, one arm tucking behind his head with a sigh, and gazed up at the sky.

You looked around nervously, unsure what to do. The setting was a little too intimate to be in with your ex's brother, but no one else was around. The closest car with people in it was fifty yards away. And besides, if someone were to report back to Tommy, they would have already seen you together in the bar.

"So, why'd you move back?" Joel asked, his voice so much deeper now that you weren't surrounded by classic rock and loud conversations. You tucked your legs underneath you and looked down at him all stretched out. His shirt was riding up just an inch, exposing a sliver of tanned skin and a trail of dark curls leading past his waistband. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to look away.

"Um, my dad died," you told him. His brows pinched together, giving you that look of pity that you had grown too familiar with.

"I'm sorry," he said, and you could tell he meant it.

"Thanks. He was sick for a long time," you explained, trying to downplay it, but he shook his head.

"Don't matter. Losin' a parent ain't ever easy."

You pursed your lips and nodded, staring down at your fingers twisting together in your lap.

"Suppose that's true."

He allowed you to sit quietly for a moment while you gathered your thoughts, waiting to see if you wanted to talk about it more or let it be.

"A blind date, huh?" you asked him, changing the subject.

"Yep. Blind date," he repeated, eyes flickering briefly down your body. "Don't wanna use no apps or shit. Thought it might be easier to do things the old fashioned way. Guess I was wrong."

"I know what you mean," you said. "It feels like it's impossible to meet anyone organically anymore."

He hummed and took a deep breath. "Like buyin' a girl a drink in a bar?"

You giggled and he grinned, the sound of your laugh sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

"Yes, but we already met before," you reminded him.

He nodded, smile still playing at his lips. "You use a lot of them apps?"

You felt your cheeks warm and shrugged. "Not really. I have used them, but not lately."

He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest when he asked, "That 'cause you got a boyfriend now, or..."

You laughed again and his nerves immediately calmed at the sound.

"No. No boyfriend."

He felt his hands shake while he struggled to come up with the right thing to say or do next when fate intervened and gave him the perfect answer.

A loud boom echoed from behind you and you jumped in surprise, then grinned when you tilted your chin up to see the fireworks had started. Joel cleared his throat, pulling your attention onto him.

"Gonna pull a muscle in your neck if you keep that up for the next half hour," he said, then patted the empty area next to him. You smiled shyly and it made his stomach flip.

"You're pretty smooth, Joel Miller," you teased before sliding down onto your back next to him so you could look up at the dark sky all lit up above you.

He tapped his chest nervously with the tips of his fingers, hardly paying attention to the fireworks now that you were so close that he could feel the heat from your soft skin and smell the scent of your shampoo burrowing its way into his blankets.

Unsure how to make the next move, he chose to go with a classic. He figured at the very least, you might laugh again.

"Why don't you get closer, darlin'? You look cold."

Sure enough, you did laugh, making his heart soar but to his shock, you also inched closer to him. Nestling into his side, you gently placed one of your hands on his stomach, but he could tell it made you nervous because your shoulders felt stiff and your breath was shallow.

"Is this okay?" he murmured after he wrapped an arm around you, his fingers brushing delicately over your arm.

"Mhmm," you said, feeling your skin prickle under his touch. He felt it, too, and pulled a blanket over you both.

How the hell did you end up in the back of your ex boyfriend's brother's truck, cuddled up under blankets and watching the fireworks? When you were getting ready earlier, your only hope was to find some distraction with an old friend for a couple hours. Whatever this was was a complete and pleasant surprise.

Both of you watched as your hand slowly crept up from his stomach to his chest, your hearts beating fast with anticipation. You tilted your chin up to look at him, those deep brown eyes meeting yours and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between you.

You met each other half way at the exact same time, pressing your lips together tentatively at first, then with more desperation. He tasted like stale beer but you loved it. It felt comforting. He was so warm and strong under your touch, his hand so big when it came to rest on the side of your face as he plunged his tongue greedily into your mouth for the first time. Somewhere in the back of your mind you realized what you were doing was probably wrong, that it could very well cause a problem between him and Tommy, but he was a grown man who knew exactly what he was doing when he took your hand in that bar.

You weren't exactly sure how it escalated, but it did. He rolled on top of you, pinning you with his weight while one hand skirted up your side, squeezing your breast before tugging the cup of your bra down underneath your shirt and rolling your nipple between two expert fingers. You moaned into his mouth and arched your back, pressing yourself into him.

"Joel," you whispered when his mouth trailed down your neck and his hips began to rut against yours.

"I know, 'm sorry," he panted, yet he didn't make a move to stop. "This probably ain't a good idea," he added, but just tilted his head so he could suck on the other side of your neck.

You bit your lip and tipped your head back, giving him better access.

"Probably not," you agreed when your hands found his belt. His lips stuttered against your throat when you deftly undid the leather and popped the button on his jeans.

"Shit," you whispered when his hand slid down the front of your shorts, his fingers petting at your sex through your panties.

"You want this, baby?" he asked, nipping at your collarbone. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, the fireworks in the sky matching the ones behind your eyelids.

"Say it," he commanded, voice dropping an octave and sending a shiver down your spine.

"I want it," you breathed before palming his erection through his jeans. He groaned and pressed himself further into your hand, encouraging you to rub his cock through the thick denim, your mind spiraling at how hard he was already.

He undid your shorts in record time, helping you shimmy out of them as quickly as possible, each of you panting for air, the excitement overwhelming.

"Joel, what if - shit," you cursed when he yanked your panties down and off, tossing them to get lost amongst the blankets. "What if someone sees?"

"Don't worry, I got you," he said, eagerly pushing his jeans down so they bunched up mid-thigh, then settled between your legs and tugged the blanket back over you both. "Ain't no one gonna see us, they're all lookin' up," he whispered before slotting your lips together once again.

Your brows pinched together and your mouth fell open when he first pressed inside, his impossibly hard cock parting your walls and making room for himself deep within your body. His hand cradled the side of your face, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your cheek when he buried himself inside you with a grunt.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, wrapping around the thick muscle there, threading through some of his hair and holding him close.

Joel bumped his nose against the side of your throat, his own gasps being drowned out by yours as he hid his face against your neck and slowly dragged his cock in and out. Each flex of his hips made you soften under him until you moaned his name into the night air, your voice being muffled by the fireworks overhead and oh, he liked hearing that. His name falling from your lips in ecstasy while he buried himself as deep as he possibly could inside your warmth caused him to think stupid thoughts and feel stupid things.

You wanted to ask him how he did it, how he made you feel so fucking good, how he managed to reach a place inside you that had your mind going numb and your skin tingling with anticipation, but you couldn't find your voice. You could only offer him small whimpers and throaty moans, hoping it would be enough to encourage him.

He panted against your skin, his wet exhale mingling with the humidity of the air, leaving your throat sticky and warm. His hand gripped your thigh, tugging your leg upwards, shifting you around until he found a position that pleased him.

His hips began to move faster when, in the back of his mind, he knew the fireworks would be wrapping up soon. He wished he could take his time with you. He wished you didn't have to hold back those pretty sounds that fell from your even prettier mouth. But fuck, you just looked so beautiful and you felt so good wrapped around him that he couldn't stop himself.

"Oh, god," you whined, fingernails digging into his upper back so hard that he could feel the pinch through the fabric of his shirt. "Right there, Joel, please," you whimpered, and he grinned.

"Y'feel so good, baby," he murmured in your ear, making sure to maintain the same pace within you, not wanting to deny you any pleasure. "So fuckin' good. Wanted you from the second I saw you tonight, y'know that?"

You moaned and continued to claw at his back, your eyes prickling with tears as your climax swelled low in your belly.

"I lied earlier," he admitted, watching your face closely when he said, "didn't sting at all that my date didn't show. Wouldn't've been able to keep my eyes off you the whole time, anyway."

You groaned and cried out his name, your hand slapping over your mouth and once again he grew angry with himself that he didn't just take you home.

"Joel," you whimpered behind your hand, and he yanked it down, uncaring if anyone heard at that point.

"Tell me what you want," he said roughly, hips fucking into you at a steady clip that made beads of sweat form against his hairline.

"Harder," you groaned, biting at his jaw, then latching onto his neck and sucking wet, open mouthed kisses there, hoping to leave a mark. "I'm close, fuck me harder," you repeated, and something primal in him unfurled at the command.

You buried your face against his shoulder when he started to snap his hips into you, his arms caging you in and keeping your body from sliding up the bed of the truck. You wrapped your legs around his waist like an anchor as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, all the while his mouth dragged up and down your neck, your face, your shoulders... anywhere he could find skin, he left his mark.

Then he felt a familiar tightening around his cock and your body began to tremble underneath him, causing his stomach to tense and his hips to stutter. Your teeth clamped down on his shoulder when you came, your words muffled against his body, your hands scrambling against his back as if you were about to fall.

Maybe you were.

"Where?" he whispered frantically, and when you took too long to respond he grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to lock. You were all fucked out, your body slack and your breath haggard as you gazed up at him, confused. "Where?" he asked again with more urgency, and finally it clicked.

"Inside," you replied, voice cracking. He shook his head like he was in pain and dropped his hand from your chin back down to your hip, pulling you impossibly closer while he continued to plunge inside of you. "It's fine, it's safe," you clarified for him, and that was all he needed to hear.

His mouth crashed over yours when he came, his kisses sloppy and his throat hoarse from the way his words turned into growls against your lips. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and cupped your face again. Your noses brushed together and your eyes locked as his hips slowed down but still rocked into you, each surge of his cum punctuated by a soft ah until he finally stilled and collapsed.

"Christ," he grumbled against your shoulder. You gently raked your fingers through his hair while you each caught your breath, his body shivering when your nails scraped his scalp just right. He turned his head and gave you a little smile before tenderly pressing your lips together, then carefully sliding out of you with a grunt.

He rolled onto his back and yanked his jeans back up before searching around the ruffled blankets for your clothes. Right when the big finale began, he handed them back to you.

"Perfect timing," you giggled as you squirmed around under the blanket to put your clothes back on. Joel glanced around, his veins still pumping his body full of dopamine, and confirmed that nobody had been close enough to overhear, let alone see, what happened.

Once the fireworks stopped, the crowds of people in the parking lot clapped and began to head to their cars, headlights and engines turning on all around you.

You sat up and straightened out your shirt, trying to play it cool but internally you were freaking out. Was this a one time thing? It had to have been. Right? Did you want it to be a one time thing?

Then, Joel broke the awkward silence.

"Can I ask you somethin'? And you can be honest, it won't hurt my feelin's none," he said. When you looked over at him, he was looking off in a random direction, unable to look you in the face when he asked, "Was this just to get back at Tommy?"

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"N-no, of course not," you stammered. "I haven't even thought about Tommy in years. Besides, I wouldn't do something like that."

He tilted his head back in your direction and grinned.

"That's a relief, 'cause it mighta hurt my feelin's."

You laughed and tossed a pillow at him.

"You liar."

He chuckled and gently tossed the pillow back. You tucked it against your stomach as you stared at one another, each of you trying to work out what happened next.

"I wanna see you again," he said, answering your unspoken question, and you couldn't hide the delight from spreading across your face.

"Me, too," you said, and he smiled. A big smile, one that definitely made your knees weak that time. "But what about Tommy? I don't wanna cause some problem with you two."

Joel shrugged and took a deep breath. "Then maybe it can be our little secret."

A slow, mischievous smile tugged at your lips and you knew in that moment he was going to be trouble.

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year ago

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Hobie Brown, Emotional Preparation, and the Art of Great Dialogue

Nearly all of Hobie's dialogue is written with his goal - protecting and preparing Miles for Miguel's abuse - in mind, even if it may not be obvious at first watch.

Here's an unhinged breakdown where I over-analyze literally every one of Hobie’s lines and explain how every sentence was written to contribute directly to Miles’ radicalization.

Hollywood. Pay your writers. (:

___________________________________________________

Hobie has around 10 minutes screentime total, but for the sake of introductions and this analysis, let's start at the end of the battle, and the beginning of the quantum hole.

Starting with his first line in the scene:

"I don't follow orders. Neither does he."

All morals considered, Hobie doesn't seem like the type to speak for someone who can speak for themselves - he's a punk after all. But here, he speaks for Miles. This line serves to tell Miles 'I don't respect them, why should you?', but funnily enough, it can also be a point to Jess, as if to say 'Miles isn't interested.' - even if he is.

"Bit much, innit?"

While, Hobie and Mile's next interaction is their exchange in the elevator, the scene leads to Mile's introduction to the Society. Miles gawks at the lobby, obviously impressed. Gwen affirms this awe, telling him 'this is just the lobby.' However, Hobie feels the need to chime in. His next dialogue 'Bit much, innit?' is a subtle nudge to Miles that the society is not a place to be in awe off. It's a spectacle, one that's a bit overdone. Knowing Miles now sees Hobie as cool, Hobie makes it known - he sees the Society as uncool.

"Gwendy, How much have you told him? About his place in all this? Maybe not enough."

'So what happened about that small elite strike-team?' - 'Most of these are part time.' This is by far one of Hobie's more interesting lines, and I wrote about it here. But in short, this is Hobie's soft but direct confrontation of Gwen. After Gwen lies to Miles in front of him, Hobie immediately asks how much Gwen has revealed to him. And when she tries to play it off, he openly says 'Maybe that's not enough.' He's not angry with Gwen, but he is disappointed, which in turn motivates him to have his discussion with Miles.

"Super humane, and not creepy."

One of my favorites, because it's hard to catch and to the point. After talking about Hobie and Gwen's mission history, they're taken to Margo and the control room. As Miles marvels at Margo and the Go-Home-Machine, and Gwen says she voted against it. However, Hobie says blatantly: 'Holy shit, Miles isn't this inhumane and weird???', validating that the Society is willing to do inhumane, hurtful stuff to those it deems 'misplaced'.

Next comes Hobie's confrontation with Miles.

Because Hobie knows this is his last movements with Miles before he meets Miguel, and this is where if final push of emotional support kicks in, before he goes quiet in front of Miguel.

And because this conversation is so well layered, I think it's best to go line by line. ______________________________

H: "Bet this doesn't even do anything." M: "Maybe it did before you ripped it out of a wall!"

Hobie has now confirmed that he'll be making an exit soon. And he begins his finally sweep of parts he needs for his watch, stocking up his pockets. He's not stealing to steal. He knows he's leaving and this is his last chance to get what he needs before he's out the door.

"Propaganda, bro! It's to distract you from the truth!"

HOLY SHIT I missed this one. Notice how in this shot, Gwen is not visible at all. Hobie notices they're out of hershot of her for the first time. And his first line is - 'Propaganda.' Their watches can take them anywhere. When Gwen needed to, she was taken to exactly where she needed in Mumbattan. But when they're heading towards HQ, Jessica makes them walk through the lobby. They could have been sent directly to Miguel's station, but instead she makes them do the whole tour, which serves as a flex of muscle. In order, Miles was shown the massive number of members in the Society, then their prisoners, then the go-home-machine. Only THEN can they see Miguel. All of which was intent to intimidate Miles on purpose. Hobie tells him directly: 'Everything you just saw was propaganda.'

M: And what's that?

"I ain't got a Scooby Doo, mate. Cause that's what they want."

One of the most iconic and notable of his quotes. Cockney aside, this line ties back in with his discussion with Gwen just a couple minutes before. They've done their tour and walk. Both Jess and Gwen have been given a chance to prime or explain to Miles anything, and both have chosen not to. So Hobie simply tells him, 'They want you in the dark. And they're sending you into a fight.'

The next line is:

H: Why do you want to be part of this lot? M: To get a watch. H: Make your own watch.

Miles sucks his teeth at Hobie.

Because of this - Hobie begins to change methods. Which I cannot stress is incredibly perceptive of him.

Miles is exasperated with him. So instead of dissuasion and making the society out to be uncool, he tries to turn Miles' attention towards his family.

"Bet you got a nice setup, huh? Nice parents?"

This line is a very well done one, with two things of notice. First, I find it interesting that the screenplay phrases this line as a question, not a sentence. Hobie is asking. He's taking a shot in the dark here. And this is backed up by his delivery; Hobie hesitates while saying this. The only line in which he does so. He may not know about Miles' mom and dad, because Gwen hadn't met them when she met Hobie. But still, Hobie asks, hoping the reminder of Miles' parents will dissuade him from continuing.

M: They're fine. H: [After this line, Hobie turns black and white momentarily. Potentially a nod to the fact that this conversation is the only 'black and white' one Miles has had so far.] M: But we got into a fight. They just want what's best for me, so...

[Hobie frowns. The scene and dialogue REALLY starts to pick-up from here.]

"That's a bloody shame. Because you're not ready for everyone else."

As the scene progresses Hobie goes from behind Miles, to beside him like an ally. Then, when Gwen finally comes back into frame, Hobie crosses in front of him. When Miles mentions his parents wanting what's best for him, Hobie warns that everyone else does not want what's best for him. At the same time, visually Gwen has her back to Miles, and Hobie puts himself between Miles and Gwen, trying to block his path. The scene is set up to show that in Hobie's eyes, Gwen is turning her back on Miles. She does not have his best interest in mind. Hobie is telling Miles 'They're using propaganda on you, they're keeping you in the dark, and they do not have your best interest at mind. You're not ready for this." And he physically tries to block Miles from continuing, one last time.

Miles goes through Hobie, and now within earshot of Gwen again, this is Hobie's final chance and push to get as much information into Miles as he can - without freaking Miles out. Above all else, he needs Miles to be prepared, confident, and willing to fight back.

His voice becomes more serious, and he starts speaking more straight-forward and a lot less cryptically.

"Listen to me, bruv. The whole point of being Spider-man is your independence. Being your own boss, you don't need all this!"

I think Hobie saying this reveals a lot about his character, especially understanding the context where he's from. While many Spider-men would agree that being Spider-man is about responsibility and power - to Hobie, it is about independence, and freedom. Hobie is a freedom fighter, and one of the only Spider-men besides Noir that knows how to fight systemic threats as well as physical ones. To him, being Spiderman is about being able to free yourself and others. It's about independence and freedom, and he's trying to nail that in Miles' head one last time.

M: Then why are you here?

"Looking out for my drummer, is all."

As the scene is coming to a close, the writers chose this time to reveal some of Hobie's motivations, starting with the independence comment, and now this. Despite knowing about Gwen's deception towards Miles, he is still looking out for her - and Miles. This is the writers' and Hobie's last push to solidify himself as an ally to Miles and the viewer.

M: I want to be in a band. I want to see my friends, and I need a watch to do that. G: Guys, come on.

"Alright, Squashed. Just don't enlist until you know about who you're fighting."

I genuinely had to sit and ask myself why the writers would choose to leave Hobie's collective effort - a LOT of effort - with this line. And honestly, I think it's a perfect segway. Hobie chooses his words very clearly; He doesn't say 'what', he says 'who'. The next scene leads into Miguel's intro, and up until this point, Miles doesn't know who he is. He only knows about the Society, but never who is at the top. We know about Miguel, but all Miles knows is his name. That's why Hobie says 'who you're fighting'. Because the Society isn't really a Society, and this isn't really between Miles and the Society at all. It's a dictatorship - and the person he's enlisting to fight is Miguel. The perfect introduction and warning to the person he's about to meet. He's telling Miles, 'Don't rush into it. Wait until you meet Miguel first'. And when Miles does meet Miguel, he finally sees that this isn't the place he thought it was, just like Hobie said. ALSO EVEN MORE INTERESTINGLY - THIS is one of the lines that is changed between the two versions of spiderverse (there are two theatrical versions on release.) In the alternative he says 'Don't enlist unless you know what war you're fighting.' And I think that the fact the writers chose to publish two different versions of this line goes to show how powerful they knew this line would be in Miles' characterization. There is so much Hobie has left to say to him, but only one line - and so we get two versions. How fun!

With the scene now over, we see a change in Hobie's demeanor, and I love the writers' choice to have the shot linger on Hobie.

We see him give Miles a look that isn't exactly full of confidence, but from this point forward, Hobie chooses to hang back, no longer having any motivation to instigate. He knows his work here is done, and now all he can really do is wait for Miguel to reveal his true colors, and hope that he got through enough to Miles that he will react, and fight back.

And closing out the scene - I noticed that when Peter B. arrives Hobie pointedly says

"Oh boy, Humbling Reality Spider-man has arrived."

All I'll say about this is Hobie has to be Jamaican cause that was so mfing rude shgjfkghjgjkdfjk

Hobie has about three lines between this point and then end of his screentime - Two of which were his lines to Mayday, and his comment during the canon events.

But there is one shot of him before it all happens. And after this shot the movie begins staging Hobie in specific a very different way than anyone else.

The moment begins with Miles' line 'My Dad is about to be captain.'

The camera pans to each character. Gwen, Peter, and Jess all avert their eyes. Miguel looks at Miles. And Hobie is the only one who looks at all of them. Instead of looking down, he looks to the others, in anticipation of whats going to happen. It's also important to note that this was probably news to Hobie. He probably didn't know Miles' dad was a cop - or at the very least going to be captain. So the understanding of just how much trouble Miles is in kinda multiplies in this moment.

Then, this happens

From this point forward, every time Hobie is portrayed, he is shown as separate from the other characters, always being divided from the group - with Miles as the divider. Even as the camera moves, Hobie visually remains - quite literally - as the only person in Miles' corner. And as the scene goes on, he moves farther and farther into that corner.

Until finally the scene comes to a climax, and Hobie gets two shots to himself - delivering his final lines.

"Here we go." - "Hobie, You're not helping." - "Good."

GUYS IM GONNA CRY OKAY IM GONNA CRY

This is Hobie seeing his work pay off. This is him knowing that he got through to Miles and that it was worth it. He's proud of him.

Hobie knew what he came to do, and he used literally every line he said to Miles to the FULLEST extent. He doesn't give a fuck if he's not helping the Society. He's helping Miles. And now he knows his work is done.

Being a punk is not about being a hero, it's about empowering those who feel powerless. HE UNDERSTOOD THE MOTHERFUCKING ASSIGNMENT.

IN SHORT - HOLLYWOOD PAY YOUR FUCKING WRITERS I SWEAR TO GOD.

if you read this far let me know :) thanks bye

#ill repost the ending as its own post as well yay #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #miles morales #gwen stacy #jessica drew #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv analysis #across the spiderverse #spidergwen #spiderwoman #peter parker #peter b parker

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eloquentlytired · 2 months ago

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— when the time comes

pairing: old man!logan howlett x gn! reader

word count: no idea but this one isn't very long.

part two is out!

tags: major character death — angst — reader is logan’s sunshine — mention of blood & wounds — logan low-key proposing 5 seconds before he dies — non established relationship

author's note: this has been on my mind since 2 days ago so I had to do it now.. I hope you guys enjoy reading this heartbreak! and yes I wrote this after watching Logan (2017) again. just a bit of an alternative type of ending so I can write abt logan x reader! as always reblogs & likes & conversations are sooo welcome ^_^

god stood me up

and I don't know why

lights are on

but nobody's home

you find him leaning against a tree trunk, a chunk of wood piercing his sides open as blood soaks through his shirt. that isn't the only wound he's sporting but it's the most evident one; the one that'll possibly lead him to his demise.

logan blinks upon noticing you as if he's just seeing things or dreaming. when you crouch down beside him and place your hand on his arm, he realizes exactly just how real you are. “logan?” there are tears in your eyes and he hates that you're crying because of him again. you had been living with him, charles and caliban way before it all turned to shit. and somehow the only ones left standing were laura and you. and the kids that logan had managed to save; he truly had saved so many lives.

there's a silence aside from his heavy breathing before your shaky hands cup his face. the blood flows out of his wound and mouth like a river. in some way you're bleeding too — inside your heart. “hey sunshine.” logan whispers with a soft smile and you feel something tear your chest apart from the inside. “I made you cry again.” you see the way his hand twitches by his side. he wants to touch you but he's old and tired and wounded. there's no energy left in him to move anymore. “the kids are okay, laura is okay— I have the car and..and there's still time— the hospital—” your voice trails off when logan closed his eyes.

“you know what makes me angry, sunshine?” logan asks and you simply stare at him, shaking your head. when he opens his eyes again, they are full of unshed tears. “gonna miss my daughter’s first birthday with me—” logan mutters brokenly and the vision of laura swims beneath his half-opened eyelids. and after laura there is you; smiling. at the beach. you've always wanted to go to the beach with him but he never took you since he was working day and night to take care of everything. of everyone. “and i’m also gonna miss my sunshine.” his eyes fall on you, on your crying face. the tears sliding down your cheeks are plenty and there is so much emotion pooling in those orbs of yours. logan wants to kiss you, tell you it'll be alright. but he can’t even move.

he coughs, some blood spluttering on his white shirt and you flinch. your fingers shake as you slide them through his messy hair, stroking them in the way he’s always loved. “logan, I'm sorry...I— I'm so sorry logan..” you keep chanting and logan feels the frustration in his bones when he tries to move his arms. he can't, he's too weak now, and he's angry with himself that he's unable to comfort you the way he wants. the way he once could but never did. “not you nor the entire world could ever prevent this, sunshine. it was meant to be like this.” he says before coughing again, more blood trickling down his beard.

you crawl by his side, on the dirty ground, and press against his ‘good’ side while leaning your head on his shoulder. you tilt your head back enough for your eyes to reach his exhausted face. logan maintains a smile you haven't seen in forever. in damn years to be precise. “charles spoke to me of other timelines and some shit about— multiverse was it?” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I don't fucking know. I just wanted him to take the damn pills.” his sentence makes both of you laugh although logan is holding back with that — it'll only cause more physical pain after all. “point is..if it's true then—”

“—we gotta find each other yeah? and laura.” his eyes aren't on you anymore but they're in the sky. it's bluer than ever and the clouds part to show him the sun. logan doesn't look away even if it makes his eyes ache. you stare. “wanna make it right, sunshine.” he tells you as you sniffle by him. his fingers flinch again between your bodies and you slide a single hand down to hold his own, to intertwine your fingers in a gentle mess. “but for now I want to rest.” logan whispers and your grip tightens around his hand. if he had the strength, he'd squeeze back. you knew this.

“you did excellent.” you finally manage to say, a little steadier this time. logan averts his gaze to you as you continue. “you did a good job. you did such a good job.” you repeat with a smile so soft that logan starts yearning for you already. his faint chuckle turns into a rough cough and he takes some time to recover before speaking again.

“maybe after I rest, I'll open my eyes and..” you watch as logan’s eyes begin closing and how the heaving of his chest slows. he's deathly pale by now, the veins underneath his eyes are prominent, but your grip never slackens. you crawl closer until your foreheads touch. logan draws one last breath and you swallow down your cry. “and I'll see my daughter. and my... spouse.” your eyes shoot open wide but logan’s remain fallen shut. your chest heaves up and down intensely but logan’s remains still.

when the time comes, your feet are forcefully dragging you away towards your old car while logan lies beneath the ground.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett angst #major character death #logan 2017 #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #marvel #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #Spotify #old man logan #old man logan x reader #old logan #old!logan howlett

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cheapshrimpysheep · 1 year ago

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You... Cheater? - Demon Brothers

SUMMARY: They saw you making out with some random demon. But only after talking to you will they find out that it wasn't you after all. It was a demon impersonating you. But how did they feel before realizing this and how did they react to the relief that it wasn't really you they saw?

(This takes place before the events of Nightbringer.)

CHARACTERS: Demon Brothers (Lucifer; Mammon; Leviathan; Satan; Asmodeus; Beelzebub & Belphegor)

TAGS: Fluf; GN Reader; Comfort; Kiss, Tears, a little Angst (I think)

WORD COUNT: An average of 470 words per character.

👉 You… Cheater? - Side Characters

COMMENTS: I was looking for prompts and saw something like “cheating” or “How would they react to being cheated on?” But I don't like cheaters, this would be to sad. However, they thinking they were cheated on, but in fact they were deceived and you comfort them, that looked like a better option to me.

I hope you enjoy ;)

CONTEXT: He was walking the streets of Devildom, maybe out shopping for dinner. And he saw you! Or at least someone he thought was you. The appearance was exactly like yours! And you were making out with some random lower demon, that was unmistakable. That he could see clearly without a doubt.

This takes place before the events of Nightbringer.

Lucifer decided to walk up to “you” and have a conversation with “you” right there. But when “you” and the other demon saw him, both ran away. He didn't follow them. He stopped right there and it only took a few seconds for him to realize that something was wrong. That couldn't be you. It does not make sense. You wouldn't cheat on him. Who would?

Part of him doesn't believe it was you because he knows you and your character. But the other part that doesn't believe it was you is his Pride. Cheat on Lucifer? With someone like Diavolo he could understand, but a lower demon? No, that wasn't you, you're not that stupid! However, he can't help but have a very small fear that it really was you. But that one is irrational, it can't be right.

He asks you to go talk to him in his office and, of course, you have no idea what he saw. So, you don't know what he wants to talk to you about.

“Where were you while I was away?” is the first thing he asks after telling you that you can come in. You are confused, but the truth is, you've been playing with Levi in his room. Then some of the other brothers also showed up to play, so you have a lot of alibis.

“Did Solomon ever teach you how to duplicate yourself?” If you respond with "Is that possible?!" and an obvious face of surprise, he will burst out laughing. “I wouldn't be surprised if it was.” he continues and tells you about what he saw on the street.

Your reaction tells him everything he needs to know and confirms his suspicions. “Don't worry, I knew it wasn't you. I just wanted to confirm with you.” he lifts your chin and kisses your lips “I would never fall in love with a cheater.”

And then, he hugs you. It starts out like a normal hug, but after his arms are around you, you feel them tighten slightly. As if that little irrational side of him that worried him was showing how relieved he was that it really wasn't you. As if that little irrational part of him, that told him what he'd seen could be real, was showing you how relieved he was wrong.

“I don't know who those demons were.” He says, slowly breaking the hug and looking at you. “Yet.” You see his eyes, a look very similar to the one he usually has when he wants to punish his brothers. But this one was worse. “I will find out who they were. They need to be reminded why they shouldn't deceive us. Of course you are more than welcome to join me, after all they had the audacity to impersonate you.”

We all know Mammon is the emotional type not the rational one. So... he’s completely desolate, devastated, he’s heart shattered in pieces. It didn't even cross his mind that it might not be you, despite the number of times he said to himself "No, no, no, no, no, no..." He didn't have the courage to face “you”. He even dropped the purchases he made. One of the items he bought was a gift for you. And he run away.

He didn't come home. After all, you were there and seeing you would be too painful. But nobody knew about it. But nobody knew about it. Well, actually he went home, without the groceries and without listening to anyone. He just went straight to his room and left again, but this time on his car. You haven't seen him.

It's when everyone else goes to talk to you about not knowing where he is and being his turn to make dinner that you decide to go to his room and summon him. I mean, you have no idea where he is either. He doesn't respond to your messages. Summoning him will bring him straight to you, straight to home.

He appears and falls on his butt. “OI! WHAT THE-?!” he looks at you. His eyes were reddish and his cheeks wet. You ask what happened, worried. “You... I... You know what happened!” But you don’t. “Yes you do! I saw you! I saw... you two...”

“Us two? You mean Asmo and I? Of course you saw us. You came with us.” You remind him that the three of you went shopping together, but Asmo wanted to buy a new perfume and wanted you to go with him. So Mammon went to buy the rest of the stuff.

He is clearly embarrassed. “W-wait, s-so you were with Asmo the whole time?” Yes, you still even smelled like the perfume he bought. “S-so... you weren't sneaking kissing another demon on the street?” What the heck was he talking about?! Of course not! Does he really thought you would be kissing a random demon on the street when you could be making out with him? Your first?! And you tell him that. He's such a dummy!

He hugs you desperately. And he starts to cry again, but this time with relief. His face on your shoulder, he can't even speak, just sob. As if you just woke him up from a nightmare. You hug him back and kiss him on the forehead.

He really needs some time with you now. He's not really the vindictive type. He just wants you, your love and affection, although it took him a while to admit it. So you two cuddle for a while on his sofa. Until he remembered his car was parked somewhere.

Levi is also a very emotional person but worse: he is the Avatar of Envy. Just like any other sin can blind you, this one is the worst for what he saw. And even even worse, we know he doesn't have a good self-esteem. Put it all together and he never felt worse in his life. He won't talk to "you", he will run back home and lock himself in his room.

You had agreed that when he arrived you would go to his room to play the new game he had gone out to buy. But he didn't tell you he was back. It was one of the brothers who told you that he had seen him arrive and enter the room.

You go to his room, knock on the door, but he doesn't answer. You try as many times as it takes until he says he wants to be alone and doesn't want to talk to anyone. Messages don't work either. Only when you threaten to break down the door does he let you in.

The lights are off and he's hiding under the covers in the bathtub. You ask what's going on and again he takes a long time to answer you. He’s more the type of avoiding talk and/or see you. Listening to you is painful enough already. Worried, you slowly approach and ask again, in your sweetest voice, what was going on.

“I SAW IT, OK!?” he exploded, without coming out from under the covers, his voice cracking. “I... saw it... I saw you... on the street...” He saw you on the street? Was he talking about seeing you and Satan on the book store? “WHAT? No!” He got up, uncovering himself from the blankets. His eyes were reddish and a few tears were still falling down his cheeks. “I saw you kissing that demon on the street.” he calms down a bit and starts talking about that shouldn't surprise him. Even a lower demon was better than him. Of course he would never be enough for you. Someone like him? Of course not. You deserved better. You would even deserve the crown of Devildom...

Well, you don't remember kissing Satan on the street, so you have no idea what he's talking about. You tell him you went out with Satan to the bookstore and you were with him the whole time until you got back home. Levi could ask him. Whoever he saw wasn't you.

It takes a while for him to process that and realize that who he saw really wasn't you. And for him to throw himself into your arms. He's not afraid to cry in front of you, and on your shoulder. His hug is tight, desperately and lovingly tight.

He tells you again about his fear of losing you, of you leaving him. You end up getting in the bathtub with him. Cuddling with and reassuring him. Saying you would never leave him, how much you love him. He needs you now, he needs to recover from the shock that luckily wasn't real.

What have those two demons just done? Envy is a very bad sin to be the avatar of in a situation like that. But even worse is Wrath! Satan instantly assumed his demon form, throws the groceries to who knows where, and walked towards the two. They noticed him approach by the heavy and determined steps and fled. He stopped. “You” looked at him with such fear in “your”eyes, it shocked him.

He didn't mean to hurt “you”, he never would! But “you” hurt him. How could this be happening? You weren't like that, you were so kind and lovable... Wait, you're not like this. Something is wrong. And he only realizes this after stopping and calming down a bit. Something he learned from you. No! You wouldn't do this. Something was really wrong and he needed to talk to you now!

As soon as he gets home, he asks the first brother of his he sees if you are there. And after hearing a yes he runs to your room. Ignoring the "Why? What's going on?" after that yes.

He knocks at your door while calling your name. You open the door and he rushes into the room, closing the door behind you and practically "Kabedon" you against the door. “Have you been here the whole time?” he seems to contain some kind of anger. It worries you a little, but at these times you know you need to be the calm person. And yes, you were home that whole time. In fact, you spent a lot of time helping Mammon with his studies. He practically begged for your help to avoid another punishment from Lucifer.

You seemed sincere, but still: “So, you never left the house? Not even to go shopping?” You think for a moment. But no, pretty sure you never left the House of Lamentation. And the hours of study were very long. You both know what a bad student Mammon is.

He sighs, lowers his head for a moment and then drops down to hug you. It is a tender and relieved hug. “I’m sorry.” he whispers in your ear. “I just... wanted to make sure..." you hug him back and finally feel like it's the right time to ask what's going on.

He tells you what he saw on the street. The shock on your face is further proof to him that it wasn't really you he saw. As he thinks about what that could have been, his expression change. The expression of the true Avatar of Wrath.

“The only explanation is that someone impersonated you. I don't know who they were but I'll find out. And I couldn't care less if there were any reason for them to do that. Nobody tarnishes your name! I will find them, and when I do I'll make them regret even the air they breathe today.”

Asmo doesn't think you are cheating on him. After all he’s the Avatar of Lust, he better than anyone understands the concept of One-night stand. But he can't help but get a sour feeling in his stomach. He used to do one-night stands, but that was before he meet you. After that he couldn't do it anymore, he just wanted you. And he thought you only wanted him. What was happening to him?

He thought of going to you. Ask if he could join. That would look like him, but no, he can't, that's not what he wants to do. It's nothing related to his sin that he wants to do. He felt more like... Levi? Could it be jealousy? Him?! He needed to go home. ASAP!

He does his best to pretend that nothing is wrong, that he just came back from shopping and didn't see anything special. Maybe he'll come up with some story about a purse he saw, just to keep up the facade that everything was fine.

He'll avoid you for awhile, flashing you a smile you knew was fake. It was at dinner time, after he sent a message to the brothers' group saying he didn't feel well and therefore wouldn't have dinner that you decided to go to his room and check on him.

He is reluctant to let you in, but he still wants to show you that everything is fine, so he gives in at the second or third knock. He is sitting on the bed. And not even all the make-up he could put on his face would manage to hide from you the sadness that was really in his eyes. Despite his smile. He tells you not to worry, but it's when you insist that you can tell something is wrong that he decides to tell you the truth.

“I... I wanted to ask you.” he puts back on his everything is fine mask “Who was that new demon friend of yours?” You look confused at him. “I wasn't snooping, I promise. I just ended up seeing you two. You know, even if you try to hide yourself well there is still a possibility that someone will see you making out on the street.” he was forcing a smile, as if wanting to look like he was giving you genuine advice. But you got even more confused. What the heck was he talking about?

“Aww, don't worry hon, I'm not mad. I... think...” he mutters to himself and then goes back to talking to you. “You don't need to hide it from me. I saw it with my own eyes, you know?” you see his eyes water slightly. He's trying so hard not to cry.

But you weren't on that street today. “What?!” he widens his eyes, as if seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. You tell him you've been with Lucifer at RAD most of the day, helping him with paperwork. And even when you came home, you came back with him. And that was it. That and you wouldn't making out with a random demon on the streets. You have standards. and they only skyrocketed after you met Asmo.

He believes in you, he always believed in you and you really seemed to be telling the truth. He finally breaks down in tears and jumps out of bed to hug you desperately. He is so happy to know that that wasn't you! But he's still confused about what he felt. He really needs to talk to you about this. But after dinner. His appetite has returned and he is starving.

Beel doesn't know what to do. Should he pretend he didn't see anything? Should he go talk to you? He was so confused. You're not like this. what was happening? He... shouldn't interrupt, should he? He just grabs the groceries and heads home.

None of the groceries survived the trip. He ate up his feelings along the way. Or at least he tried. Lucifer was about to scold him, until he saw the look on his face and he just decided to let him go to his room and talk later. But the truth is, he would ask you to talk to him. And that's because even Belphie couldn't.

Belphie went to the attic to let you two talk alone in their bedroom. You knocked on the door, but Beel didn't answer. He didn't tell you to come in, but he didn't say you couldn't either. You walk in and see him lying on his bed with his back to you.

You slowly walk up to him and ask what's going on. He still doesn't respond. You sit on the bed and when you touch him, he flinches a little. Ok, now you're really worried. You ask him to please tell you what's going on, in your sweet, understanding voice.

He takes a deep breath and then slowly gets up to sit on the bed beside you. He still can't look at you. He doesn't look upset, just sad and confused. “I saw you on the street.” he calmly explains, with a sadness in the voice that breaks your heart “With that demon.”

What demon? What street? You haven't even left the house today. “What?!” he finally looks at you. He hadn't cried yet, but he was close to it. You tell him you didn't leave the house. You were even in the Planetarium with Belphie while Beel went shopping.

He believes in you, he always did and he never had any reason not to. And the same goes for Belphie. “So it wasn't you I saw on the street kissing another demon?” What? Of course not! What was he talking about?

He doesn't explain, he just smiles hugely and gives you one of his bear hugs. He tells you what he saw while hugging you. He doesn't care what he saw. He doesn't want to know who did it. The only thing that matters is that it wasn't really you. The real you was there, with him, hugging him back and letting him kiss you and kissing him back.

Then you hear his stomach rumble like a beast. His appetite had returned, and with a vengeance.

What the F*ck was going on?! Did that filthy lower demon make you do that? Were you under some spell? Belphie was going to put an end to it NOW! He assumed his demon form, throws the groceries away and rushed towards “you”. But when “you” two see him, “you” run away. He runs after the two, but unfortunately for him, the demon manages to outrun him.

He comes back home looking for you and without the groceries. When Lucifer sees him and prepares to lecture him for not bringing the groceries, Belphie stops him and asks if you are at home. It’s important! Something might have happened to you. Lucifer says you're in your room and lets Belphie run to your door.

You hear him knocking urgently at your door. You open the door, and seeing the seriousness on his face you ask what happened. He stands still in silence for a moment, looking at you, analysing. Then he comes in and lets you close the door.

“Did you leave the house today?” he asks calmly. You say yes. “Where did you go?” That was weird, he wasn't the stalking type, he was too lazy for that. That and he was never like that, much less with Beel. You went with Beel to a new pastry shop that opened to try their drinks and sweets. Needless to say, you spent a lot of time there. You had to drag Beel back home because it was getting late. You two had only arrived home shortly before Belphie himself.

“You never left his side?” No. Why would you? You love hanging out with Beel. By the way you speak and your confused expression, he knows you're telling the truth. And his straight face instantly turns into a reassured, lazy laugh. “Ha ha ha. I knew that was weird. It wasn't even you.” And now that his good mood was back, you could safely ask what the heck was going on.

“Ummmmm... I'm too tired to tell. At least standing. You know, I saw something that made me worry about you, so I ran back to see if you were all right. I'm so sleepy right now. What if I told you while we cuddle in your bed?” That sly bastard, taking advantage of a subject like that for cuddles.

He tells you what happened while the two of you are in bed. But even though he's relaxed in your arms he doesn't fall asleep. “That was probably some demon impersonating you with some shapeshifting spell.” he says “If they had done that to me, I wouldn't care. But since you were the one they did this to, I'll make sure to find them and break their neck.” he said with a cute smile and already half asleep, which only made the threat worse. And then finally fell asleep in your arms.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

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pinkestofpanthers · 3 months ago

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here's more logan thoughts of mine...

having to explain to logan that there's a common belief among people that if you're able to tie a knot into the stem of a maraschino cherry, that you must be a good kisser.

in your defense, it was all pretty innocent. logan found himself stumbling into the kitchen and noticed you standing at the counter with rogue nearby. placed out in front of the both of you were two glasses filled halfway with ice, two cans of ginger ale, a bottle of grenadine, and a small jar of maraschino cherries. before he could even say it, you recognized him lurking and spoke,

"shirley temples. rogue mentioned how she hasn't had one in forever and i decided to play bartender tonight," you grinned and cracked open the can of soda.

"i see. you make it with ginger ale?" he asked, eyes glancing to the can in your hand.

"that's how they were originally made. ginger ale, some grenadine, and a couple of cherries to add more flavor. want one?" though you asked nicely, he declined the offer and made his way to the fridge.

"you know," he said, rummaging through the fridge, "i heard shirley temple herself didn't even like the drink. also heard they never served it to her."

rogue chuckled to herself as she spooned cherries out of the jar. "of course you would know, you were probably there when they first invented it," she laughs. you tried to hold back your laughter as you looked to logan, who just waved the girl off and made some comment about her being too young to know who shirley temple was.

suddenly, rogue's attention was turned to you, as she called your name and asked if she could ask you 'something silly'. of course, you nodded, listening to whatever the girl had to say next.

"do you know how to tie a cherry stem with your tongue?" she looked to you as she twirled a stem between her pointer finger and thumb.

your eyes went wide, trying to think of a response. you didn't know exactly why she was asking. was she genuinely curious, or was she going to follow up by asking if you heard of the 'is it true that if you're able to tie a cherry stem with your tongue than it means you're a good kisser?' myth.

you tell her that you can't remember if you ever tried to. after all, you don't necessarily eat the cherries for the stems.

"makes sense. apparently only fifteen percent of people are able to do it," she shot back, now discarding the stem into the garbage.

"where did you even hear that?" you turned to her, as she just shrugged and grabbed a straw for her glass.

"is that the new party trick now? tying cherry stems with our tongues?" logan clears his throat, as he makes his way to sit down across from the two of you.

"you're old enough to know the shirley temple didn't like the drink named after her, but you don't know about tying cherry stems with your tongue?" she deadpanned.

logan, looking confused as ever, is trying to make sense of what she's saying but after a while, rogue realizes the can of worms she's opened has just led to more confusion and regrets even asking about it. she excuses herself from the kitchen, mumbling something about going to find bobby, and left you alone to work on your drink. you couldn't help but notice how logan was staring at your every move.

"i'm still confused," he spoke up after sitting in silence for a few minutes. you knew exactly what he was talking about, it wasn't as if any other conversation had taken place within the time that rogue left the kitchen, so you decided to clue him in.

"just a stupid little rumor someone made up, a common idea that if you know how to tie a cherry stem with your tongue then you must be a really good kisser," you explained, taking a cherry out of the jar and popping it in your mouth. he responds with a 'hm' and watches as you take the stem and put it in your mouth. after a minute of praying that your high school memories would serve you justice, you grabbed the cherry stem from between your teeth, showing logan the knot you made.

his expression remains the same as he looks at you, then the stem being held in the palm of your hand, and to you again. he smirks, and that's when he questions,

"but it's just a myth, right?"

"i mean, i've never put the theory to the test. you wanna see for yourself?" you try him, thinking he would just laugh you off and continue to joke about it. his response this time being clearer than before,

"i was only hoping you would ask, hun."

p.s., i tried posting this on another account and for some reason tumblr did not push it??? wtf, anyways, here you go. thanks for the love on the last little blurb i posted!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fluff #wolverine fluff #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #james logan howlett #logan howlett #wolverine

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ghouldump · 4 months ago

Note

Your fics are amazing!

Lestat and y/n remind me of a scene on what we do in the shadows:

Lestat: i would like to say that i think all marriage is a sham except mine with my darling wife y/n

Reader: ☺️👋

Btw do NOT feel pressured to put out content, this is suppose to be a safe space for creators and i am sure that the rest of the readers feel that way.

Kisses 💋

001

thank you 🥰 your words of encouragement mean so much to me 🩷 i prefer lengthy fics myself and so naturally i like to make my stories a bit long. i know that a few of you guys enjoy my writing and are wondering what is taking so long, so i really appreciate the understanding. i am also posting the requests at the same time, so you guys can have a few new posts to read instead of one. anyways, that so seems like him 😂 i literally came up with a tiny imagine for this 😙

“and what about you two, are you married?” the young woman asked you.

she and her husband were tourists in new orleans, choosing the city for their honeymoon. you spotted the newly wedded couple in the restaurant, they were the perfect meal for the night. although, you found them slightly interesting, forcing lestat to sit through the dull conversation.

“yes, lestat took longer than most, but we’ve been married for what feels like an eternity,” you laughed.

it had been only a few decades since you’d become mrs. de lioncourt, compared to your century of love.

“forgive me, ma chèrie,” lestat said lowly, as he kissed your hand.

“i didn’t grow up with the best example of marriage,” he said, a sly grin on his face.

“that’s a shame, my pa married my mama after only a month of knowing her, they’ve been together for over 30 years,” the husband bragged. you resisted the urge to laugh, watching as lestat went from grinning to frowning in disgust.

“you know what i find shameful? humans and their boresome matrimonies. you have no real reason other than legality burdens and for misogynistic idiots like yourself to have an at-home womb and servant,” lestat told the man, his nose turned up to him.

“that’s quite a harsh thing to say when you’re married yourself,” the young bride told him, furrowing her eyebrows.

“exactly, miss…y/n, was it? you sure have a handful on your hands,” the groomsman laughed, awkwardly.

slowly looking over at you, you smiled as you met his eyes, his fingertips softly brushing against your jaw.

“our marriage is beyond anything you've experienced in your short life, or your insufficient parents, the epitome of all things neither of your insolent brains could ever understand. your marriage is useless, nothing more than a piece of paper, and if you permit her beautiful name to even slip from your thoughts, let alone your tongue again, i will rip out your spine from-

“lestat,” you called his name, he stopped instantly, facing you.

“yes love?” he asked, his eyes softened. over the years, despite being your maker, he found himself willingly under your command, doing any and everything in his power to please you.

“don’t scare them too badly, honey, the blood will change its course, and taste funny,” you told him, your usual soft smile in place.

the couple was by now confused and disturbed, looking around for the safest exit.

“my apologies, ma chèrie,” he shook his head.

“you don't have to apologize, shall we eat?”

“ladies first,” he nodded, as you both bare your teeth, to plunge into your meals.

#lestat de lioncourt x reader #lestat x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 10 months ago

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David and Michael talk about the S2 Finale 🥺

David and Michael interview with Kim Roots from TVLine, about the S2 finale. July 2023 [S2 Promo: C: I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a grou p. And we spend our existence pretending that we aren't.]

KR: What happens in the finale between Crowley and Aziraphale is something that some fans have been yearning for a very long time. Was there a pressure? Did you have any conversations about what this might mean to the fandom? Talk to me a little bit about like when you found out this was going to happen and kind of your initial reactions.

Michael: Well, you know, the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley, obviously, is something that the audience seemed to really warm to, and obviously was part of why the idea of doing Season 2, you know, seemed like it could be something that could work. Following how that relationship develops has been something that the audiences have really got into. So we've taken that very seriously, and Neil takes it incredibly seriously. So tracking that relationship and that journey between them, because obviously on the surface, they seem like they're complete opposites, and yet clearly, they're kind of compelled towards each other in all kinds of ways. And now that they've been being cut off from their respective head offices, they only have each other, so that pulls them together a lot more, doesn't it? And the stakes are always high around them, and they sort of end up going on a journey together, but it takes them to different places and where we leave things at the end..

David: Well, that's the thing. Nothing is resolved. So whatever happens and whatever you may have seen at the end of Episode 6, it's also important to note that that doesn't finish the story. In fact, that just sor of ruptures things.

Michael: It's the start of another story.

[S2 Promo: A: I forgive. C: Don't bother.]

David:I think you have to be careful if there is something delicate that has generated a lot of excitement about where will that end up. As soon as you end up there, as soon as you finish that story, it's all over, isn't it?

Michael: You don't really want to find out who killed Laura Palmer. [Twin Peaks series plot]

David: Yeah, exactly. Exactly.

KR Like you said, David, there is no resolution, which made me very happy because this feels primed for a third go-around at some point. Have you had any conversations about that with Neil about possibly keeping the story going?

David: Well, if you've seen where Series 2 ends, there's certainly the teasing of further tales to come, isn't there? Whether we will ever find out what those tales are is in the lap of... well, certainly not on our lap.

Michael: No, it's on the laps of the audience.

David: Laps of the audience, yes.

Michael: We are sitting firmly...

David: In the tops of the audience as it streaming.

Michael: Yeah, it's not in my lap. I know that. When we first started Series 1, we always knew that the story went a lot further because Neil and Terry had talked about it. They just hadn't written it down, but we knew there were ideas, and we have not yet reached the end of those ideas.

David: No.

Michael: You know, if we get a chance to tell more of this story, it does already exist.

David: Yes.

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chrissv4mp · 3 months ago

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౨ৎ WHAT IF?

PART 1 ; YOU DON'T REMEMBER CALLING OUT FOR ME?

SUM: matt can't seem to stop worrying about you. he can't seem to stop replaying the events of that night.

PAIR: matt sturniolo × f!reader

CWS: cursing, crying, yelling, brief mention of car crashes, slight blood, road rage(?), mentions of amnesia (the loss of memories, facts, information, and experiences).

WC: 2.9k

NOTES: highly requested part 2 is FINALLYYYY here! (might be a part 3 cus... why not?)

TAGS: @livialifesblog @jetaimevous @watercolorskyy @blahbel668 @her-favorite @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @fallingforfalll2 @muchloveforhacker @slutforsturnioloss @sturniluvr @httqvi @stasiesturn @phoenix062

NAVIGATION

— MATT. MATT WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND. That's why he saved you. That's why he was the first person to run towards the crash, and that's why he was so touchy with you in the ambulance. That's why you can't stop the faint images that flash through your mind of his blurry flace. But, is that also why you hear yelling in the back of your mind? Is that why your heart hurts and beats rapidly every time you see him?

Is he the reason you're lying in this hospital bed?

Monitors beep beside you every other second, tracking your heart rate and blood pressure and whatever else they need to. The IV in your wrist moves with every subtle squirming motion you make, and your head still aches with the sting of the gash and... something you still can't grasp.

Your heart aches as well. Not only for yourself, but also for Matt. He had to witness the whole thing happen, or else you wouldn't remember the terrified look on his face as he dragged you out of the drivers seat. He watched the love of his life experience a near death situation, and you couldn't imagine how it would feel.

But somehow, you can. You can imagine it.

How? Why can you feel exactly what he must've felt right in that moment? Did you experience that feeling, too, or was it just empathy? It didn't feel like it. It felt too real to be just empathy, but you didn't know how or when you felt like that, so how could you prove it to yourself?

"Hey," a soft voice caught you off guard, and your body jolted in shock before realizing who it was. Matt. There he was, standing just behind the privacy curtain in the room, "Sorry to startle you. Do you mind if I come in?"

You only gave him a weak nod of your head, your lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. Matt's smile seemed to widen as he stepped toward your bed, closing the curtain behind him before he moved to take his place in the chair beside your the bed.

The only sounds were the beeping of monitors and the muffled chatter of other patients and doctors, neither you nor Matt having the right words to say. What were either of you supposed to say right now?

Matt knew what he could say. He was just scared to say it.

He didn't want those horrible memories of the fight to come back to you. He never wanted you to remember the heart-shattering words he spoke to you.

So, instead, he decided on a more normal conversation starter, "How'd you sleep last night? Sorry I couldn't be here, they wouldn't let me stay unless I was immediate family." He was lying. Why was he lying right to your face?

Because he couldn't stand the sight of your hurt, beat up face. He felt guilty every time he even heard your voice. His eyes weren't even on you right now, focused on the floor as he fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

You shrug, hands toying with the thin sheets of the hospital bed, "I couldn't really sleep with all the monitors beeping, but I got some hours in, so it was fine."

Matt just nods gently, almost as if he doesn't know you and doesn't want to know you, only giving the small gesture so you would think he's entertained. It was almost as if he was speaking to a stranger, but he wasn't. He was speaking to his girlfriend.

He should've been comfortable with you by now. You assumed the relationship had been long, or else you wouldn't have had his initial as the pendant dangling from your necklace.

"I'm scared." You say quietly, lower lip trembling subtly as you glance over at the monitors that tracked your heart rate among other things. You were scared dying. You were scared of being stuck in the hospital for longer than a month. You were scared that you would lose Matt, the only person who visited you.

He could cry. He could do so many things, but all he did was sit there and clench his fists. He was scared, too. He was terrified, but he had to be strong. For you. "Don't be. I promise you'll be okay."

Your own tears surfaced, and Matt choked on his spit as he heard your quiet whimpers. He didn't know what to do. No. He did know what to do he was just scared of doing it. How would you react? What if you still thought he was some stranger?

As you wipe your tears, you finally speak, "You said we needed to talk about something," you mutter, tilting your head to the side in an attempt to catch his gaze, but you still get nothing. His eyes dart all over the place, not once sparing you a glance even as you continue to speak, "Is it—What did we need to talk about, Matt?"

His name sounds foreign coming from your mouth, the way it rolled off your tongue so strangely (well, to him, at least) made him suck in a shaky breath. You almost don't notice him shudder, his whole body changing his sitting position, almost as if he was uncomfortable being in the same room as you.

"We don't have to talk right now if you're not ready. I'll be back every day, so we can talk whenever we're both ready." Matt speaks softly, giving you a weak smile as he taps his foot on the tiles of the floor, "Plus, I wouldn't wanna overwhelm you with all of it after your... incident. And you said you didn't sleep well last night, so that's another thing—"

"No, it's okay. I'm ready." You cut him off, nodding your head with an eager look on your face. Maybe if he spoke, you'd remember. Maybe if he had told the whole story, you would remember, and everything would go back to normal. You'd remember.

Right?

Matt shakes his head as a soft chuckle falls from between his lips, "No, no, it's okay, Y/N. We'll talk some other time." He was pushing it back. He didn't want to talk. Did the doctors not tell him the same things they told you, or did he just not want you to remember?

"Matt, I'm saying we can talk now. I'm ready." You say, voice shaking slightly as you watch the way his fists clench and unclench every other second, "Let's just—"

Beep, beep, bee—

"Y/N, I don't want to fucking talk!" His loud voice booms in the much quieter room as he shoots up from his seat beside you. The soft blue eyes that were once full of hope were much darker now, much colder, "Can't you get that through your fucking head?" He breathes out, throwing his hands up in an exasperated motion.

He tilts his head to the side, scoffing as he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. When he finally looks over at you, it feels like his heart breaks.

For the millionth time since last night.

Your eyes are teary, lips parted as short breaths fall out. Your hands grip the hospital gown you're wearing, and you almost look like you've seen a monster. Because you have. Matt just sighs, fists clenching once again. Why was he being like this?

"Just leave it alone, kid," He mutters, shaking his head as he begins to walk away towards the privacy curtain. He doesn't spare you another glance even as he shuts the curtains behind him, leaving you alone to process what had just happened. What had happened?

Kid. You weren't a kid. Sudden anger washed over you as you finally processed his sentence, and something came back to you. Memories of the moments before the crash.

"Don't be so fucking sensitive, Y/N! I was just messing around. You're getting all riled up over nothin', kid."

"Don't call me 'kid', I'm not a fuckin' kid, Matthew. And you could've died from the height of your apartment! You're still drunk."

The room around you seems to spin, and you feel sick to your stomach as your eyes move around the small room you were set in. If he was your boyfriend, why were you fighting that night? And if you were fighting, why did he come to save you?

Beep, beep, bee—

Matt groaned in frustration as yet another car honked at him, his grip on the steering wheel tightening in both anger and anxiety. He was worried he wouldn't make it to the hospital in time. He had left the apartment earlier than usual in an effort to be on time, but it had just resulted in him getting stuck on traffic.

On The Five, too, an unusually busy street at an even more unusual hour of the day, "If these dumb motherfuckers don't stop honking at us, I'm gonna go insane." Nick sighed from the back, running a hand through his freshly-washed hair as he looked out of his window.

Right. He had invited both Nick and Chris to tag along with him to the hospital, and despite Nick's complaining about the early hour, he still came. He hadn't seen you since that night, and he never even asked if you were alright, too scared of what you would say.

"Nick!" Chris yells, turning in his seat to look back at his brother. Nick just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over one another as he huffs.

"No, he's right, Chris. I'm gonna punch someone if they honk at me again." Matt huffs, eyes moving to his phone to check how long it would take to get there.

30 minutes.

His heartbeat picked up as his grip got impossibly tighter on the wheel, accidently turning to the right before he finally focused and got back on track. Nick and Chris gave each other a knowing look before their eyes were on Matt again.

"Dude, fucking move!" Matt yelled, his voice strained as he tried his hardest not to panic. His anxiety was never this high in traffic, why was it this high right now?

Nick's eyes widen at the booming voice of his brother, his hand moving to his heart in surprise as he stares at the back of his brothers head rest, "We're gonna be late, fuck." Matt sighed, his breathing short.

"Kid, it'll be fine. Calm down, we'll get there when we get there. Y/N won't be mad." Chris coos in an attempt to reassure his brother, his hand moving to awkwardly pat his shoulder. Seeing his brother so stressed made him hurt, his face contorting into a look of worry as he stared at the side profile of Matt.

His last words almost make Matt break, his breath hitching as he replays the moments of his last visit. He yelled at you. He snapped at you because he didn't want to talk. Why was he such an asshole? "She's gonna be mad, Chris."

"Fuck," Matt anxiously runs a hand through his messy hair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they open to look back at the road, "I yelled at her. Chris, I fucking yelled at her!" He breathes, worry clear in his tone as he finally spills.

"She's gonna resent me fore—" Matt starts, taking both of his hands of the wheel as he drags them down his face. He sucks in a deep breath, tears threatening to prick in his eyes as he feels that familiar suffocating feeling. He couldn't do this right now. He was in traffic and he was late and he had to get to you and...

"Matt, shut the fuck up," Nick says, his voice rising in an attempt to get his brothers attention. When he saw Matt's eyes in the rear view mirror, he began to speak, "Nothing could make her hate you after what you did. You saved her life, for Christ's sake."

"Right. Just apologize, kid. She's probably confused with everything going on. Just tell her what you feel." Chris chimes in, nudging Matt with his hand as he smiles at him. Matt nods subtly, hands moving back to the wheel but still maintaining that tight grip.

It was still killing him inside.

Ambulance sirens come closer and closer to Matt's car, and now he's a couple blocks away from his apartment. Now you're lying on the grass, and you're gone. He doesn't pull over even when he sees the ambulances on the shoulder, his eyes looking off into the distance.

"Matt, pull over!" Nick says, tapping the headrest as he notices the ambulances. His brother doesn't even turn the wheel, too lost in the fake scenario in his head. There was a universe where he didn't come and get you.

"No," Matt whispers, finally coming back to it as he looks out of Chris' window, noticing the ambulances. He still doesn't even think to pull over, "No."

His head was spinning, and when the ambulances finally passed, the traffic started to clear. Matt didn't hesitate to stomp on the gas, jolting all three triplets' bodies back as he sped down the highway.

"Matt," you whisper, watching as your boyfriend and... 2 more of him walk through the curtain and into your room?

Chris notices the confused look on your face as he walks in last, his lips tugging into a small smile as he moves to sit in the seat on the left side of the hospital bed. He waves to you, "Hey, Y/N. I'm Chris, Matt's brother, and also one of your friends."

"We're triplets. I forgot to tell you I was gonna bring 'em today, sorry." Matt chuckles lightly, rubbing your shoulder softly as he takes the other seat on the opposite side of the bed. Nick takes the seat on the far end of the room, right by the curtain as he smiles at you.

"I'm Nick, glad to see you're okay, Y/N." Nick says, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the room. He waves his hand at you in a greeting, placing it back on his thigh as he sees you smile.

They all came to see you.

"Thank—" You suck in a breath as their presence finally sinks in, eyes fluttering shut for a moment to compose yourself before you finish, "Thank you guys for coming to see me. 'Ts means a lot, thank you."

Chris' heart flutters at your words as he relaxes in his chair, comfortable silence filling the room as he takes in the whole thing. He was glad you felt at least somewhat comfortable around them, "Don't thank us, we're just so, so happy that you're alright.

Matt still feels the light tension between you two as his eyes meet yours for only a second. Yours move away, but his... they stay. Finally. He breathes deeply before scooting closer to the edge of his chair, practically leaning over you now, "I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday. It wasn't right of me, and I should've just told you that I wasn't ready to talk."

Your eyes move to his again, breath stuttering as you notice that look in his eyes. The same look he gave you in the ambulance ride here, the same look you... somehow, remember from previous events. Dates. More intimate moments and even some sad ones. You remember them.

"It's okay." You match the volume of his voice, eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips. You want to kiss him. Is he even comfortable with that right now? Matt answers your question for you, leaning closer to your face and pressing his lips to yours softly.

Nick cringes lightly, but he doesn't make a peep, instead moving his eyes to the floor. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He wanted both you and Matt to be happy. Chris smiles, moving his hands up to clap them together slowly.

The sudden noise makes Matt pull away, and Nick's eyes move, all of your heads turned to Chris, who just sits there, continuing his celebration, "Let's fuckin' go, Matt!" He calls, his voice straining as it always does whenever he's excited.

Matt blushes furiously, rolling his eyes as he gives his brother the finger. You and Nick laugh as Chris continues his motions, only further urging Matt. Before Chris can even say anything else, Matt is rounding the hospital bed and punching his brother in the shoulder repeatedly, eliciting a string of 'ows' from Chris.

"Actually, shut your fucking mouth," Matt murmurs, ruffling Chris' hair before he moves over to his seat again. Nick smiles in amusement, raising his eyebrows at Matt, "Yeah, that'll for sure show him."

"I'll give it to you 10 times wor—" Matt catches himself, his words sounding dirty to himself in his mind as he claps a hand over his mouth, his scream muffled.

Nick, Chris, and you all erupt into laughter. You and Chris grab onto each other as you laugh, unable to contain it anymore.

Even if you didn't get all of your memories and experiences back, you were glad you'd have this memory. Permanently.

You hoped.

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awandapologist · 6 months ago

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Kiss It Better

warnings: mentions of a black eye, minor injuries, a tiny bit suggestive, but mainly just some fluff :)

nika x uconn!reader

You had been working on assignments all day; your fingers were cramping up from typing notes and you were exhausted. Midterms were coming up for spring semester and with it, the NCAA women's basketball tournament. But even with all the chaos on campus and in your personal life keeping you busy, your mind still wandered to a certain 5'10 brunette.

You had met Nika Mühl at a party your friend dragged you to at the end of the previous semester. You bumped into the taller girl while trying to get a drink, desperately needing something to relieve your bubbling anxiety from the social event. When her big brown eyes met yours, you swear your stomach flipped. You immediately noticed the small smile playing on her full, pink lips and had to forcefully pull your eyes away from them.

After a night of talking and getting to know Nika, you were practically smitten. The way she maintained undivided eye contact with you throughout your conversation, and how passionately she talked about her love for her sport completely charmed you. You knew she was a special person, and one you definitely wanted to see again, which is why you had to hold back a huge grin when she asked you for your phone number at the end of the night.

Since that night a few months ago, you and Nika had become close friends. Close, yes.... but not exactly in the way you wanted. Your romantic feelings for Nika had only grown with time, falling more and more for the Croatian everyday. You wondered what her lips would feel like on yours and what it would be like to hold her hand as you walked around campus. You swore that sometimes you thought she felt the same, but you were too nervous to make the first move, worried about tarnishing the friendship you shared.

Before you could torture yourself any further, a loud and very persistent knock on your door pulled you out of your stressful thoughts.

"What the hell-" you muttered. "One second!" you yelled, quickly leaving your bedroom as you wondered who could be banging on your door at this time of night. In hindsight, you should have known who it was by the insistent knocks that wouldn't let up.

As if by magic, the same girl plaguing your thoughts was standing on the other side of the door- except she was sporting a big black eye.

"Nika, what the hell??" you exclaimed, as you pulled the taller girl in by her arm. You quickly took her face in your hands, examining the injured area surrounding her eye. She looked down at her feet, avoiding your intent gaze.

"Are you okay? How did this happen?" you asked, concerned for your friend. You knew Nika was tough and could sustain a lot on the court, but this looked like it hurt. Badly.

When her eyes met yours, you saw so much emotion swimming in them.

"It was an accident at practice. Coach said I can still play in the upcoming game, but I'm just so pissed at myself for letting it happen."

Her large hands left her side to place on your waist. You tried to push down the damn immediate butterflies you felt at the simple action.

"I didn't even go to the trainer- I came straight here. I'm gonna get so much shit from coach tomorrow, but I don't care." Your breath hitched in your throat at the confession, but annoyance also rose at the girl's carelessness.

"Just wanted to see you," she said quietly, her lips forming the cutest unconscious pout.

"Nika!" you swatted her arm, immediately taking her by the hand to lead her to the bathroom. You rummaged through your medicine cabinet, immediately cleaning the wound on Nika's face before grabbing some ice.

The Croatian towered over you, wincing a little as you applied pressure on the freshly formed black and blue. "So..." you began. "Are you going to tell me more about how this actually happened?" you gently inquired.

Nika's brown eyes met yours again. "I was.... distracted, I guess. Paige ended up completely elbowing me in the face," she laughed meekly.

"Distracted? During basketball?" you asked, brow quirking up. "That doesn't sound like you at all," you said. You knew how passionate Nika got during practices- always giving her best effort no matter the time or place.

"Got a lot on my mind lately I guess" she said under her breath. Her eyes darted down to your lips discreetly and back up to your eyes.

The close proximity and the way Nika was staring you down began to make you nervous, and Nika could tell. You cleared your throat before you began speaking again,

"Oh? Like what kinda stuff?" you asked, now avoiding the other girl's line of sight. You pretended to seem disinterested and unsurprised, but Nika wasn't buying what you were selling. She knew you better than you knew yourself.

With a small smile, she removed your hand that was holding the bag of ice from her face, placing it on the bathroom counter. Her now free hand grabbed your waist, pulling you closer into her, while the other brushed a fallen piece of hair to rest behind your ear.

"Well, you see..." she started. "There's this one girl that has just not left my mind. No matter how hard I try, I just keep thinking about her." Her hand began to rub small circles on your hip, soothing both herself and you. "So much so that I got a black eye for it," she said. That same small smile you loved so much adorning her plush lips.

You felt like your heart could burst at her words and the way she was holding you. The realization that your friend felt the same was still sinking in, but Nika was done waiting.

"So... think you can kiss it better for me?" she said with a smirk, cupping your jaw before finally bringing her lips to yours.

#nika muhl #nika mühl #nika muhl x reader #uconn wbb

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rhaenyratargcryen · 3 months ago

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i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment.

This man will not take a fucking hint.

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one.

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him.

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.”

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom.

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is.

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers.

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go.

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work.

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes.

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own.

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight.

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me.

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent.

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further. “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation.

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up.

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel.

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure.

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face.

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck.

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat.

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care.

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there.

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

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