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helaenology · 15 hours ago

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i. lady grinning soul

sirius black/reader (no gendered pronouns, mentions of reader having 🍒)

shocking your friends, you bite the bullet and book a tattoo appointment with a new artist, turns out you have a lot more in common than thought before. or, you and tattooist!sirius bond over your shared love for David Bowie. (2.612k)

caution. modern au, tattoo needles, blood, slight nudity(?), i’ve never been tattooed before so the procedure might be inaccurate, reader is down bad for a man they just meet, pretty unprofessional work environment, crack ending.

IT’S exceedingly rare for you to shoot from the hip.

More often than not, the bullets stay lodged in the barrel of your metaphorical gun (in other words, your prefrontal cortex), where it’s safe and close to you.

Most of your close companions would consider you to be a level-headed individual, not the kind of person to go to when it comes to profound decisions.

Lily Evans knew this well, so it’s safe to assume that she was dumbfounded when you shared thoughts with her about your pivotal choice to get new ink.

“You’re cheating on McKinnon? She’s never going to forgive you.” She verbalised with an airy voice.

It was a joke; you weren’t cheating on Marlene—she’s done most of your tattoos, and she would forgive you. At least you think she would.

You snort at Lily’s statement, trying to focus on the tweezer in your hand and her russet-coloured eyebrows.

She sits on the small stool of her vanity, and you lean over her. It’s a position too close for comfort, but over the years you’ve known Lily, its no dilemma for either of you.

“If she hadn’t gone on that so-called platonic girls trip with that Meadowes girl, I wouldn’t have to cheat on her, and it’s not even cheating!”

The corner of Lily’s mouth had curled up at your comment on the topic, and you mirrored it. She eyes you playfully in silent agreement.

Marlene did try and write off this weekend getaway as a friendly affair between her and Dorcas, but you could see past her act effortlessly. She hadn’t been subtle, not when her eyes had lit up so brightly when she heard the doorbell ring.

Leaning back from where you were hunched over the red-headed girl, you try to assess your work done on her eyebrows.

As usual, they’re plucked to perfection. You smile and throw the tweezer aside; it clatters against the other beauty products situated on the surface of your vanity. Lily flinches at the noise and lightly punches your arm in retaliation with a shallow laugh.

“Where have you booked it? Is it local?” Lily questions, trailing after you as you walk away.

“A parlour in the city; wonder if Marl knows them.” You reply as you stride into the kitchen. Flicking on the kettle, you begin to prepare a cup of tea. Turning back to where Lily stands behind you, you shake the box of teabags in offering. She nods and moves to sit on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Is it not like, sacrilege? What if they’re tattooist arch-enemies or something?”

“Then perhaps I’ll be the tattooed Judas.” It was a poor attempt at a joke on your part, but fortunately it lands and Lily lets out a snicker.

You ponder the thought for a moment while waiting on the kettle to boil. Is a fresh set of ink a symbol for the thirty pieces of silver? Is Marlene saintlike, and is it even worth betraying her? She’s always been a good friend, and you’d feel terrible if she actually was heartbroken over your actions.

As if she had a second sense for sniffing out negative reasoning, Lily sounds out a low whistle to gain your attention. It works, and you turn to look at her.

Her head is tilted to the left slightly, curls brushing against the countertop. She always had an unnatural ability for reading your body language like a book, now even more so. A small smile graces her features, one of tenderness she only sets aside for those closest to her—and probably stray cats.

“It’ll be fine; you can always hide it from her.” She murmurs, as if it were a secret.

“I’m getting it done on my ribs.”

Lily grimaces, and you don’t know if it’s out of the idea of the pain or how quickly her secretive plan was soiled.

A bell chime makes a racket when you open the front door of the tattoo parlour.

You wince at the noise and slowly close the door behind you. Inside the shop is an interior similar to what you had already imagined.

Tawny-coloured bricks line the back wall; it reminds you of Lily’s hair.

Framed pictures of artworks and musicians decorate the brickwork; you take note of the recurring portraits of your favourite classic rock stars, maybe this place won’t be too bad; maybe you were stressing for nothing.

There are five sets of tattoo stations, with one of them being occupied. A burly man lies against the leather of the chair as another, much slimmer man has a tattoo gun to his bicep. The man has deeply contorted facial features, most likely due to the pain.

It’s laughable, almost, seeing such a stout individual in such a situation.

You are broken out of your stupor by a figure that appears before you. Another man, with wide brown eyes hidden behind crimson-coloured glasses, stands in front of you. He has a bright-eyed look, one you recognise as the typical customer-service guise. Taking a brief moment, you admire the dark ink that lines his brown skin.

“Afternoon love, Did you have an appointment for today, or are you a walk-in?” He questioned, voice orotund to ensure you had heard him over the buzz of the tattoo gun in the corner of the room. He presses his upper body against the front desk to lean over it and grab a spiralled notebook.

You assume it’s a booking schedule, as Marlene has something similar in her flat, so you offer your name. He flips through the book before he lands on one page. He nods to himself and lets out a small noise of recognition.

“Well, it looks like you’re with Sirius today; I’ll go fetch him for you. Please make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to the small shag settee behind you before walking into a back room hidden behind a beaded curtain. You do as he says and perch yourself down on the crimson-coloured couch.

Toying at the textured fabric you sit upon, you return to admiring the decor of the shop. One poster in particular catches your eye.

A grayscale portrait of David Bowie sits behind a sky blue frame and sea foam glass. The blackened scratching of an autograph leaves you feeling a slight sense of jealousy.

A loud brush of the beaded curtains interrupts the fresh grudge you had formed on whoever it is that got a signed picture of the Goblin King.

Graced with the presence of yet another man, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the matter. Maybe you should’ve stuck with Marlene. This one’s just as pretty as the original guy you spoke to— alabaster skin and cropped jet black hair. He smiles softly when you stand to meet him halfway.

“Hi. You’re my canvas today?”

You nod, and he motions for you to follow him to a tattoo station. This man, Sirius, you recall, dons a frayed shirt with imagery of a black metal band you hardly recognise and navy blue wide leg jeans. He has two different coloured Converse shoes on; is it a fashion statement, or did he seem to displace the other half to both pairs? From what you can see when you walk behind him, his forearms are patterned with cluttered designs of tattoos.

You settle onto the tattoo bench as Sirius prepares his equipment.

He’s practically hovering over you now, eyeing the length of your body. Your face grows warm, and you pray that he can’t feel the heat. It’s clear he does though; a hint of a smile crawls up on his features. He really was quite pretty.

“Alright,” he says, “what are we doing today?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly set on a particular subject; I was hoping you might have some designs you’ve been wanting to try out.”

Sirius smiles much more softly now. He looks alluring like this. The sterile lighting would do nothing to help the beauty of others, but for some reason he looks otherworldly.

“Stunning, I can work with that.” You could too if he asked for it. “Is there a position in particular you were leaning towards?” He asks while pulling a beige Manila sleeve. You nod and gesture in the general direction of your upper rib cage. His face contorts as if he were experiencing the soon-to-come pain.

You spend the next few minutes with your head leaning awfully close to Sirius’ shoulder. Finally, you land on a particular design that you like the concept of and ask him to tweak some parts of the composition.

Having already been subjected to being a canvas for Marlene, you are already familiar with the spouts of pain experienced when being tattooed.

There are enough sweets and sugary drinks stuffed into the pocket of your bag to last you days; you can only hope that Sirius has the peace of mind to go easy on you. Spending the next several hours whining into his ear in pain seems less than charming.

“Cool. You can take your shirt off now.”

Just as you expected, he did not go easy on you. Fortunately, it had taken less than half an hour to finalise the exact location and composition of the piece. Normally, it would take yourself and Marlene several days to even figure out a basic idea. Perhaps it was the air of succour that Sirius gave off, or maybe you had just wanted to make an impression on him.

Either way, you find yourself with your back flat against the chair as Sirius holds the tattoo gun to your flesh. The pain is strong on the surface of your rib cage, and the buzz of the tattoo gun makes it feel like your ribs are rattling against one another.

Sirius has been heartwarmingly kind throughout this exchange, taking the time often to ask if you had wanted any other snacks to eat at or if you needed to take a break when he notices the contort of pain in your face. But obviously these are just standard business qualities; it’s best not to assume otherwise. The faint brush of his hand against your shin or the hushed praises under his breath are just common practices, right?

Bravely, you choose to ignore these thoughts that occupy your mind and instead focus on studying the dark lines embellished on Sirius’ forearms.

A mixture of bright and monochrome ink circulates his veins and stretch marks. It evokes an image of a summer’s breath of wind. Flower petals and leaves curling in the breeze.

A series of gentle pats against your shoulder rids you of your state of languor. He has terribly soft hands, yet callouses run deep all the same. You wonder what it would be like to hold his in your own.

“I think I’ll turn you over now. Just to make the tattooing a bit easier for you.” He began, urging you with a gentle tug on your bicep. “Is that alright, love?” You nod and string out a grumble of agreements.

He has you embraced a lot closely now that your on your side. His unoccupied hand grabs a flurry of paper towels from the dispenser behind you. He rests them and his hand between the juncture of hip and upper thigh. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume the new blush of red that he dawns on his face was derived from such proximity.

The insistent buzz of the tattoo gun continues, and you try to centre your mind on the noise. With your eyes closed, you cannot see the serpentine path formed by coffee brown eyes. As Sirius watches you, a lump forms in his throat.

It’s laughably notable that this is unprofessional, the way he’s been acting for the last several hours. Sirius is surprised that Remus hasn’t said anything to him as he types away on the front desk computer; has he even noticed? The all but necessary intimacy between the two of you was stark. If James was still clocked in, he’d be having a field day.

Your body language isn’t telling him that you’re uncomfortable, and he most definitely hasn’t pushed at any clear boundaries. He sees the way your chest rises and falls. You look content almost, which is odd given the fact that he is currently holding several needles in your skin.

Something catches Sirius’ eye, something he recognises all too well. He draws a sharp breath, and you flinch.

“Hey, we have matching tats!” He marvelled. With a flutter of blinks, you hum in question, clearly shocked by the sudden volume of his voice.

Sirius turns the tattoo gun off and moves it to the small side table to the right of you. He pulls up the fabric of his weathered shirt and points at a specific work on his lower stomach. It’s then that you make the connection and try not to redden at the reveal of his lean form, like a Victorian gentleman would at the slip of an ankle.

Nestled upon his waist is a red lightning bolt with blue shadowing. Aladdin Sane, 1973, David Bowie.

You have a matching David Bowie tattoo with one of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen.

You’re spiralling now; is the autographed photo his? Was he truly blessed with the presence of a musical genius before he passed on? You don’t know if you should break down in tears or kiss him.

The tattoo you have is much smaller and located on the side of your left breast. Normally it’s quite hard to see, hidden beneath your underclothes or your arm. It was one of your first, a drunken decision but you don’t regret it. Lily had cringed when you first showed it to her, criticising the rash, permanent commitment.

The following weekend, she did the same thing in an almost blackout haze. A set of lily flower petals rests on her shoulder.

“You a Bowie fan? What’s your top song?” The presence of Sirius once again breaks you out of your thoughts; he’s really good at that.

“Uh, probably The Prettiest Star.”

“Yeah. That’s a good one.”

The smile on his face is a coy one; you can’t help but feel left out of an untold joke. Sirius says nothing and returns to working on your skin. In your mind, you pray to whoever’s listening (hopefully Bowie) that this tattoo won’t take much longer. You are unsure of how much more you can take of this determined teasing.

Another hour passes before you’re finally done. Plastic wrapped like leftovers and a decent sum drained from your bank account. Safe to assume that leftovers are all you’ll be eating for the time being.

Sirius hands you a receipt and bids you a flirty goodbye. Breathless, you exit the parlour, though not before becoming flustered at the wink he gives you as you walk out the door.

You turn the crumpled invoice in your hand and stifle a shout of elation. A phone number, his personal one, you hope. Beside it is a scribbled sentence that reads: Text me and i’ll tell you all about my favourite songs. - S.

When you finally limp your way up the stairs to your flat, you are faced with the one thing you feared. Lily sits tense on the living room couch, with Marlene right beside her.

The red-headed girl turns to look at you with a frightened expression, she knows. You mentally brace yourself and tiptoe over to the two. Gazing meekly at the subject of your fears, her face is unreadable. Your breath turns heavy.

“So..” she starts, “You’re having an affair?”

#mine #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #the marauders x reader #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter verse

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shrimpwritings · 2 days ago

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Arcane Season 2: Vi Character Analysis and Speculations

It’s been a while since I’ve done a character analysis, and what better way to write one after watching the first three episodes of the second season of Arcane? This is just my interpretation and analysis, so it might not be the same as other people’s, and that’s okay! There will be major spoilers ahead, though, so please read at your own risk!

We’re all anxious to see what’s to become of Vi in Act 2 of season 2, and rightfully so, considering how badly Caitlyn fucked up. Despite the pain we feel for Vi in that scene, we can still sympathize with Caitlyn as her grief is taking charge over her rational thinking, but at that moment, Vi looks as if her whole world has crumbled.

Despite the jokes people have made online posting pictures of Vi’s models from season 1 and season 2, namely during her pit fighter era, with texts all saying something along the lines of, “This is what a lesbian situationship does to someone.” In a way, they’re right, but it holds a deeper meaning than just that.

Vi grew up with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Vander always told her she would be held responsible for whatever happened to Mylo, Claggor, and Powder– or Jinx. The first, and probably only person that had told her that whatever happened to her sister wasn’t her burden to bear was Caitlyn, so her betrayal hits hard. Vi finally thinks she’s found someone that won’t hold her accountable for the atrocities her sister commits, someone she’s comfortable showing vulnerability to.

Vi understands Powder died as soon as she was arrested, though it takes the entirety of season 1 to fully grasp that because, to her, time stopped. She was convinced she’d come back to that same little girl she abandoned against her will, but instead, she came back to an unstable person hellbent on chaos. Trying to live in a world that moved on was a difficult transition for her, only made easier by Caitlyn giving her a place to stay for a time, and running to her for comfort after her mother’s passing. She felt responsible for everything that happened, and it takes a soft moment between the two to make her truly understand that she doesn’t have to shoulder the burden of the casualties in the explosion.

Then the fight happens, and Vi stops Caitlyn from shooting Jinx and Isha.

“I keep telling myself that you’re different, but you’re not. It’s her blood in your veins.” “Then why are you the one acting like her?!”

The butt of a gun to the gut– the exact same place where Sevika had stabbed her in season 1 to be exact– and a glare from Caitlyn are the last things Vi receives before being left completely alone. We can see the absolute devastation on her face as she’s left completely alone, in pain and hurting, as the one person who she felt saw her as more than Jinx’s big sister leave her.

From what we know about Vi as a character, is that she knows that she, as a Zaunite, is frowned upon, and she will never be treated with respect. Caitlyn only solidifies this belief by how she lashes out at her for stopping her from killing Jinx and Isha in the crossfire.

So where does that leave Vi? In a place between Zaun and Piltover, unable to belong in either city as they’re torn apart by Jinx’s revolution and Ambessa’s declaration of martial law, working as a pit fighter to make ends meet and drowning herself in liquor. Caitlyn’s betrayal hurts more than anything Silco or Jinx could do to her because she truly, genuinely, loved her, and thought she did the same. Why wouldn’t she fall deeper into the pit she dug for herself, using black face paint and hair dye to forget about the person she was that foolishly fell for Caitlyn Kiramman?

With that said, I’m very excited and terrified of where Vi’s story is going to take us in Act 2. November 16th can’t come any sooner.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #vi #arcane season 2 spoilers #character analysis #arcane vi #league of legends #arcane lol #shrimp's analysis

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sassenashsworld · 3 days ago

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Hancock at Diamond City

(this one is not .... that canonical... I couldn't help...)

The List

John just can’t believe it. He cannot believe that his brother, whose blood and flesh he shares, is capable of such an abomination. But now this bastard is smiling at him with a carnal expression.

It’s too much for him. John can no longer bear the thought of being in the same room as him. Let this bastard have his damned town hall. John prefers to go back down to the ground of the city with the common people.

But as the elevator platform descends to the floor of the cows, all the horror of what is happening spreads out at his sight.

“Motherfuckers! They don’t even give people time!”

The guards of Diamond City, and probably several mercenaries hired for the occasion, are already seizing ghouls’ citizens of Diamond City. The Great Exile demanded by the electors is already beginning.

John wants to vomit.

The young man can’t believe what he’s seeing.

The people he has known for his entire life are being dragged out of their homes like trash, treated like criminals. They’re mostly old, and scared, and lost. Some of them have been here even before John's parents. He played with some of them as a child.

Two guards, holding Mister Carter by the arms, drag him away. He manages to turn around and look at John for a moment, his eyes wide and full of despair.

“Help us, Young McDonough, please!” the poor man exclaims, his voice quivering.

John’s heart clenches, and his eyes suddenly fill with tears at the sight. He struggles to keep his voice steady.

“Hang in there, Mr. Carter,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. “Just hang in there...”

Mister Carter tries to protest and resist, but the security guards drag him away without mercy. Some of the other ghouls in line watch this scene, desperation and terror etched on their faces.

In the chaos of the crowd, John sees a figure among the others. He has always relied on this figure as a beacon in the gloomy night, where his twisted mind can occasionally guide him. He leaps off and charges towards Nick Valentine, who is leaning his back against a wall and watching the guards drag the crowd with disapproving gazes.

Nick sees John running toward him from a distance; the expression on his face is enough to tell what’s going on in his mind. He knows the young McDonough too well; he knows that if he’s here, it’s to seek trouble.

“John,” he says as the man joins him.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Why don’t you do anything?”

The detective simply grabs the cigarette packet from the inside pocket of his coat and nods sadly. He’s giving the young boy a look in the corner.

“What the heck ya mean, exactly?”

John falls silent for a moment, staring at Nick with an almost outraged expression. He knows the detective can’t really change what is happening, but he wants to deny it desperately.

“Come on, Nick,” he stutters, his voice filled with frustration and anger. “There's got to be somethin’ we can do. This is madness!”

“This is nuts,” says the detective, lighting a cigarette. “The worst I’ve ever seen... for ages.” The poor synth shakes his head once more, then hands over his cigarette pack to John. “But there ain't nothin' we can do.”

John feels his anger coalesce into a ball of fury. He violently strikes the package that his friend has offered, causing it to drop on the ground.

“HOW DARE YOU? Those people need someone to stand and protect them!”

Nick remains passive, facing the outburst.

“What do ya want me to do? You think I can just shut down this whole town, huh? These folks don’t want them ghouls hangin’ around. I know it real good... They ain't lookin' for no synth neither. There ain't nothin' I can—

“No! I can’t buy it...” John interrupts, feeling a rage growing in his gut, ready to explode like a bomb. “We gotta do something!”

“We just can’t...” Nick sighed again sadly. “Unless we wanna end up in the same boat. We can't go against what the folks want, ya know? When ya gonna get it?”

“Never!” screams John, completely revolted.

He sees another well-liked and respected citizen.

“Mister Rodriguez!”

“No, John,” the old man stopped him before John said more. “I know what you think. We all think that. However, I have a wife and a son, so please understand.

The words of the old man hit John like a slap in the face. He stares at him, trying to find a hint of hope, a way out of the situation.

“But... but they can’t do this,” the boy stammers, still incredulous, as if he didn’t believe what was happening. “They can’t throw them out of their house like a sack of potatoes. They lived here all their life...”

Nick steps forward and puts his hand on John’s shoulder.

“We can't do nothin'—just nothin' at all. Otherwise, we woulda done it already, trust me.”

Mr. Rodriguez bows his head in shame, turning his back to the long line of ghouls that are escorted outside the city walls.

John stares in disbelief. Every fiber of his being screams at him to fight—to fight with nails and teeth. But there is that look in Nick’s eyes—that resigned look—that kills the last spark of hope in him. Because if even a rightful man as his mentor doesn’t bulge for the ghouls...

No! No, John can’t just look. He suddenly rushes to the nearest guard.

“John! NO!” Nick tries to dissuade him, but the stubborn young man doesn't stop for a moment in his crazy run. He hits the guard with full force, causing him to lose his balance and verbally protest.

“Hey!”

Another guard grabs John by the collar and puts him back on his feet.

“Easy, young McDonough. Don’t embarrass your brother.”

The other guard stands up in turn, glaring at him.

“You should go home. It’ll be over soon, don’t worry.”

John struggles against the guard's grip, trying to get free to lunge at them again.

“Let go of me! I hate you, you scumbag!" he screams, consumed by madness.

Nick runs into the fray and tries to get John to come back to his senses.

“Knock it off, for God's sake! Stop it!”

But John’s eyes are filled with anger. He doesn't hear the detective's words. All he can see are those guards forcing the poor old ghouls out of their homes.

“I hate you, you sons of bitches, damn you!” he continues to yell, trying to break free again.

Nick frees him from the guard's grasp and grabs him by the shoulders.

“You gotta listen to me. Listen up! Look at me, will ya?”

John stops fighting for a moment. He looks at Nick, his mind overwhelmed by anger.

“What?!” He replies, panting and clenching his teeth.

“Take it easy!” the detective begs. “Ya get what I'm sayin'? Take it easy, now. I get about it all, but if ya keep goin' like this...”

John's heart continues to beat fast, but his mind is starting to clear. He sees the guards watching him cautiously. But he doesn’t care. He knows Nick is right, but his anger continues to make his head boil.

“I…” John tries to control his breathing, still caught in a wave of rage. “I can’t...”

Nick nods, understanding.

“I get it... but ya gotta chill out, alright?”

He squeezes his shoulders, trying to ease his friend's anger.

“No, I can’t!” suddenly exclaims John. “I can’t stand still! I can’t accept!”

One of the guards approaches them, his hands clasped around his pistol. Nick notices and pulls John back. Not that he thinks they would dare to hurt the young brother of the mayor, but in this chaos, who knows?

“Easy, John…”

John looks at the guards, his heart pounding and his breath quickening again.

"Easy, my ass!" he exclaims, still fuming. “These guys are forcing people out of their homes! And you tell me to not do anything? They are people; they are!”

Nick tries to put himself in front of John and block his path, but the young man starts to push past him.

“Don’t be a knucklehead. Ya want 'em to shoot ya?”

“I don’t care!” the boy replies, already thinking about hitting the guard nearby again.

Nick knows he can’t stop him. If John wants to act like a madman, it’s just a matter of time before a tragedy occurs.

But all of a sudden, an authoritative voice intervenes.

A voice that John knows well.

“What’s going on here?”

John freezes and looks in the direction of the voice.

Standing a few steps away is his older brother, the Mayor McDonough.

“Brother,” John manages to say, still panting from the anger.

The mayor, however, isn't here to talk with his little brother. He doesn't even look at him. He just looks at the guards and then turns his icy gaze to Nick.

“Good evening, Mister Valentine,” he says in his formal, detached tone, looking at the synth as if he were a particularly unpleasant smell. But Nick doesn’t flinch. He knows the man too well.

“Mayor,” the detective answers in a calm tone. John, on the other hand, looks back and forth between his brother and the synthetic man, sensing that the situation is tensing.

The mayor smiles, revealing his teeth like a wolf about to pounce.

"I imagine you're concerned about the events of the day, given that you're not a full material of Diamond City yourself, right?" he asks, almost mockingly.

Nick raises an eyebrow. He clearly didn’t expect this kind of jab from the mayor. He looks at him for a few moments before responding.

“You got a point,” he replies, his voice still calm.

The young McDonough watches silently, still seething.

The mayor continues to glare at Nick for a few more moments, as if expecting him to flinch. Seeing that the synth remains stoic and unperturbed, he decides to turn his attention to John.

“And what about you,” he says, looking at his brother with a hint of annoyance in his eyes. "Why are you making such a fuss?"

The younger McDonough grits his teeth but remains silent. He looks at Nick for a moment, and the detective gives him a look that says, "Let me take care of it."

The older man stares at his brother.

“Don’t you have something better to do? Go somewhere else and hang out with the drifters like the loser you are or find some whore to blow off some steam.”

John’s anger begins to rise again, but Nick steps in before he does anything stupid.

“He’s just concerned about the... events, that’s all.”

The mayor looks at the synth, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Of course he is. He has always been so... emotional.” He stares at his young brother for another moment before speaking again. “And what exactly is he so concerned about, pray tell?”

John can’t hold back for long.

“You know damn well what I’m concerned ab—

Nick grabs his arm, stopping him from getting closer to his brother. John looks at him with furious eyes, but the detective shakes his head discreetly.

The mayor looks at John with a sardonic smile, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Yes? Tell me then, little brother. What’s bothering you so much?”

John is shaking with anger, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He wants to punch this bastard so bad that it hurts. But Nick keeps his hand on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place.

The mayor continues to wait for an answer. He's clearly enjoying the sight of his brother struggling to control his anger. Nick, however, notices the guards on the side starting to get restless. They’re starting to worry about the situation.

But John sees red. The mere mockery in his brother’s voice drives him to the edge.

“Damn you,” he growls, trying to rip his arm free from Nick’s grasp. “Damn you, you hypocrite!”

The mayor’s smile widens.

“I'm a hypocrite, am I?” he replies, taking on a falsely hurt tone. “Don’t you think you’re taking it a bit too seriously, little brother? I'm just performing a little civic duty for the good of the city.”

John can no longer contain himself and tries more than ever to shake off Nick's hand, his eyes fixed on the face he now despises.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he growls. “You don’t care about the city; you only care about yourself! You’re nothing more than a selfish, opportunistic bastard!”

The other man lets out a mocking laugh.

“Opportunistic? I prefer the term prudent.” He steps closer to John, their faces almost touching. “And it seems to me that I'm doing something much more useful and productive than you, brother.”

John feels like he could explode at any moment.

“Doing something useful?” he retorts, his voice filled with rage. “You're kicking innocent people out of their homes, throwing them into the Wastes, and you call it useful? You call it productive?”

John's chest heaves with fury, wanting to bite his brother's face. The mayor continues to smile, seemingly unperturbed by the youth reaction.

"Oh, come on," he says in a theatrical tone. “Ghouls. Innocent. Isn't that a bit of an oxymoron? They're ghouls, brother. They don't deserve any better than living out there, in the wasteland, among their own kind. That's just the way things are.”

John suddenly stops struggling in Nick’s hands, and the synth feels it very, very badly. The boy then raises his voice, his expression so white that it appears to be almost devoid of emotion.

“You’re right about one thing, brother. I’m better with drifters and those who are not like you. Anywhere, away from you and your kind.” He suddenly leaps out of the grip of Nick, who fails to catch him this time. “Never, do you hear me? I will NEVER SET FOOT IN THIS CITY AGAIN!”

The mayor smiles at John, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Suit yourself,” he replies, feigning indifference. “And don’t bother coming back, either. This city doesn't need people like you, and we certainly don’t need your... dubious associates.”

Nick throws the man a glance, feeling very well the treat, but stays silent, a grim look on his face.

John doesn’t cast a shadow of a glance over his shoulder as he moves forward with a determined step toward the line of ghouls that continues to be taken out of the city.

The mayor watches him go with a sardonic smile, like a snake ready to strike again.

“Good riddance,” he comments with satisfaction.

Nick, filled with worry, follows John, wishing he could stop him and talk some sense into him.

“John, hold up a sec...”

But John ignores him. His eyes are fixated on the line of ghouls, many of whom are too weakened to walk and are being dragged by the security guards.

There is nothing beyond that point that could change John’s mind.

His time in Diamond City is over.

His life as John McDonough, the younger brother of Guy McDonough, has come to an end.

Never again.

The Great Green Jewel will never again see his face.

#noskipnovember #no skip november #john mcdonough #hancock before hancock #john hancock #hancock fo4 #john hancock fallout 4 #hancock #nick valentine #fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #fo4 companions #fallout4 #fallout 4 companions

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bootyful-seventeen · 8 months ago

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I am heavily contemplating on buying myself a dvd player soon and buying all the DVDs for a ton of movies and tv shows I grew up watching cuz I miss the magic of dvds

#hear me out on this one okay. but the Barbie movies were magic on dvd back in the day #and I do wanna see if stores are still selling the old strawberry shortcake dvds before I go online for those #I wanna snort that nostalgia so bad #and of course I’ll need to get the dcau on dvd #like all of it cuz I’m so bored with the dccu since we don’t get as much new stuff #it’s always Batman or superman and love them but I’m kinda bored from always seeing a new bman or sups movie #Wonder Woman I wouldn’t mind a new actor for her but I know she’s not gonna be a muscle mommy which I’ll be sad about #give me a Wonder Woman that is built like rhea ripely god damnit #the flash is eh cuz I found out this whole time I’ve been watching the Wally west flash #but yeah Wally is who I want and then there’s the green lantern like dude is so cool iams all we have is the 1 from 2011 I think #sure I could watch some of the tv series they have but I have too many shows on my watch list it’s overwhelming at times so I skip over lots #tho I will have to pray like crazy cuz some of the things I know I want are probably gonna be expensive as fuck even as second hand #saw a class of the titans season 1 dvd going for $81 cad 💀💀💀#the world is not kind to those who don’t love the digital age #I prefers my dvds cuz I own it and no one can take it away from me unless they physically steal it #omg I’m turning into my grandma cuz she still had the vhs player with some tapes too #just wish she never donated the tapes for swan princess 1-3 and Anastasia and ferngully and basically all my faves that she owned #like Ngl a part of me wants to hit up value village just to see if maybe they’re still there or if I’ll find other copies of the same things #cuz a perk about cities with older people is that you get so much older tech and other items it’s insane

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cybercanadian · 10 months ago

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also have 2 dick appointments tomorrow 🫣

#lol I hate myself #the one in the morning just happened tonight because I was on Grindr waiting for other guy to respond #we’ve been chatting and he was free and I was in a mood so I said yes #the one in the afternoon is with a guy I’ve been talking to since before the holidays #we never met up cause he was always too sick and blah blah #but he’s better now and we made these plans earlier this week oop #I’m living my best life in the city you guys #didn’t really realize it till I wrote it out….lol #but also it’s the first time I’m getting this much here and I’m having fun the last few weeks before I go back home #sigh endrant

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raeathnos · 4 months ago

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#as usual I have a terrible case of back from the beach blues #I miss the ocean and the sand and the seagulls and I wanna go back T_T #home and work are both shitshows and all I wanna do is lounge in the sun and swim in the sea #I miss the salty air #i keep trying to tell myself not to be bummed cause I have a few shorter trips planned #going back to Cape May next month either for a day trip or overnight the one weekend with my sister in law #and I might be going back to Ocean City for a long weekend in September for local’s summer #and me and my husband are planning on taking a day trip and exploring a few of Delaware’s beaches along the bay #that one’s a little more up in the air but likely September or October #and then we’re doing Kitt’s Hummock and Woodland Beach for sure #might do Deemer’s Beach cause it’s literally 3 mins away from the one shop we’re stopping at #but I’ve heard that’s not a great beach so we’ll see #might possible also do Bennett’s Pier Beach and Slaughter Beach and stop at the DuPont Nature Center #so three trips- one being a day trip the other being either a day trip or overnight and a possible third trip that’s a few days long #I’m excited for the Delaware one cause I’ve only ever been to Fenwick Island and Slaughter Beach #and like yeah they’re beaches on the Delaware Bay so it’s brackish and muddy but I don’t care #I’m just excited to explore some beaches I’ve never been to #but man the main big vacation is over and I have to wait a whole year and that’s what’s got me down I guess #little vexing about the distance #love that my fav place is only 3.5 hours away #but it’s just far enough to be a bit much for a day trip which is a bummer #we’ve done day trips in the past and they’re very fun but also very tiring #so I tend to only get to Ocean City MD once or twice a year #which bummer cause it’s my favorite beach #the beaches that are only like an hour and 20 mins aren’t that great Jersey-wise #so hopefully the Delaware adventure turns up a few that I end up liking a lot #I need to live closer to the ocean #I’m trying but man is shit expensive anymore ._.#one day soon I hope…

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figuerockfaeth · 8 months ago

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I NEED TO MOVE OUT NOOWWWWWWW

#i woke up at 3 pm bc this was my 1st day ‘off’ in forever #and when i went to grab something to eat our back door was fully open and my car was nowhere to be found #cat*#so i freaked out and started looking outside but when i realized she wasn’t there and my roommate also wasn’t recently outside #i knocked on her bedroom door and she was like ‘oh sorry i was asleep do you want me to help look’#YES i want you to help look what are you talking about #eventually i found her bc my cat is the best girl in the world and never left our yard- she was in the crawl space under the house #but not only am i pissed she let my car out then took a nap #but we don’t live in the safest city in the world and while we were both sleeping our door was fully 90 degrees open #so now not only do i feel like kevin (cat) isn’t safe here but I don’t feel safe sleeping here anymore #the lease is up in july and i finally get to leave #this girl is a random roommate my former roommate found to replace her #and the whole process/experience has been awful #i just have to survive 4 months #during the summer i might keep paying rent but fully leave and go live with family #bc my school isn’t in driving distance of any of my family #now i’m thinking about asking someone if they’ll take kevin for a couple months bc im so sorry about her #but my dad has a dog that doesn’t love cats and my best friend is allergic and my mom lives in another state #personal #delete later #also this is unrelated BUT every weekend without fail she does laundry at an insane time in the morning #and our washing machine is the loudest washing machine i’ve EVER heard #and of course it’s right against the wall of my room #not hers #i only get two days a week to sleep past 630 am and she almost always ruins it

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mycological-mariner · 1 year ago

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Pros of trying to get a job in a small town: establishments will literally just print out “HELP WANTED. INQUIRE INSIDE (or leave number at bar)” and tape it to the front window and you just can.

Cons of getting a job in a small town:

If you don’t get the job, literally everyone will know and you can never go to that bar again

#also the pay #it’s um. not a lot #but yeah with the water shortage and all my bills and groceries and council tax skyrocketing I’ve just been down to the 2nd best chip shop #in the world (I’ll die in that hill - number one best is in Boscastle you can’t convince me otherwise)#dropped my name and number at the counter and left #this PLUS my job at the theatre #although it’s not too bad I don’t have to get the bus into town #I HATE going into town this time of year it’s so busy and there’s tourists and The Town is still fuckin small so it’s very claustrophobic #please let me get this job #£4 for a big slab of cod and chips? I can’t give that up! it’s 2 minutes from where I live!#also I do need the work #coz unfortunately what I really want to do people will always pay you in experience and not um. cash #I think I’m gonna move within the next year #might bite the bullet and move into the city (Edinburgh)#I’ve never lived in a city before and I’m. mmmm. I get anxiety going to TRURO #I’ll not last 2 weeks in fuckin EDINBURGH #well. rip.#anyways #delete later

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teruthecreator · 2 years ago

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nooooo no it’s great no personally i LOVE when things just stop fucking working -__-

#in neg city #it’s literally like one thing after another with me nowadays #like first i have to bend over backwards to get a suit #which ends up being something that i don’t even think my sister LIKES bc i facetimed her abt it today and she sound so unenthusiastic #it made me wanna hang up the phone and just not go to the fucking wedding #but it’s like yay don’t have to worry about spending money on that now right?#WRONG bc now my computer isn’t charger and w how bad it’s been acting up lately it’s either one of two things:#either it’s the charger (which i’ve already ordered a new one which i won’t get until friday) OR the computer won’t take a charge anymore #either way that’s money i’m spending and if it’s the second one then i’m really fucked bc i was hoping to have another money of income #or cushion making that purchase bc like. i need a computer to get through my days it’s necessary #so if it just craps out now then it’s like i gotta get a new one NOW instead of waiting until long after the wedding #not to mention there’s the hair stylist and makeup artist for the wedding itself #plus my haircut #plus my ebt hasnt been filled yet AT ALL THIS MONTH #so really i’m just constantly stressing myself out with money and rlly it just never fucking ends does jt #i’m so tired i just wanna be done with life if i’m being completely honest #the way i’m living now is kinda hell on earth #ugh. whatever. need to sleep

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galariangengar · 1 year ago

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💭

#this girl I was close friends/roommates with during my last year of college just got engaged with her bf of 8 years #while I am happy for both of them… idk I have difficult feelings about her now and don’t see her as a friend anymore #she used to live in the same city as me during the first like year and a half or so of the pandemic #and in that time we got to see/hang out with each other twice #first time we got to catch up for a few hours and we had a good time but it was kinda bittersweet… idk how to describe it #the second time she asked me last minute to accompany her to pick up stuff she got through Facebook marketplace #during one of those two times we hung out/she basically told me to my face that it would be the last time I’d see her #i understood initially cuz she was about to start teaching and she wanted to focus on her relationships with her bf and her family #but not long after she started teaching/she quickly started going out a lot and making new friends #then she moved to another town like 30 ish minutes away cuz her aunt kicked her out in the middle of her first year of teaching #idk I never had a good feeling about things cuz of all of that stuff I stated above #but also since she’s been trying on working to improve her relationship with her mom after everything she’s done to her #cuz we both have shitty moms who’ve said and done shitty things to us and our families #i know it probably won’t happen or won’t happen for like a few years #but in the event she invites me to her wedding/ I’m gonna be deadass with her about how I’ve felt about her #and see if she’s willing to work on improving our friendship before I decide to attend (if she does invite me cuz idk)#oh I also forgot how after she moved after her aunt kicked her out #she had the nerve to randomly ask if I could watch her aunt’s dogs during the week I was starting 3 online summer classes #she didn’t even like say hi/make small talk or ask nicely either #she just straight up was like ‘hey can you watch my aunt’s dogs during (x) week?’#she recently congratulated me when I posted on my Instagram story that I passed my driving text and got me license but I didn’t respond #I just have a lot of difficult feelings about her now/wish I could unfollow her but I don’t wanna start shit & her be all in my face & shit #jazz uses curse! 💜

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myfirstandlast · 2 years ago

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applied for my two top jobs in the city i really hope i get the first one in the nice neighbourhood im trying to manifest i DO have the nice job in the neighbourhood i am hired and i am on time and i do not miss the bus i am so happy and i have a bed in my currently unfurnished future room

#every day that passed makes this much scarier especially bc my mum has been acting EXTREMELY weird towards everybody lately #just way more off the handle than usual #and shes not letting me drive from work anymore and i just don’t understand #so i both don’t feel bad about leaving and feel absolutely horrified down to my core #i have no clue what they’re capable of when it comes to spiteful reaction #like im doing this anyway and i know someone somewhere will help me have a place to sleep if i lose everything #but stuff is just feeling too insane lately and everything is becoming so real #i’ve never had this much control in my life and it’s very scary being the one to call the shots regarding Everything #it’s like manning a gigantic vehicle and im barely holding on if at all #im hoping for the best but i know that’s because i haven’t had the rude awakening of real life yet #i think that slap in my face is necessary for me to grow up tho. instead of the emotional beatdowns im getting here #anyway. im really hoping for the best. im terrified and exciting. im really nervous about riding the bus in the city but it will be ok #hopefully. this is really happening i really put this in motion. wow this is so scary #i love my new job that i already am hired for and am going to be very successful at and enjoy very much and i love my life

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tulsa24 · 8 months ago

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i’ve never been to georgia before but if i have to go to atlanta to see seventeen while i’m doing my dcp then so be it /pos

#i’ve said this before but #seventeen are my home #there is no other group that even comes close to being as ‘home’ to me as svt #this sounds crazy bc i don’t know them irl but they feel like family in a way #or at least very close friends #the only word to describe svt is home #and if i have to go up to a city i’ve never been to just to see them again #aka just to go home again #then so be it #id go to the end of the earth for them #they are my home & my whole heart #nothing else will ever be svt & im so honored to love them as my ults #svt 💗#dcp bb!

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joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

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“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific.

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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