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not-neverland06 · 10 months ago

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forgotten promises

pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)

bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader

a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask. Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.

“What are you doing?”

You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone.

“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket.

Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes.

“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”

“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”

You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”

Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both.

“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less.

“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid.

LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING

Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6

Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention.

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front.

That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants.

Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance.

You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat.

“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving.

It hadn’t gone over well for him.

He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom.

He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly.

When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door.

“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target.

“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving.

The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling.

He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end.

He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer.

But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit.

He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you.

“All good?” You ask.

He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer.

Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down.

There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work.

It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him.

His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long.

It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you.

You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.

“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore.

You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”

Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently. “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning.

“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much.

Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it.

You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this.

The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut.

Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place.

He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded.

“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”

Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”

He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”

You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here.

“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?

He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in.

You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here.

You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long.

It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough.

As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him.

Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night.

A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here.

The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty.

Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby.

“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting.

The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair.

“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars.

He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before.

You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air.

You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you.

It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand.

For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with.

You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump.

A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!”

“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves.

“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you. You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage.

Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for.

You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face.

The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel.

You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy.

Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking.

You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you.

You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself.

He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though.

He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs.

The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him.

You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard.

You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one.

You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you.

You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”

He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”

You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it.

In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands.

“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”

He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.

It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish.

Are you angry?

Are you leaving?

Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?

Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore.

Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so.

You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you.

You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty.

It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar.

Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you.

You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth.

The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you.

You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety.

You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up.

You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence.

You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer.

You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light.

He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.

Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would.

You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt.

His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering.

He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks.

He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”

You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly.

His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips.

His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well.

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you.

His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk.

“Logan,” you scold.

He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him.

He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours.

It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”

“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”

You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again.

“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.

You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime.

You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you.

“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze.

You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips.

Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another.

It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either.

He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan.

There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried.

Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt.

He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”

He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him.

It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.

But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him.

“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be.

His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again.

You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back.

Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good.

This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy.

You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped.

You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want.

He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out.

“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.”

“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”

He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs.

He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up.

Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.

You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin.

Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other.

One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him.

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat.

But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further.

You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them.

You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling.

The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck.

He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly.

But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say.

“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”

“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him.

Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”

You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life.

“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks.

A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand.

“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt.

“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow.

He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you.

You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh.

When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him.

“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth.

For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead.

Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy.

You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes.

You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings.

He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?”

You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner.

You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago.

Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both.

You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you.

You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”

You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”

He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice.

You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right.

Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh.

He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window.

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.”

You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”

He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”

“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”

His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart.

It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”

He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again.

The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes.

Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes.

As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different.

You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan.

This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out.

But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street.

You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left.

You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all.

By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark.

You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine.

When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable.

There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down.

He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep.

Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning.

You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something.

He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive.

You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste.

“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him.

Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night.

By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road.

You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight.

“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower.

The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is.

You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about.

“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest.

“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him.

He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”

He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”

Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”

You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now.

“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”

You’re not gonna like it.

I don’t want you tagging along.

You should just stay here and read or some shit.

You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him.

“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”

He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.

“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”

You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it.

He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries.

You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck.

The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd.

The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool.

The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender.

She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her.

“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix.

“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do.

Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life.

Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”

The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?

“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl.

And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched.

Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.

“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure.

There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off.

It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?

“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on.

“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it.

The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand.

You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”

Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore.

Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you.

“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly.

“What?”

He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him.

He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle.

She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through.

“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror.

You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps.

You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes.

“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you.

“You’re such a softie,” you tease him.

“Shut the hell up.”

Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags.

He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment.

You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything.

You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing.

You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement.

The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on.

Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here.

The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it.

You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab.

Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you.

But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?

“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now.

It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”

You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator.

When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over.

You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time.

You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”

Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you.

“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing.

Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again.

“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap.

You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you. You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here.

It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long.

“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open.

Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”

You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”

The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it.

Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own.

You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look.

“What was that about?”

“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging.

“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured.

You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”

You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.”

There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox ♡

Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo

@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns

@likeficsinthewnd ♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #hugh jackman x reader #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

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controld3vil · 1 year ago

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sand walking?

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic!!)

synopsis: requested by this ask!

⤷ alt: how to seduce someone walking on sand.

notes: there hasn't been confirmed for dune 3 yet but denise villeneuve has said he's writing for it to happen. ill patiently wait for the day it's confirmed :) ALSO there are fictional/made-up mentions of the novel for the sake of the reader. they're made to be gender-neutral!! and this includes platonic flirting between cast members. i MAY have gotten carried lmaoo

“I mean- what do you think of the character? Do you think they deserved more screen time?” The clip starts off with you comfortably conversing with the interviewer. To say you weren’t deflecting their curiosity. In actuality, you were eager to learn what others thought about your performance and take on the character. The only other interpretation had on-screen was from the classic 1984 film by David Lynch.

The clip that has been widely retweeted back is of a cute moment you had from the first film of Dune (2021). Before release, little was known about your character’s potential. Apart from the enthusiastic book lovers, film viewers were clueless about what role your character would play after the first movie.

Denise Villeneuve didn’t reveal much to you in person. He wanted to keep ideas confidential until he was 100% on board making the project come to life. Still, rumors sparked through speculation and interviews with the cast members of Dune. Including an infamous short, that you forgot about, of yourself boasting about your hopes and wishes for your character.

“Yes! How could we not!” On the opposite side, the interviewer exclaimed as they leaned forward from their chair, closing into your proximity. Their hands clenched, tightening their grip on the flash card, full of questions. “The movie left us on such a cliffhanger. I think everyone would want to know what happened to Nerre,”

“That’s for Denise to decide,” Nodding you gave a relaxed smile while lifting one leg over the other. Your shoulders relaxed, feeling content and ecstatic about their response. “I can’t confirm anything until he gives me the green light to say anything,”

“I’ve also talked to Timothée this morning,” A shift in gears as the journalist flipped over another flashcard. You two had just fussed about the finale and its dramatic cliffhanger. “And all he had to say were the sweetest things about you,” At the mention of your costar compliments, you felt your skin heat up. Your eyes soften, expressing only fondness for the lovely message. A soft awh escaped your breath. “He’s very sweet. Timothee's always been fun to be around.” A fervent chuckle from the interviewer sends them into a feverish excitement. “And- he said- you had great flirting skills!” It was then your face morphed into complete shock and giddiness . “Really?!” The camera pans up on your initial reaction, eyes popping out in surprise and a bubbling laugh slowly erupting. “I’m glad someone appreciates my talents!”

Without context, the short clip seemed harmless. Your sheer reaction to Timothee's comment emphasized the fun chemistry the two of you had on set. Mirroring much of Paul and Nerre's friendship, you both complimented each other well in the first film, being the youngest surrounded by well-renowned actors. But the reason for the recent spike of interest was partially from Dune: Part Two and their interviews.

Fast forward to the debut of Dune: Part Two, it made success at the box office. Even surpassing the first film altogether. The entire cast of Dune was proud of the work they've made. The introduction of new characters played by wonderful actors and actresses all around.

Weeks after the early IMAX screenings, press interviews were being published amongst of the young cast members. A particular interview by IGV Presents brings together Timothee Chalamet, Zendaya, Florence Pugh, Austin Butler, and yourself.

This would be considered to be one of your first interviews with the Dune cast after the box office release. You felt nervous yet overjoyed at the same time to be meeting your co-actors again after the conclusion of filming had taken place.

The spokesperson of IGV, Simon Harkness starts off the interview strong with a pleasant greeting. "Congratulations on an incredible movie. Uhm it is the definition of a sci-fi blockbuster and is absolutely phenomenal, so huge congratulations to you all!"

"Thank you!" The five of you all politely cherish his kind words.

"It's so lovely to talk to you. Um- Timothee, Zendaya, I'm going to start with you. This is probably the hardest question I've ever asked in an interview so you've been warned." An endearing giggle can be seen from Zendaya before allowing him to continue. "Sand walking, who does it better?"

Timothee immediately lifts up his microphone. "I'm going to give it to Zendaya here." Without glancing at her, you could tell Zendaya was happily smiling at his compliments. How quick he was to answer made it seem how well connected the cast was even given the amount of time spent together. The main lead continues very swiftly, diving more into how cinematic the shot was from an outside perspective, "I think it's the most- one of the most cinematic shots in the movie and she really has it very precisely down but it's the nature of the movie too that she's supposed to be better than Paul,"

"Is that what it is?" In return, Zendaya who sat next to him gave him a teasing look.

Quietly from afar where you sat, next to Austin Butler, you whispered. "He acted like he couldn't do it but," Soft snickering can be heard across the room.

"In fairness to me, I was going 65%- 65 to 70 too hard," Chalamet reasons justly as he glances in your direction before looking back to the interviewer.

"You dumbed it down," Harkness nods in a high-spirited manner. Right after, Timothee reluctantly agrees, keeping the mood light-hearted.

"I had to!"

"Just how committed you are!" Austin steps in, joining in on the joke.

"Zendaya, you can take that crown. I love that," The brown-haired man reassures as she recuperates with appreciative laughter. In truth, it was a beautiful scene between Paul and Chani you were lucky enough to witness behind the camera. And contrary to their light banter, you thought both actors did well at accomplishing what it was meant sand walk. Truthfully you had no scenes beyond walking through the desert but understanding the mechanics and traditions of the Fremen was as fascinating as it was watching it up close.

Suddenly it was Florence's turn to speak, "Zendaya taught me the other day and I had to just stop to stare at her feet."

"The swoopy swoop?" You asked in a cutesy tone, with furrowed eyebrows. You couldn't help but remember the few instances you witnessed your costars practice the sand walk to be one of the more adorable rehearsals you've seen on the sand.

"Yeah, her feet were so pretty! She was doing the swoopy swoops," The blonde acknowledges, waving her hands in a zig-zag pattern. As the replication of water and how her feet moved.

The interviewer's eyes light up, "Honestly I tried to swoopy swoop at home- um because we have a carpet in the bedroom."

"How did it go?" The mixed actress puts forward.

"Awful!" An assembly of bewilderment is seen between Zendaya and Florence as they quickly question why. However, they reassure him in the end that they would practice together in hopes of him archiving the sand walk.

Talks with simple questions went down the row. Florence discusses her experience from her beginnings, starring in Little Women, comparing those scenes in terms of royalty to Dune. In both films, she's worked with well-known actors and now Christopher Walken as the emperor and her father. She raves about how it was a dream come true. A dream she had when she was little. From this experience, Florence emphasizes the concept of learning and observing her fellow actors.

Another intriguing topic follows Austin for his experience between learning choreography fighting and Elvis's iconic rubber legs. In a sense, as you leaned forward on one of your seats, you became fascinated by the Elvis actor's comparison of it all. While Elvis's moves were televised and had to be precise for the camera, being a Harkonnens gave him more leverage in the freedom to move. It was a captivating question that you couldn't help but want to listen to more.

Comparisons aside, you didn't have much to note for your upcoming question. Which is exactly why you felt unprepared for what he was going to ask.

Harkness brings up your name for the finale. "You have done stunt work before. For the first and now second film, I've heard you compared it to rather- dancing. Is that what you think your relationship with the choreography has been?"

You gave a content hum, "You see it with the Fremen or Harkonnens right? Everyone moves so differently and for the course for me, I've had to adjust my choreo little by little. And I think that analogy you mentioned really does relate back to dancing. I don't know if it's because I was once a dancer or that I'm a visual learner," You shrug your shoulders, "But I see the choreography as a dance routine. You're moving alongside people, doing hits and jabs. Both are very hands-on so I would like to approach it as something I can always work on." Satisfied with your answer, you clapped your hands together.

"Kind of like sand walking no?" It was then that Zendaya swerved counterclockwise to face you.

Bringing back the conversation they had in the beginning about sand walking, your eyes instantly brighten. "Exactly like that!"

"I feel like you would be great at sand walking," Florence puffs, mindlessly shaking her microphone back and forth. "You- You already got the moves." Even Timothee came into agreement, humming and commenting you worked well with the choreography.

Austin Butler raises his microphone. "I think you gotta learn with me because I don't think I could,"

"Nonsense!" You give him a silly glare. "If you can do a killer rubber leg, I think you can sand walk." Florence and Zendaya both mumble their support and your male costar leans to have his arm around the back of your chair, warmly.

"Is that an open invitation I see?" The spokesperson, Harkness giggly pokes at than the rest of the cast turns to look at you. Your scowl morphs into an innocent one.

"Hm?" As you squint your eyes in hesitation.

"I feel like you could have the potential to sand walk but just with the right partner," Timothee chimes in, spreading his arms over his chair as well. Your brows furrowed accusingly, as if wanting to clarify what he meant by his comment.

And the French actor gives you a look, one you became so sure of. "Mm right!" A slight eruption of laughs before you straightened your back with proper posture. "With just the right partner,"

There were also hints mentioned in your interview with Timothee surprisingly not. This was one of the more recent ones to be published, as you finally were able to pair up with your favorite co-star (besides Brolin) from the first film. The two of you had strong chemistry despite having less screen time together in the second film.

The beginning of the video cuts to a clip of you answering an innocent question. "What I think about every day, is Timothee going to send to me a meme today? Uh, I hope so!" You give a sarcastic look to your seat partner as he latently laughs in front of you. "Or when is he going to text me you know?"

It then transitions to an interviewer from Heart commercial radio as he shouts out your names. "How are you both?"

"I'm doing good!"

"Going great!"

The radio show was more relaxed than you would've expected as the spokesperson was very down to the earth with his conversation starters and contagious warmth. Timothee was able to catch up with him from his last interview when he premiered his Wonka film. Eventually, the interview became more casual discussing working together, cooking, and trendy topics.

Timothee and you both went back and forth on favorite memories you had of the first film. And talking about the new cast members and new elements it had brought to the table for the film itself.

"Cool new characters this time," As you played around with the fuzzy microphone the camera crew gave to you.

"Yup lots of new people to meet," Timothee adds on, nodding.

The interviewer proceeds with the question, "And also you have seen- there's a clip about of you running around actually." He signals to you, "Of your reaction to something Timothee said about your performance in the first film,"

"Oh! I've seen it," Almost instinctively, your co-star raises his hand. "I was supposed to send it to you but I forgot." As he turns, to finds you looking lost at the topic at hand.

"Really what was it?" You almost looked concerned, seeing how you didn't understand what they meant.

Luckily for you, the Heart radio spokesperson managed to get a hold of the video from his phone, "It was a little callback of Timothee raving about your flirting skills."

As it plays, the camera zooms in on you and your co-actors reaction. The French actor couldn't help but look slightly embarrassed but smitten when the timing of your reaction came on screen. While you held an intrigued stance, arms crossed and a content grin.

"I am pretty good at flirting,"

"You really are, huh." At the same time, you both turn to make eye contact.

"I also heard Tim- that you thought that they would be your love interest initially?" At the radio speaker's inquiry, you couldn't help but in mid-sentence, finally, swerve your head suddenly.

"Yeah well, fun fact actually," The male actor tries to reason, sitting up. "In the novels, Paul and Nerre almost did become a couple!"

It was a well-known fact of that in the first novel, there had been slight changes to the story. Initially, it was said that the author, Frank Herbert had planned for Paul and Nerre, the character you played to have a romantic connection after the fall of House Atreides. Nevertheless, it was later scrapped for another plot, that of instead having Chani as the love interest. But even decades later after the novel’s release, it was something fans still fuss about.

"Oh, I heard about that!" Almost in awe, you nodded, your attention fully on Chalamet, wondering how far he was willing to go beyond spoilers.

"Do you think Nerre would ever meet someone then?" The afro man questions, adjusting his microphone. "Since- Paul has Chani, I feel like if we ever get a potential third film, that could open some doors!"

"If a third film could happen," You start, fiddling with the lining of the mic cover, "I hope so! I mean I got the moves, I got the skills!"

"Keep practicing your sand walk and we'll see," Timothee cutely chimes as you proceed to blow a raspberry at him. Only for him to lightly swat you away.

Despite your failures to have scenes of sand walking, your cast of a crew were more than happy to show you. Javier Bardem and Jessica Ferguson were quite supportive in your interest for something you did not have any part-time. A few behind the scene videos show the actor demonstrating from afar the slower version of the walk.

Though your back was facing the camera, viewers would pick up and recognize it to be you. Jessica as well was off to the side, in her luminescent costume of a million robes, clapping from side to side.

Another later pans to you taking long strides across the sand in the background. In front of the camera are Josh Brolin and Javier having their turn in the video, to discuss their relationship and the previous they have worked on together. However, viewers couldn't help but pinpoint your figure alongside the frame trying to master the patterns of what Javier taught you from the previous clip.

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overthedeadsea · 5 months ago

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Red Carpet Chaos

Pairing: Aaron pierre x co-star!reader c Kelvin Harrison Jr.

Summary: Red carpet banters and after party crash outs.

A/n: Yayayayayay huge Aaron x reader incoming I love this very much :P

The three of you had one job—walk the red carpet, answer a few questions, and look good while doing it.

Easy, right? Wrong.

Because you, Aaron Pierre, and Kelvin Harrison Jr. together were a recipe for disaster.

And unfortunately for the event organizers, the cameras were rolling.

Round One: The Photo Op

It started out simple enough. You were standing between Aaron and Kelvin, smiling for the cameras, when you suddenly felt Kelvin’s hand creeping onto your shoulder.

“Kelvin, what are you doing?” you asked out of the corner of your mouth.

He grinned. “Enhancing the pose.”

Aaron glanced down at Kelvin’s hand, then casually reached over and yanked it off.

Kelvin gasped. “EXCUSE ME.”

Aaron smirked. “Nah.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Can we act normal for five seconds?”

Kelvin scoffed. “We’re giving them content.”

Aaron just shrugged. “They should be thanking us.”

Round Two: The Interviews

The first interviewer smiled brightly, clearly excited to talk to you. “So! You three have amazing chemistry—”

Kelvin threw an arm around you. “We’re a package deal.”

Aaron nodded, casually prying Kelvin off you again. “Some of us more than others.”

Kelvin gasped, clutching his chest. “Did y’all hear that? He’s threatened by me.”

Aaron chuckled, voice to smooth.“No threats. Just… facts.”

You groaned, turning to the interviewer. “This is what I deal with every day.”

The interviewer was thrilled. “Okay, but who’s the biggest diva?”

You, Aaron, and Kelvin all pointed at each other.

Kelvin laughed. “Look at that. Democracy at work.”

Aaron scoffed. “Nah, let’s be real. It’s Kelvin.”

You nodded. “Absolutely Kelvin.”

Kelvin gasped dramatically. “ME? Y’all, don’t listen to them. I am humble.I am low-maintenance.”

Aaron deadpanned. “You had a hair and makeup team in your trailer for three hours.”

Kelvin pouted. “So I like to look good. Sue me.”

The interviewer laughed. “Okay, okay—who takes the longest to get ready?”

You immediately turned to Aaron.

Kelvin grinned. “Oh, 100% Aaron.”

Aaron looked offended. “No way. Not possible.”

Kelvin nodded sagely. “Bro, you be in the mirror for an hour. Talking about ‘lighting angles.’”

Aaron scoffed. “I respect the craft.”

Kelvin smirked. “A mirror selfie is a craft?”

Aaron crossed his arms. “If I do it, yes.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “I need new co-stars.”

The interviewer laughed. “You three are so much fun.”

Kelvin grinned. “We try.”

Aaron grinned. “Naturally.”

Now, you were at the afterparty, and somehow, things had only gotten worse.

The venue was gorgeous —moody lighting, high ceilings, and a DJ spinning smooth, vibey tracks. Celebrities mingled, drinks flowed, and the air buzzed with post-premiere excitement.

And you? You were stuck between chaos and destruction.

Kelvin nudged you at the bar, grinning. “You trust me?”

You squinted. “Not at all.”

He gasped dramatically. “Wow. After everything?”

Aaron, standing way too close on your other side, scoffed. “You’re literally an agent of chaos.”

Kelvin put a hand over his heart. “That is so unfair. I am a wholesome individual.”

Aaron gave him a long, unimpressed stare.

Kelvin waved him off. “Whatever, y’all are boring. Let’s do shots.”

You sighed. “Kelvin—”

But it was too late. He was already ordering.

Aaron leaned in, voice low. “You know he’s gonna try to sabotage you, right?”

You smirked. “Obviously.”

Aaron tilted his head slightly, like he was assessing you. Then he grinned. “Think you can outplay him?”

Your smirk widened. “Watch me.”

Kelvin returned with three shots. One for him. One for you. One for Aaron.

Except you knew better.

So when Kelvin handed you your glass, you didn’t drink it. Instead, you slid it across the bar and swapped it with his.

Kelvin blinked. “Wait—”

Too late. You knocked it back smoothly.

Kelvin gasped. “YOU SNAKE.”

Aaron let out a low chuckle, watching. “That was smooth.”

You shrugged, pretending to examine your nails. “Some of us have survival skills.”

Kelvin was stunned. “I—I can’t believe this. I was gonna betray you, and you betrayed me first.”

Aaron smirked. “Outplayed.”

Kelvin groaned. “I need new friends.”

After drinks, the energy shifted. The music picked up, the lights dimmed, and people started moving toward the dance floor.

And somehow, you ended up there too.

At first, it was just you and Kelvin, goofing off and hyping each other up. But then, Aaron appeared.

And that’s when things got… interesting.

Kelvin twirled you dramatically. “You are the moment.”

You laughed. “Obviously.”

But then you turned—and Aaron was right there. And when you say right there, you mean right there.

He smirked slightly. “Having fun?”

Your breath caught. Maybe it was the dim lights. Maybe it was the cocky way he was watching you. Or maybe it was just Aaron Pierre being Aaron Pierre.

Either way, you felt a shift.

Kelvin immediately clocked it.

“Ohhh, this is spicy,” he muttered, stepping back. “Lemme just…”

And then he was gone.

You barely had time to react before Aaron leaned in slightly. Not touching you—just close enough to feel it.

“You still think I’m not in the running?” he murmured.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

But you weren’t going down easy.

So you smiled sweetly, tilting your head. “Are you applying?”

Aaron chuckled. Low. Deep. Dangerous.

“You tell me.”

And just like that—

You were in trouble. Because Aaron Pierre wasn’t just flirting anymore. No, this was different.

He wasn’t cracking jokes. He wasn’t throwing playful jabs.

He was looking at you like he had already won.

And you?

You weren’t sure if you were about to fight or fold.

The tension was too much, so you did the only logical thing (at least to you)— you turned on your heel and walked away.

Kelvin reappeared immediately. “Ohhh, you’re running.”

You scoffed. “I am not running.”

Kelvin smirked. “Then why are you speed-walking like you just saw your ex?”

You opened your mouth—then shut it, because damn it, he was right.

Kelvin grinned. “Just admit it. You’re scared.”

You huffed. “Of what?”

Kelvin pointed. “Him.”

And when you turned—

Aaron was right there.

You swore he had teleportation powers because how the hell did he move that fast?

Kelvin held up his hands. “Welp. My work here is done.”

And then that traitor left.

Aaron was too calm. Too relaxed. Like he knew something you didn’t.

“You ran,” he said simply.

You scoffed. “I walked.”

He tilted his head. “Fast.”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. Then, before you could react, he took a step closer—just enough that the noise of the party faded into the background.

“You gonna keep dodging?” he murmured.

Your throat went dry.

You had two options:

1) Keep pretending nothing was happening.

2) Acknowledge the very obvious tension.

Unfortunately for you, Aaron wasn’t giving you the first option anymore.

So you lifted your chin. “You’re feeling bold tonight.”

Aaron hummed. “And?”

You narrowed your eyes. “And… what do you want?”

Aaron leaned in slightly, voice low and deliberate.

“An answer.”

Your breath hitched. “To what?”

Aaron’s gaze dropped to your lips. Just for a second. But you noticed.

And suddenly, the entire world felt too small.

You were seconds from saying something reckless. From maybe making a choice you couldn’t take back.

And then—

“YO, SHOTS ROUND TWO?”

Kelvin barreled back into the moment like an agent of destruction.

You and Aaron immediately stepped apart.

Kelvin frowned. “Oh. Did I interrupt something?”

Aaron sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Yes, Kelvin.”

Kelvin blinked. “Oh. My bad.”

Beat.

“…So that’s a no on the shots?”

You groaned. Aaron looked to the sky for patience. And Kelvin? Kelvin just grinned.

Because one way or another—

This wasn’t over.

Kelvin had horrible timing.

Because the second he popped up, whatever was about to happen between you and Aaron got cut short.

And Aaron? Oh, he was not happy about it.

Kelvin was still standing there, blinking between the two of you like an oblivious menace.

Aaron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kelvin.”

Kelvin grinned. “Yes, my dear friend?”

Aaron gave him a look. The kind that said leave.

Kelvin gasped dramatically. “Oh, am I in the way?”

You groaned. “Kelvin—”

Kelvin clapped his hands. “WELL. Y’all have fun. I’m gonna—” He gestured vaguely toward the bar. “Yeah.”

And then he disappeared again. Which left you and Aaron… alone.

Again.

Aaron exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I swear to God, that man’s a walking interruption.”

You smirked. “It’s his love language.”

Aaron chuckled, but there was something else in his expression. Something unresolved. Something determined. And then—before you could even process it— Aaron grabbed your hand and started walking.

You barely had time to react as Aaron led you through the crowd, weaving past oblivious partygoers until you were in a quieter corner of the venue.

The music was still loud, but the crowd had thinned, giving you at least a little space.

And then—

Aaron turned to face you. And you knew. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a bit.

This was real.

“Aaron—”

“I’m not letting you dodge this time,” he said, voice low and firm.

You swallowed.

The way he was looking at you? Way too intense.

And yet—you didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t try to escape this time.

Aaron tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping just for a second.

“You gonna keep running?”

You inhaled sharply. “I never ran.”

Aaron smirked. “Mmm. You sure?”

Your pulse was going crazy. But you weren’t backing down.

So you tilted your chin up, giving him your best smirk. “You’re awfully confident.”

Aaron hummed. “I have a reason to be.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

And then—

He took one more step closer.

Your breath caught.

Because now?

There was no space left.

Aaron watched you carefully, like he was waiting.

Waiting for you to push him away.

Waiting for you to say no.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

So he leaned in—

Slow. Deliberate. Giving you time to stop him.

And when you didn’t—

He kissed you.

And the whole world stopped.

It was just you and Aaron Pierre. And damn.The man could kiss.

Warm, slow, intentional. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like he’d been waiting for this.

Like he wasn’t in a rush—because he had all the time in the world.

By the time you pulled back, you were breathless. You blinked up at him, still catching up.

Aaron just smirked. “Still think I’m not in the running?”

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Shut up.”

Aaron chuckled, brushing his thumb over your jaw. “Nah. I like hearing you admit it.”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

Aaron grinned. “No, you don’t.”

And the worst part?

He was absolutely right.

From across the room Kelvin spotted you two. Saw the kiss. Saw the way you were still standing way too close. And his eyes went wide.

“Oh, HELL YEAH.”

The entire party was about to hear about this.

But right now? You didn’t care.

Because Aaron Pierre had made his move. And you were all in for it.

A/n: How tight me and bro locked in

This is lowkey a mini series 😼

#aaron pierre x reader #mufasa #aaron pierre #lion king #kiros #kelvin harrison jr.#fanfic #x reader #disney #timon and pumbaa #sarabi #simba #simba lion king #aaron pierre fanfic #terry richmond

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saurongorthaur9 · 9 months ago

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Potentially unpopular opinion for the ROP fandom:

I really wish people/interviewers would stop pushing the Hot Sauron and Haladriel stuff directly into Charlie's face.

I woke up this morning to drama in the fandom about Charlie (yet again) very politely deflecting Haladriel questions, as if this is some sort of insult to the fandom and shippers. And I know it's not going to stop, but I wish it would.

To make it very explicitly clear, make all the stupid sexy Sauron and Hot Sauron memes and jokes you want within the fandom. Ship Haladriel to your heart's content and create glorious fanfiction and fanart of them making out as they ride into the sunset (or as they simultaneously attempt to kill each other, if that's your vibe). All great. All fantastic. Everyone knows I'm a huge fan of sexy Sauron both inside and outside the ROP fandom, and I am a thorough Haladriel enjoyer at this point.

But I really, really, really wish people would stop pushing it on Charlie himself.

It just makes me so sad and uncomfortable for him. I saw the interview yesterday that I'm pretty sure was what caused everyone to be up in arms where he was being shown Sauron memes and fan posts and a lot of them were very Haladriel/shippy. He is obviously SO uncomfortable with those and the "Hot Sauron" comments. You can see it in the difference between how he answers questions about Sauron's motives or psyche or his research into Tolkien and how his eyes light up and he gets so animated and he just starts gushing vs when he's asked for the millionth time if Sauron has feelings for Galadriel and he gets quiet and reserved and gives a short, diplomatic answer.

And he's been so gracious and polite to the shippers and about all the shipping questions that he keeps getting asked. Each time, he gives basically the same answer: that he doesn't personally see it as romantic but that he's happy people care enough about the characters and story to be passionate about what they see in it. He's not going to suddenly flip a switch and start passionately shipping Haladriel.

I personally like to view it as Sauron (particularly as Halbrand) having some genuine feelings for Galadriel: genuine sense of connection, genuine sense of shared purpose, genuine attraction on both a spiritual and physical level, and yes, even some genuine admiration and love, mixed in with the complex mess of other things Sauron feels, which is why he's a great, complicated villain. The fact that this doesn't 100% line up with everything Charlie has said that he feels about the character is fine with me. I respect Charlie's opinions and the clear thought he's put into portraying that character. But I can also have my own thoughts and perceptions of the character and story apart from that, without needing him to validate them.

I know this isn't the first time an attractive man playing a charming, sexy villain has been inundated by thirsty fans (I remember Loki's Army very clearly) and that some level of it is to be expected. But he's clearly put such thought into portraying Sauron and I'm so grateful to him for that, so I'm sad to see him having uncomfortable questions shoved at him that reduce everything he's done to "what do you think of being Hot Sauron?" and "Do you think Sauron and Galadriel should kiss?" And I'm even sadder to see fans reacting negatively to him simply because he won't validate a particular ship or perspective.

From everything I've heard of fans who have gotten the opportunity to meet him, he's an absolute sweetheart and very kind and appreciative towards his fans. I hope dearly that I can meet him some day and tell him how important it was to me to see Sauron portrayed on screen as such a wonderfully complicated character. But I truly hope that the constant barrage of nagging for him to openly endorse Haladriel and the backlash whenever he gives one of his reserved, diplomatic answers about shipping doesn't sour him to his fanbase. He's given us a gift that I wouldn't have even dared dream of only a few years ago; why can't we focus on that instead of whether or not he's enthusiastically pro-Haladriel or not?

#rop #trop #rings of power #rop fandom #rings of power fandom #sauron #halbrand #rop sauron #charlie vickers #haladriel #saurondriel

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rapz-rites · 3 months ago

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Edit

Damian Wayne x Reader

For someone big on social media, you would’ve never expected this side of it, and love it

A/N: … So… I'm in college… idk how consistently ill be able to post. I thought I could do every week but ig that's not possible for me as I'm taking 6 classes 😭 My goal is to post at least once a month to put something out. That highlighted part is from when I had about 85% of this done MONTHS ago. And I'm finishing this during spring break 2025, and mind you this was asked September 2, 2023… IM SO SORRY 😭

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warning(s): none I think…

As someone with almost 100 million followers across several social media platforms, to say you’re relatively active is an understatement. You’re practically always working. As a part-time college student, it took a while for you to find a good balance.

You would post at least 2 YouTube videos every month, usually vlogs, TikTok’s every few days, sometimes a few days straight if you have enough content, an Instagram post every now and then, and posting on Twitter and Snapchat are rare unless something big is happening. On top of that, you have a monthly performance meeting with your team. You talk about how your engagement has been and ways to increase it. At the last meeting, they thought you could reply to more comments and videos you’ve been tagged in.

You were chilling with Titus on Damian’s bed, knowing well that Titus isn’t allowed on the bed, waiting for him to return from Patrol. After almost 3 years of dating, it has become routine for the two of you at this point. After editing and posting for the day, you would spend the night at the manor, and the next day you had off, you spent it with friends/Damian.

As you were waiting you took it upon yourself to scroll through comments and videos you’ve been tagged in. While scrolling through the comments of a video you posted of you and Damian doing one of those game interviews, you saw a comment that confused you.

Wifeofyn: I can see the edits already 😃

Edits? Like the ones you would see when a new movie or show came out? Due to the people you follow and the type of content you and them post, you rarely ever see them. And you never spent enough time on your for you page to get them either, so you searched it

Search: Y/n edits

You scrolled and scrolled. You were completely mesmerized as you watched the TikTok edits of yourself for the first time. You watched in amazement as you saw how people turned your everyday life into something straight out of a movie, albeit you have made cameos in movies before and had some minor roles but it was nothing like this. You got so caught up in the videos, your excitement bubbling over, that you lost track of time and everything else around you. You didn’t even notice Titus had gotten off the bed and went to sleep in his and Damian had returned from patrol.

It’s only when you feel the bed shift and see Damian lying next to you, freshly showered and awaiting your attention, that you realize he’s back. You realized that he’s probably been watching, and most likely studying, you for God knows how long.

He saw the excitement in your eyes every time you watched an edit. He heard your laughs as people used funny or sarcastic things you’ve said before in intros of edits. Of course you thought they were hilarious, no one was funnier than you… He even saw when you rolled over on your stomach and started kicking your feet in the air when you discovered the couple edits your fans made of you and Damian. You snap out of your TikTok trance with a start, your face flushed. You turn to him with an apologetic smile, eager to share your newfound excitement about the edits.

Over the next few days, you spend some of your spare time watching edits. It didn’t matter where you were, on the toilet, in the car, at a cafe. You LOVED them.

It had been a few days since you had “discovered" the edits of yourself. You’ve been commenting and “reposting and sharing the edits you’ve seen.

Secretlifeof_y/n started a live: Revolutionary Discovery

You look at your phone and watch as the number of viewers is increasing.

“Hey guys, I’m gonna let more people join before we get started”

Y/n_lover: omg your reposts

You continued to see comments come in regarding your reposts on TikTok.

“Wow! 10 thousand people in less than 15 minutes”

ButtercupBriii: is it me or has she not been on live in a minute

777.Marley: @ButtercupBriii no you’re right it’s been like 3 weeks

You read more comments of people agreeing that you haven’t been on live as much. That was the whole reason you were on live now.

“Now that we have more people in here, HIIIII!”

You watch as comments flood in of people greeting you and asking many questions. In the back, the viewers can see that you're in Wayne Manor, as you have gone live there several times before, and Stephanie is searching for something in the pantry.

“I’m trying to read all the comments coming in but you guys are too fast,” you say as your eyes skim the bottom of your phone screen. Accidentally letting out a snort, you slap your hand over your mouth. “Someone said Stephanie in the back looking for food is giving big back. Yall are evil !”

Stephanie pops her head out of the pantry giving the camera a confused look. “They said what about me?”

She walks to you with a large metal mixing bowl filled with baking supplies. You move the camera back so she can place the items onto the counter while also giving the camera a greater view of your surrounding area. Noticing candy in the bowl that you know she got for the two of you to snack on, you opt not to say anything about it. You clap your hands together while standing straight and slightly popping your hips out.

“Okay guys. Today Steph and I are,” You start. Stephanie moves close to you and in unison the two of you enthusiastically state “Baking brownies!!”

“So,” you start. “While we’re mixing everything, neither of us will be able to read comments so we’re just gonna talk, and while the brownies are baking we can chit-chat.”

As you and Stephanie pour ingredients into the mixing bowl and mix them, you talk about how the night you first saw the edits of yourself. You explain how you saw a comment referring to them and got curious, prompting you to search “Y/N edits”. That’s how you ended up with over 50 reposts of edits of yourself and various friends and family.

You pour the mixture into a flat pan and Stephanie goes to put it in the oven. While Stephanie does that you start reading comments aloud to answer.

“Who’s my favorite editor? Wifeofyn. But yn_lover is up there too.”

You and Stephanie continued answering the comments until you heard voices from the foyer. Sure enough, it was your boyfriend and his brothers returning from one of their excursions. You could listen to them bickering, which was normal, considering that's how they communicated 70% of the time.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your boyfriend as he and his brothers walked into the kitchen. Everyone started getting comfortable, especially Dick with the camera. You move towards the back of the kitchen with Damian. He wraps his arms around you from behind and you instinctively relax into his embrace. You let your head fall back while he nestles his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You smell delicious,” your boyfriend mumbles into your shoulder. You couldn’t help but giggle at him, “I smell like flour.”

“You still smell good.”

The two of you remained in the same spot and position for several moments in silence. It was moments like these you loved: in Damian’s arm, in a comfortable silence, watching life happen.

You notice Jason is staying away from the camera. This peaking your interest, you question him. As you’re asking Jason about his seeming distaste for the camera, Damian kisses the side of your head as he let’s to know he’s going to retire to his room for the night.

“I’m not getting in frame because people will make edits and every single one you see you’ll send it to me and next thing you know I have 42 edits of myself to watch” Jason states.

You gasped, acting offended, but you knew he was right. You also knew people were probably editing this live. You rolled your eyes at him and walked back to Stephanie, who was downing some brownies with Tim and your phone.

“Guys so the brownies are done and I miss Damian so I’m going to bring him some. I promise to go live again soon,” you finish off by blowing a kiss to your viewers.

LIVE ENDED

Tag List:

@firephoenix2020

@devotedlyshadowytheorist

@Manonptv

@inmymonologue

@Findingnolia

@thereal5limshady

@blackrockshooter780

@lillian-morningstar

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

Hope you enjoyed this and so sorry it’s late to the person who requested it

#damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x you #batfam #batman #requests

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kjupchurch-xx · 10 months ago

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The Interview - Tumblr Request from 08/17

As I walked into work, I was stopped by my boss, who informed me that we had a celebrity she needed me to work in for today's segment. Due to the revenue that Deadpool & Wolverine had pulled in, I wasn't shocked when she told me we would be expecting Hugh Jackman to stop in today. Ryan Reynolds was originally coming, but had an emergency with one of his children.

I walked into my dressing room and got myself put together, making sure my button down blouse and black skirt looked flawless. I triple checked my messy up-do and my make-up, fixing it about three times and still not being completely satisfied.

"He's here, he'll be coming to you in 5." My cameraman said through the door.

"Okay." I called back before checking myself in the mirror once again.

I quickly stepped out, seeing Hugh and my boss walking down the hall. Fuck, he's sexy, even at 55. I avoided them, making a beeline for the area the interview would be taking place. I assessed the area, making sure everything was perfect. Due to the last minute setup, there was no script. It would all be 100% ad-libbed.

"Hugh, this is your interviewer, the phenomenal, miss Kaitlyn." My boss said with a smile, bringing him up to me.

I smiled, extending my hand to shake his, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackman."

He smiled, grabbing my hand and kissing it, "Call me Hugh." He said with an accent.

My boss smirked, "Do not hold back on Mr. Jackman with your questions. We want this to be a viral interview. Let's break the internet." She said with a wink.

Hugh and I chuckled as I tried hiding my blush from him kissing my hand, "Understood." We said in unison.

She walked off, leaving us a minute to ourselves before the camera started rolling. I quickly looked at Hugh, "If I do ask a risque question you're not comfortable with, we can edit it out." I said with a nervous smile.

He smirked at me, "Nothing's off limits, darling." He said with a wink.

I chuckled slightly, "Are you sure?"

He nodded, "Let's have some fun."

I cocked my head at him, in shock. I figured a person with the career he had built would be a bit more reserved. This should be fun.

As I led him to the two couches we'd be sitting on for the interview, I couldn't help but notice his gaze on my legs and backside when I'd turned back to ask if he was ready to begin. He quickly reverted his gaze to my face as he noticed he'd gotten caught gawking.

I took a seat on my couch, as he plopped down onto the other couch across from me. My cameraman gave me a nod to let me know we were rolling.

"Boy, do I have a surprise for you guys today!..." I said enthusiastically towards the camera, "My guest today is none other than Mr. Hugh Jackman from the new film, Deadpool & Wolverine." I said with a wide smile as the camera panned out showing Hugh in the view.

"How are you, gorgeous?" Hugh asked, looking at me with a smile.

I giggled, "I'm great, how're you?"

He smirked, "You know, I'm good... I'm really good, but I'd be even better if you were on this couch with me." His voice sounding a bit flirty.

I chuckled as he continued, "I'm feelin' a little lonely with Ryan not here." He joked as he patted the seat on the couch beside him.

I moved from my spot on my couch over to his, "Ready for some juicy questions?" I asked him, wigging my eyebrows playfully.

He bit his lips, nodding his head slightly, "Do I get to also ask you juicy questions?"

I smirked, "We'll see. It depends on how satisfied with your answers I am."

He smiled at me and cockily stated, "Oh babe, I don't doubt I can make you feel satisfied."

I covered my mouth as it was gaping a bit, which caused him to chuckle. He quickly threw his arm over my shoulder, looking at me, "What's your question?"

I quickly regrouped myself and asked, "When doing a kissing scene, is it important to make it look realistic or keep it professional?"

He giggled at me, "Who says I can't do both?"

"Can you?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

"Would you like a demonstration?" He asked, a sly smile on his lips.

My boss did say we were breaking the internet with this interview. It wasn't televised, meaning everything was not off limits. That always made things interesting.

I chuckled, "You're not going to kiss me."

He smiled cheekily at me as he leaned towards me, placing one hand on my chin as his other hand rested on my cheek. "The key to a good kissing scene, is you always leave the audience wondering if the physical connection is real." He said lowly as his eyes gazed from my eyes, to my lips, back up towards my eyes as his face got closer to mine.

I couldn't help myself and began biting my lip in anticipation. I could feel my palms growing sweaty and my core starting to heat up. "You ready, Sweetheart?" He asked with a low voice, barely above a whisper as I slightly nodded for him to continue. Before I could react again, his lips met mine.

His lips were soft and warm. I felt him slightly nibble on my lower lip as he pulled away. I took a deep breath as a pink blush appeared on my face, "How was that?" He asked cheekily.

I laughed as I shifted on the couch, "That was...Pretty good. Do you kiss everyone that interviews you?" I asked sarcastically.

He shook his head, "Only the cute ones." He said matter of factly.

He answered a few more questions, mostly regarding X-Men, Deadpool & Wolverine, his recent divorce and his life as a father of two now adult children before we went back to the more juicier questions.

"When is it my turn to ask you a question?" He asked, smiling devilishly.

I shrugged, "Go ahead." I chuckled.

He gave me a questioning look before smirking, "So, Miss Kaitlyn, do you know the difference between a French kiss and an Australian kiss?" He asked, trying to sound as if he were going to actually explain something to me rather than make a joke.

I thought for a moment before shaking my head, "I don't think I've heard of an Australian kiss."

He raised his brow at me, "Okay. So it's the same thing as your regular French kiss, except in Australia, it's done down under."

My eyes widened as my jaw hit the floor, which caused him to laugh, "Cat got your tongue, Sweetheart?" He asked playfully as he noticed the shocked look on my face.

I shook my head, slightly biting my lip, deciding to turn the tables on him. "My turn again."

He looked at me, proud of his question considering my reaction, "Hit me with it." He said, crossing his arms.

I smirked at him, "Some people call you Huge instead of Hugh." I stated, he looked at me, giving me a nod wondering where I was going with the question. "Is it because you're huge?" I asked, pursing my lips into a smile.

He chuckled, clearly surprised by my bold question, "Do you wanna know?" He gave me a cheeky smile.

I nodded, confidently, "I do wanna know."

He leaned in closely, I could feel his hot breath on my ear as he whispered, "Meet me in one of the dressing rooms after we wrap."

I chuckled as I looked towards the camera once he pulled away, "I'm not at liberty to say." Then I playfully mouthed, "Huge" at the camera while trying to contain my laughter.

We went through a few more questions regarding Wolverine & Deadpool, and also Ryan Reynolds before we wrapped the interview. Hugh quickly skipped off to his dressing room as I was stopped by my boss, who was pleased with the interview.

"I can't believe you got him to kiss you! This is going to go great with our views!" She exclaimed happily.

I laughed, shaking my head, "I was not expecting that."

She looked at me, a smirk appearing on her lips, "What did he whisper in your ear about him being huge?" She asked.

I chuckled, "He said he's a shrimp and you'd be very disappointed."

She laughed at me, "Bullshit. You're going to fuck him, aren't you?" She asked, furrowing her brows in amusement.

"Bye, Pam!" I yelled as I walked towards the dressing rooms laughing.

"I want details! Real details!" She called out, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

I walked up to his dressing room door, knocking on the door. Was I supposed to knock or just bust in? Sleeping with my guests was something I'd never done, but ever since the kiss, I knew I wanted more. He was driving me crazy with his little remarks during our interview, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

The door opened in front of me, it was a smiling Hugh, "Oh, so you do want to know?" He said playfully, amusement dripping from his voice.

I giggled and decided to play around with him, "I was only coming to thank you for being my guest today." I said sarcastically.

He moved to the side, motioning for me to come in his dressing room. "You're so welcome, love." He said, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

He knew why I was there. He sat down on the lounge that was in the dressing room, kicking his feet up on the ottoman and looked at me, "Join me, I promise I don't bite hard." He smirked.

I blushed as I sat beside him, "FYI, I don't kiss my interviewers, but you were looking too damn cute." He said, looking at my cleavage.

I chuckled, "I don't normally kiss the people I'm interviewing, but you're sexy as fuck and I wanted to know if you were a good kisser."

He smiled cheekily at me before he reached over, pulling me onto his lap so I was straddling his lap. "This what you came to my dressing room for?" He smirked, gazing into my eyes as he gripped my onto my hips tightly.

I bit my lip, looking at his, "Maybe...Is this why you invited me?" I asked him.

He giggled as he began unbuttoning my blouse, revealing my black lacy bra. I ran my fingers into his hair as I leaned down, kissing him and helping him discard my blouse. Our kiss was much better than the interview kiss. He sucked on my bottom lip, biting at it with his teeth before his tongue began dancing with mine as his hands explored my breasts. I could fee his excitement growing under me.

I lifted myself up slightly as I began toying with his belt, he pulled away, mumbling against my lips, "Eager, aren't you?"

I chuckled, "Research purposes." I said trying to remain serious as he helped me undo his belt, unzip his pants and pull his rather...large member out. I bit my lip as I saw it. He was rock hard and had veins protruding from his shaft. He was above average and deliciously thick. I couldn't decide if I wanted him in my mouth or inside me.

"Research purposes..." He was becoming increasingly amused by my wit, "Like what you see, baby?" He bit his lip, as he pushed his hips upwards towards me.

I licked my lips, still gazing at it. I pushed my thong to the side as I lifted myself over him, sinking down on the length. I could hear him gasp as he entered me, while I gasped at the size that was stretching me perfectly. I felt his hands grip my hips tightly as I began bouncing on him. He moved one hand to my breasts as he pulled my bra down and began nibbling and sucking on my nipples, causing me to whimper as he began pushing his hips upwards to meet my bounces.

I threw my head back as I ran my fingers through his black hair that was becoming quickly disheveled. "Fuck, you're so tight." He groaned against my breasts. "You ride my cock so well, love." He groaned.

I could feel myself begin tightening around him as I felt him start to throb inside me. "Shit, I'm gonna cum." I moaned, as I tugged harder on his hair as I sped my bouncing up.

"Cum all over me, baby." He moaned as he started thrusting his hips harder upwards.

His words and his accent made me come undone. I could feel the throbbing of his cock, he was almost there. "Get on your knees." He demanded lowly.

I quickly hopped off of his lap and assumed the position on my knees in front of him. He grabbed himself and sat up from the couch and began stroking in front of me as his moans became louder. Watching him stroke his cock was making me ready to go again. I pulled my bra down further, grabbing my breasts and squeezing them for them.

He let out one loud groan as he threw his head back and began covering my breasts in his cum. I bit my lip as I watched how much pleasure it brought him.

After he finished, he quickly stood up and grabbed a towel, handing it to me. "I'm sorry about your blouse." He chuckled.

I giggled, taking the towel, "Don't be. I'm sure it'll sell on TikTok shop."

He laughed, rolling his eyes at my humor before pecking my lips.

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silentscrying · 8 months ago

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🏀 buzzer beater | chapter ELEVEN.

nba!gojo x manager!reader || directory. || prev. || next.

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, slight unwanted advances, mahito in general, fangirl todo. || sfw. 5.3k words.

THE NEXT DAY, the Curses take the series against the Foxes. It’s official: the Sorcerers-Curses rivalry will come to a head in the NBA championships, starting on Friday in San Diego.

The team went harder than ever at practice today, not only drilling but talking strategy and getting into the nitty-gritty of the psychological impact of the rivalry. Yaga knows Mei Mei and the Curses don’t go easy, or fair. They’re ready.

As you pull out the keys to your apartment, you frown at the package on your welcome mat, a weird cylindrical shape with no return address. After you make it to the kitchen, you open it and find a rolled-up sheet of glossy paper. What?

You spread it out on your countertop and see an official signed poster of Satoru, in full uniform, palming a basketball in one hand with a huge smirk on his face. With the photo’s professional editing, his eyes look even more blue than usual, and you may or may not stare at them a second too long.

“Jesus fuck,” you say.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes.

six: did you get my gift?? you: is this for target practice? how sweet six: :( you: baby six: oh it’s like that😏 you: that was an insult

When your phone goes off again after you’ve relegated the rolled-up poster to an end table, you assume it’s Satoru responding. But instead, you find a text from Geto.

suguru geto: Thought about my offer at all?

Great. He waited until the Curses made the championships and just thought he’d try again? You screenshot the text and send it to Satoru.

you: what if i turn on read receipts just for this

six: HAHAHAHA

You won’t, because you’re still planning on taking Geto by surprise on Friday when he realizes you and Satoru are actually together. Your phone rings, and your brow furrows as you realize you don’t recognize the number or the area code.

“Sorcerers management,” you greet, and a high-pitched voice comes through the speaker.

“Hi there! This is Takada with the Reggie Star Show.” You hesitate for a moment. Reggie’s show is kind of a huge deal, and Takada has become something of a personality herself, although you’ve always found her a bit over the top.

“Uh, how can I help you?” you ask finally.

“So! Reggie would love to invite Satoru Gojo onto the show before the NBA championships.” You stand stock-still in your kitchen.

What the fuck, you mouth silently to yourself. It’s not like Reggie never has athletes on the show. But only Satoru?

“Not the rest of the team?” you clarify, and Takada laughs, a high, kind of shrill sound that has you holding your phone a bit away from your ear.

“Well, you see, we’re hoping to promote the series a bit by pulling the centers from both teams! Mr. Geto has already agreed, so we’d love to interview him and Mr. Gojo together.”

Oh, Jesus.

You are 100% certain this is Mei Mei’s doing. You instinctively want to reject her now, but this isn’t really your call.

“Let me run this by Gojo and the coaches, and I can get back to you, Takada,” you say, hoping that tides her over for now.

“No problem. Thank you!” she chirps, and the line goes dead. You groan, staring at the ceiling. This is not worth the hassle. You swipe to Satoru’s contact and call him.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Miss me already?” he drawls, and you roll your eyes.

“Asshole. So, guess who just called me?”

“If you say Suguru I’m flying to San Diego early and cornering him in an alley.”

You laugh. “Okay, Jesus. No. Uh, the Reggie Star Show?”

“What?” Satoru screeches.

“They have Geto coming on before championships,” you sigh, “and they want you too. To ‘promote the series’ or whatever. Drama on screen.”

“Mei Mei’s idea?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I don’t really think I have time, considering… it’s championships and we’re training every day? Yaga would be pissed, probably. Not much of a publicity guy.”

Something in your chest loosens at his words. Truthfully, you really don’t want him to go, to be in a situation where he and Geto can only verbally spar through a guise of political politeness.

“Also, I just… don’t want to?” he says. You grin.

“Good. I was hoping.”

“Aw, don’t want me to launch my television career?” You sink onto your couch as he keeps talking. “That could be a great return on investment for you, you know. You have my autograph now.”

“Shut up. And don’t tell Nobara about this. She’d be so mad at you.”

“Scaryyy,” he says, and he’s not joking. “Come over for dinner?” The change in topic has you smiling as you kick your feet up on the coffee table. “Miki and Gumi are coming. And Yuji.”

“And the dogs?”

“Am I not enough for you?” he scoffs, and you grin.

“Not even close.”

“Yes, the dogs, you heathen.”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you say innocently, and hang up on him.

—

Tsumiki meets you at Satoru’s door with a massive grin on her face and immediately pulls you into a hug.

“Hi!” she says excitedly, ushering you inside.

“Hey, Tsumiki,” you smile, and then there’s a rapid pitter-patter of the dogs rounding the corner into the entryway, and you fall into a pile of fur and kisses. “Hi, buddies! Hi!” Shiro shoves her nose into your face and Kuro plops himself down in your lap right as Satoru rounds the corner.

“Stealing my girlfriend,” he whines.

“Dumbass,” you say, and let him help you up. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and you blush against your will.

“C’mon. Pasta’s ready.” You follow Satoru into the kitchen and find Yuji and Megumi putting plates on the small table. You raise a brow.

“Whose cooking?”

“Whose do you think?” Tsumiki asks.

“I helped!” Yuji insists, pointing to the oven. “I’m making garlic bread!”

Tsumiki pats him on the shoulder and says, “Yes, Yuji, you did a great job.”

You fire off a quick message to Yaga to confirm that it’s okay to reject Takada’s offer, and he responds within two minutes, Please do.

You step out to make the call, and when you come back into the kitchen, Yuji and Tsumiki are giggling at something.

“What are you two on about?” you ask, and Tsumiki, still snickering, hands you her phone. It’s open to a tweet of a grainy computer screenshot, and it says SOMEONE LOOK AT ME THE WAY SATORU GOJO LOOKS AT THE SORCERERS MANAGER PLS PLSPLS

That’s not even the part that gets you. First of all, it’s not from the most recent game—it’s from before you were together. You’re wearing the Limitless shirt.

Second, Kasumi retweeted it.

“Jesus,” you say, and Satoru appears at your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” You swat at him without looking and then pull out your phone to text Kasumi. “I need to tell her before she finds out somewhere else.”

As if on cue, your phone lights up with her name. Your first thought is that she somehow already knows and is FaceTiming you to scream at you. You swipe and her face materializes in front of you, a massive grin on her face and—has she been crying?

“Kasumi! Are you okay?”

“Yes!” she practically screams. And then she holds up her hand, and you stare for a long moment before realizing she’s wearing a ring.

“Holy shit!” you screech. “Kasumi!” The grin splits across your face, and she’s laugh-crying on the other end of the phone, and then she abruptly freezes.

And you realize Satoru’s very much visible in the frame behind you.

“Alley-oop,” she says. “You motherf—Alley. Is that—”

You can see the tips of your ears going pink in the camera in the corner of the screen. “Surprise?”

“To you, maybe!” she laughs. “Holy shit. Holy shit! This is the best day of my life.”

Muta appears beside Kasumi, squinting at the screen. “Tell me it’s because we’re getting married and not because she and Gojo finally banged.” Megumi wrinkles his nose at the other end of the table.

“Kokichi,” Kasumi scolds, but Satoru cracks up behind you and you can’t help but follow suit.

“Congrats, you guys,” you say. “I’m so happy for you. Does Akari know?”

“She’s next on the list,” Kasumi grins.

“We’ll let you go, then,” you say, and take a moment to just appreciate how fucking happy your friend looks. Her blue hair is a mess and her eyes are rimmed red, but she’s glowing. This has been a long time coming. You couldn’t be happier for her, honestly.

When she hangs up, Satoru grins and says, “Aw, basketball romance.” Then he looks pointedly at Yuji and Megumi.

“I suddenly feel like a fifth wheel,” Tsumiki announces. Then she looks at Shiro and Kuro, curled up together on the couch. “Seventh wheel?”

You plop into the chair next to Tsumiki and wrap your arm around her. “Nah, Satoru’s seventh wheeling. I’m here for you.”

She grins, and Satoru falls to his knees and dramatically fakes his own death. The dogs leap off the couch to investigate, and soon he’s laughing as Shiro slobbers all over him while Kuro decides to lay across his legs.

In truth, you don’t remember the last time you felt this content. It’s a nice feeling, warm.

And then a smell hits you, like something burning, and you furrow your brows and turn toward the kitchen. “Is something—”

“Oh my god!” Yuji screeches, practically falling out of his chair and bolting for the kitchen. “The garlic bread!”

—

The results of turning down the Reggie Star offer have, quite possibly, the funniest results of all time.

You’re curled up on Satoru’s couch two days later with your feet on his lap and Tsumiki on your other side, Megumi and Yuji sprawled with the dogs on the floor. On the TV, Todo walks on stage to a cheering studio audience and locks eyes with Takada, and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he just passed out right now.

“Simp,” Satoru says. You look at him incredulously. “Okay, hey, I did not say I wasn’t also.” He plants a kiss on your temple and Megumi pretends to gag.

You swear Todo literally has physical stars in his eyes when he looks at her. He shakes her hand with both of his and does a weird half-bow and says, “It’s such an honor, Ms. Ta—“

“Oh, please,” Takada giggles. “Just call me Takada.” Todo goes red again, stammering out a response.

“This is the most painful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Megumi says. He’s only watching this because Yuji wants to.

“Mr. Aoi Todo,” Reggie Star says grandly, throwing an arm around him like they’re already best buds. “Take a seat, take a seat. Thanks again for joining us on such short notice!”

Todo takes his place on the couch while Reggie and Takada sit in opposing armchairs, the background flashing the Reggie Star Show logo as the theme music peters out. Reggie grills Todo with questions about the Samurai-Sorcerers series, playing against Yuji after playing with him in college, all the connections the team has with half of the championship bracket. And throughout, Todo just can’t tear his gaze away from Takada.

By the time it’s over you’re nearly falling off the couch, laughing yourself halfway to tears.

“Guys, it’s cute! He has a crush!” Yuji exclaims, and you all laugh harder. Tsumiki collapses into you, her hair spreading out over the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing—one of Satoru’s, blue and black and smelling like him.

After the commercial break, which consisted of an actually absurd amount of Takada promoting various useless products, Todo is nowhere to be found. Geto sits on the couch in his place with a press-worthy smile and a crisp, navy blue suit.

“And here we’ve got the starting center of one of the two NBA teams gunning for the championship title, Mr. Suguru Geto,” Reggie introduces, and the studio audience whoops and cheers as Geto waves them off, smiling modestly. You kind of want to slap him.

“Now, let’s not beat around the bush here, Suguru—you’re going up against the Sorcerers the day after tomorrow, and that means you’re coming face to face with your old teammate, Satoru ‘Six-Eyes’ Gojo.” Reggie looks pointedly out at the crowd, like they’re in on some big secret, and turns back to Geto. “How do you feel about this match-up, two starting centers with a lengthy history on the court with stakes this high?”

Geto sighs and leans forward a bit in his seat, one elbow on the armrest. “Well, Reggie, Satoru and I go back a long time.” You wrinkle your nose at the sound of his first name in Geto’s mouth. You feel weirdly defensive about it. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we went to high school together and then college, so we’ve been playing basketball together since our early teens.”

Takada chimes in, “That’s quite the bond, going through the most formative parts of your careers together!” You can’t take her seriously, because in your head she’s still winking at the camera and waxing poetic about the merits of some new Japanese skincare line.

Reggie nods, encouraging Geto to go on. “I’ve gotta say, I am looking forward to seeing him again. He’s a hard man to get ahold of these days. It’ll be good to see him, albeit on opposite sides of the court.”

“No, it will not,” Satoru says with a false cheer in his voice, pointing a finger gun at the TV.

“And how do you think your odds are looking for this series?”

“Well,” Geto laughs, “the Sorcerers are talented, I’ll give them that. Clearly, they’ve made it this far. But I will say that the Curses are first seed with home court advantage.” He shrugs. “So do with that what you will.”

Takada glances at Reggie, as if asking permission for something, and he nods. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Geto, there’s another familiar face on the other side of things as well, a former manager of the Curses.”

Geto nods, a wide smile crossing his face, and you feel Satoru tense up beside you. “Oh, we miss her a lot, yes. She’s great at what she does. I keep telling her she should make her way back to San Diego if she feels so inclined.” He laughs, like this is some great ongoing joke.

“Oh, so you two still speak regularly, then?” Reggie asks, intrigued. Your jaw clenches, and Satoru’s hand encloses yours before it can become a fist.

“I just recently paid her a visit out east.” Oh my god. Oh my god.

“That fucker,” Satoru growls. Your phone buzzes with a message from Ieiri.

my wife: this little man bun bitch

my wife: what if i commit murder. what then

You’re seething, and even Tsumiki is frowning, the lines creasing her face, turning the corners of her mouth down. Paid you a visit? As if you’re friends and he came to catch up with you over coffee, not dropped in on your street in the dark to harass you about a job you don’t want?

“Well, sounds like it’ll be quite the reunion,” Reggie is saying by the time the smoke clears out of your ears enough for you to hear again.

Tsumiki reaches across you to ruffle Satoru’s hair. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him.”

You shoot a quick message back to Ieiri.

you: tbh i’d pay a lot of money to see y’all in a cage match

Reggie and Takada shift to broader questions about the series and you tune out most of the remainder of the segment, irritated when Geto answers one too many questions with Satoru’s name, subtly suggesting that the Sorcerers have none of the grit and discipline the Curses do.

“They’re a fun bunch,” he says at one point. “Like a barrel of monkeys. They just have a good time.” The tone is all fake, smoothed-out public relations, and it makes your blood boil. You know what he’s really implying, that it’s an insult. That the Sorcerers spend all their time hanging off hoops instead of drilling themselves into the ground. You know it’s not true. You’ve watched them work their asses off all year.

“God forbid we know how to have fun,” Satoru snorts, and you feel the tension easing from your shoulders just at the sound of his voice.

“You don’t,” you say teasingly, flipping yourself around on the couch so your head lands in his lap. “That’s entirely Kento.”

Satoru gasps and looks down at you. “You take that back. Nanami is the most unfun—“

“Not a word,” Tsumiki says helpfully.

“Everyone in this house hates me! Slander under my own roof!” He digs his fingers into your sides and starts tickling you, and you squirm out of his grasp and onto the ground, but he follows you. Soon it’s a mess of Shiro and Kuro frantically pouncing on both of you as you squeal for Satoru to let you go, and Tsumiki is definitely filming this whole thing, and it’s all so incredibly domestic and unserious and right that your heart swells in your chest.

Fuck Geto. He can’t get to you here, and he can’t take you away from the team you love.

—

Being in San Diego again is strange. The facilities are familiar, the gyms, the locker rooms, but you’re walking them a different person than you left them, experiencing the same setting in a new context that makes you feel like you’re living in one prolonged moment of déjà vu.

Nobara walks alongside you, bouncing between social media notifications and ranting about the way Geto made the Sorcerers sound on national television last night. Ieiri’s setting up in the training room down the hall, and Yaga’s pulled the guys into the locker room for a quick meeting before they launch into their last practice before the next day’s match.

You keep thinking about Yaga pulling you aside this morning, murmuring a quick warning in your ear. “If you see Mei Mei, no you don’t. Not worth the time. Just slip away.”

So far there’s been no sign of the other manager, and you’re glad for it.

Nobara’s phone starts ringing and she nods at you and peels off, pressing it to her ear and slipping deeper into the building. You lean against the wall, checking your own phone, making sure you don’t have any missed calls or emails.

The side doors open loudly, metal scraping across the floor, and you look up.

Fuck.

It seems Mei Mei doesn’t do her own damn dirty work.

“Oh, hello!” Mahito crows, making his way over to you. You didn’t like him when you worked for the Curses and you don’t like him now, his leering grin too wide for his face, hair tied into three sections behind his back. Him, you know—but you haven’t yet met the man beside him, a lanky, tall guy with oddly wide eyes and a long blond ponytail weirdly off-center on his head.

Of course, you know who he is. You’ve done your research, you’ve seen the roster. Haruta Shigemo.

“I hoped you’d be here.” Mahito comes to a stop in front of you as you push off the wall, crossing your arms.

“Mahito.” Your voice is cold, flat.

He frowns, an exaggerated, off-putting gesture. “Thought it’d be a happier reunion,” he says. He holds his arms out toward Shigemo with a flourish. “I’d like you to meet Haruta. He, ah, was something of a replacement for your Six-Eyes.”

Shigemo stares at you, unblinking, a small, close-lipped smile sending a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly aware of how close these two men are to you, that your back is to the wall, that you’re alone in the hallway.

“Look, I really have a lot to get done—”

“Oh, we don’t mean to bother you!” Mahito laughs, high-pitched and manic. “We just wanted to welcome you back home, you know. Make sure you settled in to the old stomping grounds.” He leans in, breath smelling like some odd combination of fruity gum and stale crackers. You shudder involuntarily. “I hope you don’t take it too hard when they lose,” he whispers, too close to your face. “Should you need an out, remember we’re in your corner.”

Shigemo holds a hand up as you’re about to retort, tilting his head and studying you. “If he’s not your type,” he giggles, nodding at Mahito, “I’ve got some time on my hands tonight.”

Your face flushes deep red with anger, fists going white-knuckled at your side. “I do not need—”

“Excuse me,” says a cool, familiar voice, and the tension in your muscles goes slack as Kento comes to stand directly between you and your newfound nuisances. “I believe we’ve already taken care of any business that needed tending to before the match tomorrow, yes? Is there anything else I can help you with? We’re just about to kick off practice, and I’m afraid our time is limited.”

Mahito steps back, holding his arms up in false surrender. “Nanami! Hello!” He grins widely. “We’re representatives, of a sort. Just making sure the bunch of you are settled in.” Shigemo nods and looks Kento up and down, calculating.

“We are just fine,” he says flatly, nudging you with a hand behind his back. You nod at the two Curses players and storm down the hallway toward the gym, heart racing in your chest. Behind you, you hear Kento still talking. “Do tell Mei Mei her… thoughtfulness is noted.”

In the gym, the guys are warming up, and your eyes immediately lock on Megumi, angrily slamming an innocent basketball against the wall, over and over. Yuji dribbles between his knees without looking at his ball, watching Megumi intently.

You don’t see Satoru, and for a moment you’re worried, feeling a little off-balance, until you feel hands on your shoulders, spinning you around. “Well, hello,” he says, and you laugh, dropping your head into his chest.

“Fuck is up with Megumi?” you ask, nodding toward him, and Satoru frowns. You notice now the tension in him, the slight anger in his eyes, an energy like impatience and frustration all around his edges.

“Suguru was fucking with him. Saying shit about Tsumiki. I was dealing with him.” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, considering as he looks over your shoulder at Yuji drawing Megumi back onto the court. “He’s such a dick.”

Kento walks in then, making his way straight over to you. “You okay?” he asks, and Satoru’s brows knit together.

“What? Why wouldn’t she—” He turns to you. “Why wouldn’t you be okay? What happened?”

“Mahito,” you say. “Shigemo, too. Fucking pricks.”

Satoru breathes in sharply, his grip on your shoulder tightening protectively. “If they put their fucking hands on you—”

“Toru,” you say, the nickname slipping out without your permission. It seems to calm him down a little, makes him look at you steadily. “Kento got them out of the way. And they won’t do anything to me. They’re just doing Mei Mei’s bidding, same as Geto, probably.” You grab his hands in yours, nodding at Kento to say you’ll be okay. He inclines his head and walks away, gathering the rest of the team in the center of the gym.

“They want to get under your skin. Don’t let them."

Your voice is steady and calm, coated with a reassurance you don’t feel. Your nerves are still on high alert, Mahito’s breathing down your neck, Shigemo’s unsettling scrutiny lingering in your mind. But you know they’re not after you. You’re a conduit for them, a way to fuck with Satoru. And you will not let them.

“Don’t let them,” he echoes, sighing, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Remember, flagrantly disgusting display of public affection. Imagine their faces.”

He laughs, loud and bright, and something warm blooms in you at the sound. “God, you’re the best.”

“I know.” You pull back and shove him in the direction of the team. “Now go practice so I can watch you kick their asses.”

He grins at you, does a little half-bow, snapping back into his untouchable, unbothered self. “Anything for you.”

—

There's really no reason for you to have the clipboard in your hands. Every note you’ve taken is committed to memory. You know both team’s rosters inside and out, know every detail of the schedule, what a win or a loss means for the schedule, score projections, all of it. But you need something to do with your hands, so you hold onto it, clicking and unclicking your pen, scribbling in the margins of old brackets, trying to contain all your nervous energy into a manageable space.

And you’re not the only one overflowing with energy. The stadium is alive. The lights are bright, the crowd raucous, the massive hanging scoreboard broadcasting CHAMPIONSHIP SHOWDOWN SPONSORED BY KFC. You don’t think you could eat right now even if someone shoved a bucket of fried chicken into your hands.

“That’s just mean,” Satoru mutters under his breath, gazing up at the advertisement.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

He glances down at you and then across the court, where Geto has been tracking the two of you with searching eyes. Mei Mei hides behind a clipboard as well, though you notice her eyes flickering back and forth, studying Satoru, you, Yaga. You pointedly avoid looking at Mahito and Shigemo. Pricks.

The NBA championship series. Sorcerers versus Curses. It all comes to a head here, an endless rivalry for a championship title.

“So, I’m thinking now or never,” Satoru says, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. When you realize what he means, it takes everything in you not to glance across the court at Geto. A smirk spreads across your face, and you grab Satoru’s jersey and pull him toward you.

“Good luck,” you say, and then you kiss him, hard and long and intentional, and you know Geto sees you.

“I think,” Satoru says, pulling back a little breathlessly, “we should do that every game.” He grins and you swat him away, making your way over to Ieiri and Nobara in the far corner, and you can’t wipe the smile from your own face. On the way there you chance a look across the court. Geto isn’t looking at you, but he’s looking at Satoru, talking lowly out of the corner of his mouth to Mei Mei.

Point for me, you think.

“You’re actually nauseating,” Nobara says when you reach her. You know she’s not serious. She knew the plan. She loved the plan.

“I’m making a point,” you say anyway. She follows your tilted head toward Geto and Mei Mei, and you watch the slow, shit-eating grin spread across her face.

“Oh, so worth it,” she murmurs.

You tug the headset on and listen to the unfamiliar announcers, wishing it was Zenin and Panda in your ears but settling for the new, faceless voices instead. They’re not the same guys who usually commentated on the home court when you worked for the Curses, and you’re oddly glad about it, that there’s not another reminder of the loaded history here right in your ears.

“Charles Bernard here with Rika Orimoto,” the new voice says, “ready to watch this long-time rivalry play out in real time.”

When she speaks up, Rika’s voice is bright and younger than you expected, animated where Bernard is entirely deadpan. Interesting partnership.

As the starters take their positions, you’re surprised to see that Satoru’s not the one taking the tip-off.

Kento is. And in front of him, eye-to-eye with a sardonic smile, is Mahito.

Ah, shit.

The ref’s expression is flat and unaffected, but his eyes dart between the two shooting guards as they face off in the center of the court. You wish you could hear what they’re saying.

“An unusual choice for both teams here as we kick off this final series,” Bernard says. “Neither of our centers taking the tip-off today.”

Kento shows no emotion as the ref lets go of the ball, and Mahito leaps, but he’s not fast enough.

“Number thirty-seven Kento Nanami swipes the tip-off without hesitation!” Rika announces. “Back to number six, the Sorcerers' Satoru Gojo, and a fantastic pass up to Fushiguro.”

The Curses' hulking point guard, Jogo, is right up in Megumi’s face with a massive hand reaching out to block, but Yuji grabs the rebound and pounds it through the hoop in seconds.

“And the Sorcerers take the lead just sixteen seconds in,” Bernard says. You look over at Ieiri and Nobara, grinning, and then back to where Mei Mei stands with a stony expression across the court.

You feel good about this.

Back and forth, back and forth. Ino is giving Jogo a run for his money, using his speed to dart around the massive point guard before he even sees what’s coming. In his breakaways Yuji keeps finding himself pitted against Mahito, and it seems like it’s always a fifty-fifty whether the block is successful.

“Some subs as we enter the second quarter. On San Diego's side we have Haruta Shigemo on for Fumihiko Takaba.”

“Yuta Okkotsu on for the Sorcerers!” Rika says, a little too excitedly, before she catches herself and calms down.

“Someone has a fangirl,” Nobara snorts beside you, holding just one side of the headset to her ear.

You can’t tear your eyes away from Satoru and Geto as they go up and down the court, always on each other’s heels, breathing hard. It’s personal, and everyone can see it. If they’re saying anything you can’t make it out.

Both teams are going all-out right now, and the fans feel it too. Megumi’s guarding Naoya Zenin like a shadow, something in the air around them tense and constant. You don’t see Yuji’s uncle but you can certainly hear him, somewhere behind you on the visitors’ side, screaming, “HELL YEAH! SHOW THEM WHAT A WIN REALLY MEANS! THESE FUCKERS WOULDN’T KNOW FIRE IF IT LIT UNDER THEIR ASSES!”

You give it two minutes before he’s kicked out.

Inumaki goes on, then Hakari, and at some point the Curses swap Jogo out for Dagon, and it’s go, go, go. You can barely catch your own breath by the half, the game wrapping around you like you’re the one playing it, and Satoru’s drenched in sweat as the team files back to the locker room. He reaches out and pinches you in the side and you stick your tongue out at him, like the mature adult you are.

“Gross,” Nobara says.

The rest of the game goes by in a similar blur of shots and blocks and heated matchups, Toge nailing a few free throws, Takaba coming back on and managing to slip past Megumi only once. The scoreboard never reads more than a six-point deficit.

You almost don’t hear the buzzer when it’s finally over, players skidding to a stop on the court, their heads turned up toward the scoreboard.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri breathes beside you. “We won. We actually fucking won.”

You rip off the headset, the grin overtaking you, relief and pride flooding your veins like a drug, and the rest of the team floods the court in celebration. They beat a first seed team on their home court.

Satoru catches your eye over the mass of people and smiles, and you wave back.

And this is only the beginning.

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piastrispastries · 7 months ago

Note

Ok for the wrapped writing thing, 78? 👀

ok so this got away from me a little bit but song number 78 on my wrapped was fallout by catfish and the bottlemen! send me an ask with a number from 1-100 and i'll write a drabble based on what song it is on my spotify wrapped!

word count: 1356

In Year 6, Oscar had skipped school two days in a row.

There’d been a book report on Charles Darwin due, and he hadn’t written a single word. Every time he thought about walking into his classroom that morning and explaining himself to Ms. Andersen, he felt stomach-churningly sick. She'd never been anything less than understanding about him missing a day for this or that karting race, but when he thought out their imaginary conversation about the missing assignment, he felt the urge to run as far away as he could.

So on the day that the book report was due, he'd gotten up and left the house to walk to school just like he did every day, and when he'd reached the school gates, he'd just kept walking.

He'd taken a left onto the street where one of the boys he played cricket with in the park lived, then a right onto the street with the park, then around the park a few times, then another right, and so on, until he'd figured enough time had passed that his mom had left for work and he could go back home.

He kept telling himself that he'd write the report as soon as he got home, so that he could go into school the next day with it in hand, like nothing had happened, but when he sat himself down at the kitchen table to do it, he'd felt like the walls were closing in around him. So the next day, he'd done the same thing, walking straight past the school gates, and hoping that the repetitive motion of his steps would eventually drown out the rushing sounds in his head.

The jig was up when his mum had gotten home from work that day, since Ms. Andersen had called her to ask if he was okay, but sometimes he wonders how long he could have kept going with that routine, whether he’d have kept skipping school for weeks on end just to avoid a conversation about a book report. Swiping away a call from Carlos for the third time that day, he thinks he definitely could have.

He knows, objectively, that he’s overreacting to the interview quote. Carlos was just being Carlos—loyal, supportive, and giving the expected answer to avoid creating any distracting drama. He’d been asked a question about Lando, and naturally, he'd backed his friend. Oscar probably could have guessed how he’d answer, word for word. But hearing Carlos casually, without hesitation, say that he'd "back Lando to win out" in a potential WDC fight between him and Oscar had done something to him. Something that felt like a punch to the stomach, the kind that didn't knock the air out of you immediately but lingered, the pain gnawing at your insides.

Oscar had tried to brush it off, but the words kept echoing in his mind: I’d back Lando. Of course Carlos would. They were friends. Close ones. And they’d been friends for much longer than Oscar and Carlos had been sneaking around.

Their relationship wasn’t anything serious—just a handful of late-night texts, a few stolen moments after races, something casual that neither of them had ever bothered to define. Oscar had never asked Carlos for more; the idea of it made his stomach twist—of asking for something that Carlos probably didn’t even want. So he let the feelings sit in the back corner of his mind, and went along with the easy banter and late-night conversations that never ventured too far into anything serious.

And he’s been good at acting casual so far. But it was something about the way Carlos had said it, so easily and so matter-of-fact. The words had lodged themselves into the spaces between Oscar’s ribs, poking at the fleshy parts of him any time he moved around. The feeling of being second-best, of being invisible under the bright lights of Lando’s shadow, crept up on him. The familiar, bitter taste of being overlooked.

He could practically hear Carlos’s voice from the interview now, the words ringing louder than they ever had in the sterile media room: "I’d back Lando to win out in that fight. He’s always had an edge in race craft, and I know he’s got more fight in him than he did last year."

Oscar doesn’t even bother swiping away when Carlos calls again, the screen lighting up with his name, and instead leans back in his chair as it keeps ringing. He remembers the feeling of walking past the school all those years ago, avoiding the thing that kept tying his stomach in knots. The moment where he had to face the fact that he wasn’t enough to make it all work on his own.

And he’s doing the same thing now, but his mum isn’t here to force him to write the report and apologize to his teacher.

He can almost hear the conversation that would happen if he picked up the phone. The gentle reassurance from Carlos, the apologetic tone he'd adopt, even though Oscar knows he’s probably slightly bewildered by the scale of Oscar’s reaction. But the truth is, Oscar can’t quite shake the sense that Carlos has made up his mind. That the decision of who to prioritize has already been made, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

It’s a weird thing, this sense of never being first choice, not deserving preferential pitstop strategy or a moment of hesitation before being voted against, no matter how hard you try.

With a long breath, Oscar finally answers the call, the tension in his chest thick. "Yeah?"

Carlos's voice is already apologetic, soft, like he’s walking on eggshells. "Oscar, listen, I didn’t mean—"

"I know," Oscar interrupts, thumbing at a hangnail on his middle finger. "I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Carlos, but it's hard not to hear what you said and feel like... well, like I don’t matter as much as Lando does."

There’s a long silence on the other end. And then, quieter than usual, Carlos speaks. "You do matter, Oscar. You matter to me."

Oscar leans forward, screwing his eyes shut. "But did you only say what you did because it was asked in the media conference? Would you have answered differently if Caco or Teto asked you?"

The question hangs in the air, thick and uncomfortable. He can feel the weight of it pressing down on both of them. But it’s not an answer he’s really looking for. Not anymore. It’s just that he can’t help but ask, can't stop himself from wondering where he fits in the narrative that’s being built around the three of them.

But Carlos doesn’t answer right away. Instead, there’s a pause, and then the quiet admission. "I didn’t think about it like that. I’ll make it right. I’ll clear things up with the press—"

"I don’t need you to clear anything up," Oscar interrupts again, a bit harsher this time. "I just... I don’t want to feel like I’m the second choice. Like I’m the one you can overlook and then apologize to."

The line goes silent for a beat too long, and Oscar wonders if this is where it all falls apart. If Carlos is going to throw in the towel, decide that he has enough going on without Oscar further complicating his life.

But then Carlos’s voice breaks through, softer now. "You’re not a second choice, Oscar. You’re not. It’s just… it’s complicated sometimes. With Lando and me, with everything. But you’re not a second choice. At all."

Oscar exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders loosening, even though he knows things aren’t magically fixed with just those words. But maybe, for now, it’s enough to hear that. Maybe it’s enough just to know Carlos doesn’t mean to hurt him—even if it still stings.

"I get it," Oscar says finally, his voice quiet. "I get it." For the first time in days, the ache in his chest doesn’t feel so sharp. He can live with that.

"Come by my room later?" Oscar asks, his voice steady now.

"Yeah," Carlos replies. "I’ll be there."

#carcar #carcar fic #oscarlos #f1 rpf #oscar piastri #carlos sainz #op81 #cs55 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #i #this is the first thing i've finished in literally years so please keep your expectations low lmfao #in which i accidentally turned carlos sainz into peter kavinsky?#anyways. love to see early carcar being haunted by the ghost of undefined carlando past so this was my attempt at that

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asaka-lucy-hl · 2 months ago

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Today, I finished my first playthrough (the first 100 days), and here are my impressions so far:

⚠️ This post contains major spoilers. Please read only if you have completed the first 100 days.

First of all, I want to make it clear that I am genuinely enjoying this game. In an interview, Kodaka and Uchikoshi mentioned that one playthrough would take about 20 hours, but for me, it took over 30 hours. So, I feel like I played very carefully and thoroughly. I made sure to check the characters' reactions as the story progressed, and I worked hard to strengthen and explore with each character as much as possible. Even now, I haven't gotten even slightly "tired" of the training elements, and I'm still having a lot of fun.

However, if someone asked me, "Would you recommend this game to your friends?" my honest answer would be, "It's complicated."

Before playing, I had already read several interviews where it was mentioned that the ending of the first 100 days would be "rather unsatisfying," so I was somewhat prepared for a conclusion that left a lot of mysteries unresolved. Still, even expecting it, the length of this "being left hanging" state was tougher than I thought.

In particular, it was frustrating how long it took for Eito's obviously suspicious behavior to be properly addressed in the story. After playing the demo, I watched a lot of playthrough videos and read (and even wrote) various theories. So maybe I was one of the first to be convinced that Eito was suspicious compared to others, but even for someone who wasn't, I think by the middle of the game most people would start to suspect that Eito had some kind of hidden agenda.

In my case, I realized he was lying during the conversation with Hiruko on Day 15. (I didn't check properly, so I apologize if the date is wrong. It was when Eito comes to Takumi's room and tells him that he's worried about what Hiruko said! What he says Hiruko said is slightly different from what Hiruko actually said). From that point on, even though I didn’t know his exact goal, I was convinced he was deliberately putting Takumi and the others at a disadvantage. So I honestly expected that there would be a development by Day 60 at the latest, where Takumi or the others would start to suspect Eito as well. But in reality, that issue wasn't brought up until much, much later - which made me feel a growing disconnect between my feelings and the progression of the story.

On top of that, when the truth behind Eito's actions was finally revealed, I was disappointed by how poorly thought out his plan was. Even if he turned out to be a traitor, I thought that could still add to his charm, depending on his goal or motive for doing such a thing. But regardless of his beliefs, I really wanted him to be portrayed as a very smart person.

The biggest letdown for me was learning that, when Eito killed SIREI, he had simply "underestimated" the bomb planted inside his body. In my opinion, since he wasn’t in such a rush, he should have done a proper investigation first — checking whether there were backup units for SIREI, or if there were alarms in case of malfunction, and so on — before making his move. I thought that Eito might be a spy for a third party, so to find out that he acted alone was very surprising - and frankly made me wonder why he would rush into such a reckless plan without fully understanding the situation.

I hope the second playthrough will provide better answers to these questions, but still, the fact that I ended up with this kind of impression after about 30 hours of play makes me a little hesitant about recommending the game to others, even though I know there's clearly more story to come.

Of course, I do think it’s possible that this strong sense of dissatisfaction is something the developers intentionally wanted to create. That said, there were moments where the "waiting" felt less like deliberate tension building and more like the story was just being dragged out. For those reasons, I still find it hard to wholeheartedly recommend the game.

By the way, in my second playthrough, I chose the route where Takumi kills Eito in the first choice. However, I really miss him when I play the SRPG part! 😭💔 He was one of my favorite combat units in terms of strength and attack methods. I'm sure there are routes where he really forms a friendship with Takumi, so I'm looking forward to seeing that and getting to know him better. Well, that's why I think it was probably the right decision to choose this route first. I'll go along the route where he won't be for a while, gather information, and then try to choose the option that doesn't involve killing Eito.

Anyway, those are my honest thoughts after finishing the first 100 days. But to be honest, I expected to feel that way to some extent, because Kodaka said several times that people's impressions of the game would vary greatly for a while after its release.

I’m excited to see how my feelings about the game will change from here! (Just to be clear, while I do find it hard to recommend the game to others, I myself am definitely enjoying it.) I’ll post another update once I’ve made some more progress.

Thanks for reading! 💖

#the hundred line #last defense academy #thllda #spoiler alert #thl spoilers #eito aotsuki

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humongousgothskeletonfarm · 4 months ago

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TGR CHAPTER 19 THOUGHTS

(includes spoilers)

- “Kevin gamely did his best to keep Neil out of the conversation, not trusting his vice-captain to speak, but the interviewer was persistent.” IM CACKLING NEIL CANNOT BE RESTRAINED KEVIN LET HIM LOOSE

- THANK U NORA FOR GIVING US KEVIN AND NEIL BANTER WE R SO BLESSED

- kevin kicking neil under the table 🫶 neil saying if kevin was honest about the ravens he wouldn’t have to be and kevin saying bitch ur literally the least honest person i know🫶 they love each other so bad

- “They don’t deserve kindness from me after everything they’ve put us through,” Neil insisted. “I hope they lose every game this season, and I’ll say it as many times as someone asks me. They don’t belong on the court until everyone Coach Moriyama trained has been cleared out of there. Edgar Allan should have farmed them out to other schools and dismantled the entire program, if you ask me.” HE SAID WHAT HE SAID AND HE WASNT WRONG OK HE STOOD ON BUSINESS THAT IS THE NEIL I KNOW AND LOVE THANK U FOR UR INPUT KING

and all kevin says is

“they didn’t ask you”

- “Kevin forgot all about his contentious teammate in favor of Trojan gossip.” i love him

- kevin defending jean, being confused why the interviewer thought he’d get in a brawl 🫶

- “Glad to see his ribs healed up without any lingering consequences for anyone involved.” neil u little instigating shit u!!!

- kevin POINTEDLY rubbing his scarred hand and then saying “With all due respect, there is no point,” he said. “You will never take anyone’s word over theirs, so you are best off asking the Ravens for the truth. But good luck: they do not know how to tell it unless one has been fed to them.” HE SAID THAT HE WENT THERE HE SAID FUCK UR BULLSHIT FUCK UR DICK RIDING OPEN UR EYES AND GROW A BRAIN BECAUSE THE RAVENS ARE NOT WHO U THINK THEY ARE

OHHHHH IM SHAKING IN MY BOOTS GUYS THIS IS MONUMENTAL LORD I LOVE THEM

- oh jere ur so jealous of renee and u don’t even know it

- it’s quite sad reading about how the graduated ravens career in exy only lasts about five years before the succumb to chronic pain etc. as much as i hate them for their actions, their treatment of jean and kevin and enabling of riko. they too were mistreated by riko and tetsuji and as much as they all still maintain that cult like loyalty to the ravens it is just very sad

- “Jeremy feared for Jean’s long-term health, but he feared for Kevin’s more.” oh jere ur so kind

- i’m ngl im so bad with names when im reading, especially when there’s heaps of characters. if one person only gets called by their last name and occasionally someone mentions their first name im going to assume it’s a whole different person. i cannot remember like half of the trojan lineup if im being completely honest with u

- ik u guys don’t give a fuck coz ur only here for the book but writing these is like writing a diary to me and i feel compelled to interject with random personal updates. i have exactly 100 pages left and less than an hour before i have to start getting ready for uni and leave and im desperate to finish it. lets lock in

- having to take a deep breath before i read the fox/raven game guys im so excited im shaking

- HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHITTTTTT

- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST U GET DISTRACTED FROM THE GAME FOR ONE SECOND AND SOMEONES ALREADY TRYNA KILL NEIL!! THEY BARELY STARTED PLAYING!!! GET THE FUCK OFF HIM BITCH

- KEVIN RUNNING TO GET TO NEIL AND BEING ATTACKED AND DAN FIGHTING OFF HIS ATTACKER AND KEVIN IMMEDIATELY STRAIGHT BACK TO GETTING NEIL AHHHH

- ALL I CAN SAY IS WHAT THE FUCK HOLY SHITTTTT

- andrew dragging wymack to get to neil while being injured ohhhhhh it’s baltimore all over again

- andrew immediately bodying the girl tryna attack neil with an injured arm and kevin kneeling beside neil. god he’s so loved and protected

- THIRTY SECONDS INTO THE HALF????

- “Boyd had no problems taking on a second body.” YEAH THATS RIGHT

- “Someone had finally gotten Neil to his feet, and Andrew was somehow keeping him there.” neil thought andrew looked steady, like he could hold him up😭

- UM FUCK THAT????? I AGREE DILLON WHY TF WERE THE GUY WHO HIT ANDREW AND LANE WHO TRIED TO LITWRALLY KILL NEIL AND WENT BACK FOR MORE EXEMPT FROM SUSPENSIONS BUT ANDREW WASNT

CHAPTER TWENTY

- lowkey is suchhhh a slight to put ur third lineup/not as great players on as starting. if i was the utes and i saw them do that id be so cut like ok i see what ur saying here

- “Being a victim doesn’t automatically absolve someone of their wrongdoings,” he said at last. “I can regret what they’re going through now, but I am not required to forgive them for what they’ve done to people I care about. I genuinely hope they get the help they need, and I hope it happens as far from the court as possible. Josten was right: none of them are ready to be back yet. It isn’t fair to them or anyone they’re up against.”

you took the words right out of my mouth jeremy. very diplomatic, two things can be true at once. the ravens need to heal and unlearn the bad behaviour they have been taught and stop inflicting it on others, they have been abused yes but that does not negate the abuse they contain to perpetuate and enact on others such as the foxes and jean. i hate them and i also want them to get better for their sake and everyone around them

- god jeremy has so much more patience and a stronger will than i could ever have. if someone sat their and kept pressing me and talking shit about my team i couldn’t refrain from starting an argument

-“He doesn’t want to challenge them. I don’t have to like it, and I won’t stop encouraging him to stand his ground, but I’m not going to force him into a confrontation he’s not ready to have. He’s learning how to trust us. I can’t betray him.”

ur already doing so well by him jeremy

- WHATS GOING ON PLS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE TELL ME GIVE ME UPDATES OM THE FOXES!! WHATS RHEMANN SAID THAT GOT JEAN SO IPSET

- THE RAVENS HAVE BEEN SUSPENDED HOLY SHITTTTTT

- “He knew Rhemann had great respect for Wymack and the way he’d crafted his unorthodox team, and Rhemann had never hesitated to throw his weight behind Palmetto State when the ERC seemed poised to strike the small team down,” MUCH RESPECT TO RHEMANN GOTTA LOVE HIM

- TWO FRACTURED RIBS OHHHHH HES NOT GONNA BE HAPPY ABOUT THAT

(the missing out on court time)

- wymack and abby and andrew are gonna have their work cut out for them trying to stop him from playing

- GODDD A FRACTURE CLAVICAL ON ANDREW TOO???

- “Say the word and I’ll fight him over Christmas break,” Cody said. “I wasn’t going to go home for it, but I’ll make an exception.” LOVE THEMMMM I KNOW ITS A JOKE BUT LIKE TROJANS DONT EVEN JOKE ABOUT FIGHTING PEOPLE AND THEYRE DOING IT FOR JEAN

- jean hating cam because he was rude to thea oh he’s so good

- “How Jean’s kind heart had survived a place like Evermore, Jeremy wasn’t sure.” HE WAS ALWQYS TOO GOOD FOR THEM THIS SHITS GONNA MAKE ME CRY ON THE TRAIN RN

- OH MY FUCKING GOD I WAS THINKING JESUS CHRIST WHAT HAS SOMEONE SET THEIR HOUSE/COURT ON FIRE???

THEY DID WTF OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS IS INSANE MY JAW IS ON THE FLOOR

god i can’t even imagine their heartbreak this is so devastating. jeans first real home, the very little amount of possessions he had to his name all gone. the beautiful home laila and cat have constructed over the years a reflection of who they are as people, jeans safe haven. my chest aches for them.

jeans postcards from kevin and his 4th of july wristband :(( and knowing how guilty he’s going to feel over this,

- “You’re a victim as much as Cat and Laila are, so don’t take on a burden that isn’t yours. It won’t help any of you. Do you understand?”

“They adore you and so will gladly reassure you of your innocence until you believe them, but your unasked-for guilt is a distraction from their loss and grief. They don’t deserve that extra stress right now.”

“The best thing you can do right now is accept that some people are assholes and that it is outside of your control. Mourn what you’ve lost without carrying more than you should.”

some very wise words for jere, min and xavier there. it’s very easy to fall into the unending spiral of guilt and convince urself that u are at fault when that may not necessarily be the case

- rest in peace barkbark

- if this was a physical book there would be tears trains all over the pages of this chapter :(

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

- ohhhh jean hugging cat like she always does for him because it always makes him feel better im sooooo sick

- unnecessary life update no.5123849: i’m officially finished classes for today and i got to catch up with the only friend i can talk about aftg with for coffee, she hasn’t finished the book yet but it was much needed to get all my feelings out lmao

- “He’s only been playing for fourteen years, you can’t expect his own mother to know how an Exy season works.” cat is the friend everyone deserves

- AGENT BROWNING MAKES HIS RETURN

- “I hate this sport,” Browning said to his partner. “Explain to me why they’re all like this.” THiIS IS TEWWWW FUNNYYYYYY

browning fucking hates exy players

- oh wow look at the fbi being helpful once, that’s a shock

- idk if this is just because i’m not a part of sport culture or if it’s because im not american. but it’s so crazy to me that people (grown adults) are THAT invested in college sport that they would care this much i.e. burn down someone’s house in retaliation. idk maybe this is a thing that happens in the real life sporting fandom or maybe i should focus on the fact that this is fiction

#aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #neil josten #andrew minyard #the sunshine court #tsc #nora sakavic #jean moreau #jeremy knox #the golden raven #tgr #laila dermott #catalina alvarez

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asnowperson · 1 month ago

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#3 Yoshida Akimi's 1985 The Making of Bobby's Girl interview

Please check the interviews masterpost here.

Yoshida Akimi & Matsumoto Takashi “I was brimming with curiosity and I still do”

Manga artist Yoshida Akimi and lyricist Matsumoto Takashi have a talk for the "making of book" of anime movie “Bobby ni Kubittake”. This is the first meeting of this busy pair. Yoshida-sensei, who had just gotten her driving license, and Matsumoto-san who likes motorcycles have a discussion on driving, among other things.

Winter of 1985.

About “It started as I was gazing upon Tokyo under a cloudy sky”.

First published: 1985, “The Making of Bobby’s Girl” (Kadokawa Shoten)

Matsumoto Takashi (Lyricist) Born on 16 July 1949. He has been active in the band Happy End along with Ohtaki Eiichi, Hosono Haruomi and Suzuki Shigeru since his student days. His first work as a lyricist is “Natsuiro no Omoide” for Tulip. After that, he created many popular songs for Matsuda Seiko, KinKi Kids and Nakagawa Shouko.

Yoshida: You worked on Eiichi Ohtaki-san’s “Niagara” albums, right? Nagai Hiroshi-san did the artwork for those. Those works of yours have left a strong impression on me, Matsumoto-san.

Matsumoto: You mean “A Long Vacation”, right? That was the most natural work of mine.

Yoshida: When you write lyrics, how does it go? Do you write them while making up a story?

Matsumoto: I don’t really know how I write them (laughs). When I’m satisfied with what I have, it’s like when only the last scene of a movie flashes before your eyes. You only have 3 minutes to sing, and I can’t write everything from 1 to 100, so I only write from 1 to 12, and if possible, those 100 lingers in my head. I like that feel the best. I can never do it that well though (laughs). More often than not, what I come up with is similar to placeholders, makeshift products.

Yoshida: I see.

Matsumoto: In Japanese poems and songs, there’s often a lyrical description of one’s feelings. There’s nothing descriptive or narrative, so I sometimes experiment with that. When I do, they might be vague, but I still write stories inside my head.

— What about Yoshida-san? Do you decide on the story until its very end and then write?

Yoshida: Well, I must that... But during serializations, there are times when I don’t think about the rest of the story at the very beginning (laughs).

Matsumoto: So you make it up as you go along (laughs)?

Yoshida: They seem to decide how long the serialization would be for other artists, but my situation is more uncertain. Nothing is decided from the beginning (laughs). The only thing I know is the fact that I will have a serialization, but I have no idea how long it would be or what it will be. So, I pretty much don’t talk to the editors about that stuff either. Because I don’t think about anything until right before the start of serialization (laughs).

Matsumoto: Do you only decide on the opening setting and the characters?

Yoshida: Yes, I can’t do without those, so I make sure to at least present them.

Matsumoto: Was it California Monogatari? That was pretty long.

Yoshida: That was the same, I hadn’t decided on anything at the beginning. They asked me if I could wrap things up in 4 chapters or so, and I drew it with that in mind. When it got popular, they asked me if I could continue, and that’s how it got longer and longer. And then, it abrubtly ended. When I said I would be ending it in the next month’s issue, my editor was like “What?”. I ended it with this single sentence: “But there is nothing left to draw!” (laughs) I was like, if you don’t like it, you can try drawing it yourself (laughs).

Matsumoto: You are harsh.

Yoshida: Have you ever had a writer’s block?

Matsumoto: I have one all year round (laughs).

— You have deadlines, don’t you?

Matsumoto: No work can truly begin without deadlines. So, sometimes people say “bring it when you’re done”. Then I would not get it done for eternity. I prioritize those who pester me the most.

Yoshida: You’re right. I’m the same. I start with the ones who call me the most frequently.

— What are you like when you are at the end of your rope? For instance, what do you do have a change of mood?

Yoshida: Hopping in my car and going for a drive is nice. Ideas keep coming to mind when I’m about to get into an accident (laughs).

Matsumoto: Do you like cars?

Yoshida: I just got my driver’s license, that’s why I find it fun. Many unexpected things happen.

Matsumoto: Do you go on drives alone?

Yoshida: I used to go alone. But now my friends live in my neighborhood, so I have them come with me, or they take me along.

Matsumoto: Where you go? Hakone?

Yoshida: We don’t go all the way there. We stop at Shonan. We only do short drives.

Matsumoto: At night?

Yoshida: Right, at night.

Matsumoto: We are doing the same thing (laughs).

— Matsumoto-san, do you also getthe sudden urge to go on drives at night?

Matsumoto: Yes, but of course, I can’t do that in winter (laughs). But I do in summer. Because I’m into motorcycles too.

Yoshida: How nice! I’m thinking of getting a driving license for motorcycles.

Matsumoto: I think you shouldn’t.

Yoshida: I shouldn’t? Is it that scary?

Matsumoto: It is dangerous. That’s why I never recommend it to anyone. It’s just like smoking and how you tell people who have never smoked to never try it. There’s nothing to be done about people who already ride bikes. Telling people who ride motorcycles to stop is hard (laughs). I can’t stop either.

Yoshida: Kataoka-san said the same. After driving a car, I have started to think that driving is indeed dangerous. Like, you can get trapped in the car.

Matsumoto: When you are in a car, if someone were to slam into you from the side, only the car would be crashed in. But when you are on a motorcycle, in case someone crashes into you from the side, you’d fly away about 5 meters. If you’re careless enough to use the front brakes, you’ll overturn.

Yoshida: The back wheel would be up in the air.

Matsumoto: Even if you were to crash into a stopping car, you would still be flying in the sky (laughs), depending on your speed.

Yoshida: Now that’d be a disaster. One of my friends crashed into a stopping truck, and she was severely injured. She was wearing her helmet, but she says as she was thinking “wow, I’m swimming through midair”, the next thing she knew was that she was lying on a hospital bed.

Matsumoto: That’s what I’m talking about. I had two accidents myself. It was the other party’s fault though.

— Did you also fly?

Matsumoto: I did. It was only 2-3 meters, but I thought, “yeah, I am flying” (laughs).

Yoshida: Even when you are wearing your helmet, if you hit your head, you would still lose your memories, right?

Matsumoto: When I was a first grade student, I was hit by a motorcycle. I almost died back then, but when I came to, my mother and father were looking at me.

— Were you scared of motorbikes after that?

Matsumoto: I was so scared of them. I began to ride them only recently. After reading Kataoka-san’s “Kare no Ootobai, Kanojo no Shima” (His Motorbike, Her Island), I thought they were interesting.

Yoshida: When you read Kataoka-san’s novels about motorcycles, you start to want to ride one. They say the wind smells different on a motorcycle, right?

Matsumoto: Do you go to Tanzawa in your car?

Yoshida: I’ve never been to Tanzawa.

Matsumoto: I was going there quite often about 3 years ago, Tanzawa is fun.

Yoshida: But aren’t mountain roads scary if you’re not used to them?

Matsumoto: They are. When you go there in winter, the road suddenly freezes and all. Those roads are in forests, after all.

Yoshida: Oh, so there’s that kind of roads there.

Matsumoto: At first, I bought a 50 cc off-road on impulse, and went to Tanzawa with that. In the middle of the night (laughs).

Yoshida: In the middle of the night!

Matsumoto: I am a weirdo, aren’t I (laughs). The off-road part starts after climbing to the top of the mountain. But the thing is, by the time you reach the top, the motorcycle overheats (laughs). So, I stopped right there. The lights had gone out of sight, and it was pitch black. It’s a forest road, so there are no vehicles passing by. The moon was blindingly shining, and I was thinking to myself, “wait, weren’t there bears on Tanzawa?”.

Yoshida: Were you not afraid? When your engine didn’t work?

Matsumoto: Of course I was. My engine was not running no matter what I did. But it was my first time riding so it was fun, so there was nothing to be done.

Yoshida: I see. It’s like a toy, isn’t it? I was also scared. When I went to Hakone, I thought that mountain roads were super scary. You can’t tell what lies ahead. And everyone’s using their high beams. When you turn on curves, the lights flash directly in your eyes, and you can’t see the center line (laughs). When I was turning at the curves, I was making sounds with my tires (laughs). That was so scary.

Matsumoto: How many years have it been since you got your driver’s license?

Yoshida: Not years, it’s just been a couple of months (laughs).

Matsumoto: Okay, that’d be scary then. The first two years are dangerous.

Yoshida: Yeah, then you get used to it.

Matsumoto: Yes, real big accidents happen after 5 years pass. And after 10 years, pretty much nothing happens. I got my driver’s license when I was 18. It was pretty terrible until I turned 20. I was driving 100 km/h in Shonan on a rainy day and I did a spin, I thought I’d die that day.

Matsumoto: You have a manga called “Kawa yori mo Nagaku, Yuruyaka ni” (1). Is it still ongoing?

Yoshida: Yes, but I’m on a break right now.

Matsumoto: When I read it, I remember my boyhood days (laughs). Did you imagine it all?

Yoshida: No. Part of it is made-up though. Of course, I have listened to stories of my male friends who went to all-boys schools too.

Matsumoto: Ah, I see.

Yoshida: But if you ask Shibuya Youichi-san (2), it’s “a story about an all-girls high school disguised as an all-boys high school”. When I stopped and thought about it, I said maybe he could be right. For starters, I am a woman, so I don’t know the world of men. I’ve always been worried that I was merely reflecting their world as seen by the eyes of a woman. But I also think that boys and girls are not much different in that regard, during those years of life.

Matsumoto: Yes, they aren’t much different. What I write are mostly songs for men, aren’t they (laughs)? They tell me I really understand women’s feelings, that’s really embarrassing (laughs). What I’m doing is also only changing the pronouns.

Yoshida: The essence of it all doesn’t really change.

Matsumoto: When I was in high school, our school trip was really fun, because I was in an all-boys school. When we arrived, junior college students from Tokyo were staying at the inn next door. So we sneaked out through the bath while holding our shoes, and followed the river.

Yoshida: To peep on them?

Matsumoto: Not to peep on them, but to hang out with them (laughs). When you pass the bridge, you wave your hands, right? Someone yelled “We are going out to play!”, and we just slipped out, but there was no one in the room that was our target (laughs). Then someone said, “let’s check the neighboring room!”, and then we went to a completely unrelated room. We hit it off with them, and went to a bar. We did some cheek-to-cheek dance, and returned (laughs). I have lots of heroic tales like that. And then, you also have to have a smoke. If we smoked at a café, we would be found out right away because our teacher was doing the rounds. We said that would be too dumb, so where do you think we went?

Yoshida: Huh, no? Where did you go?

Matsumoto: We went inside a beauty parlor.

Yoshida: A beauty parlor?

Matsumoto: We had our hairs washed, and we smoked all the while.

Yoshida: Just because you wanted to smoke?

Matsumoto: We also did a tour of all-girls high schools’ cultural festivals (laughs). I did festival hopping with my friends.

Yoshida: We went to other schools’ festivals a lot too.

Matsumoto: We each had a quota, and you were required to get an invitation to such-and-such school’s festival. That’s how it worked. Everyone got invitations for one or two festivals, and when we got together as a group of 3-4 guys, we could pretty much cover everything. There were popular schools.

Yoshida: Like ones who has the cutest girls (laughs)? Right, that must be the reason why pick those (laughs).

Matsumoto: Yes (laughs)!

Yoshida: Guys from my school too went to all-girls schools’ festivals a lot. They said stuff like the girls of co-ed schools were no good. We wouldn’t let them back into the class after saying things like that (laughs).

Matsumoto: Co-ed schools are much more interesting, right?

Yoshida: Yes, it was so much fun. Ours was a metropolitan high school, so we didn’t have a uniform. It felt more like a university. You could even go to cafés dressed like that.

Matsumoto: When our classes ended early and we wanted to ask friends from other classes out, we used to yell out the name of the jazz café at Jiyuugaoka in the hallway (laughs). The others were still in class, mind you (laughs). “We’re waiting for you there!” (laughs). And they would get the message.

Yoshida: That brings back memories. Speaking of Jiyuugaoka, when I was commuting to school back in elementary school, on my way back, don’t forget I was in elementary school, I got off the train there and went into cafés (laughs).

Matsumoto: How scary (laughs).

Yoshida: Now that I think about it, it is indeed scary. But I still did it. Of course, I didn’t smoke.

Matsumoto: But of course (laughs)!

— Did you just walk in and drink coffee or something?

Yoshida: Yes, like on the second floor of the building facing Peacock. Or like Mont Blanc. Imagine 5-6 elementary school students going in as a pack, and ordering coffee or black tea…

—How old were you then?

Yoshida: I was in the 6th grade of elementary school. Well, you should be scared of city girls (laughs).

Matsumoto: Yes, you should (laughs). When I was in junior high, we had short pants for our uniforms.

Yoshida: Oh, really?

Matsumoto: I believe it is abolished now. So, when we wore coats in winter, we looked so pitiful (laughs).

Yoshida: I think I somehow understand that.

Matsumoto: And my grandma still asks me what's with me showing my legs (laughs). And when I tell her the reason why, she gets angry.

Yoshida: Why does she get angry?

Matsumoto: I wonder why… Short pants are weird, I guess. They might look rebellious to her (laughs). Anyway, they are lame. They weren’t even shorts, they were right above your knees.

Yoshida: They give an impression of Britain’s public schools.

Matsumoto: Yes, but from the first year of junior high and onward, everyone has hairy legs (laughs). That wasn’t a nice sight to behold. Everyone only wore them seriously for 6 months or so at first. In high school, we had a uniform with a stand-up collar.

Yoshida: Many different styles were in fashion back then, weren’t they?

Matsumoto: They were frying hats on frying pans (laughs), and flattening them.

Yoshida: Carrying slim bags were so popular, we were flattening our bags with all out might. We did all sorts of stuff.

A manga that has won the 29th Shogakukan Manga Award. Published in Petit Flower and June between 1983 and 1985. Taking place in a city modeled after the military base city Fussa, it is the realistic and comedic story that portrays the life of a high school boy. ↩︎

Born in Tokyo in 1951. A music critic. An editor. Founder of rockin’on Corp. His works include “Rock Best Album Selection”, “Rock Bibunhou” (Rock Differentiation). ↩︎

#yoshida akimi #akimi yoshida #吉田秋生 #interview #translation #yoshida interviews #bobby ni kubittake #bobby's girl #bobby's in deep #ボビーに首ったけ #80s anime #madhouse #matsumoto takashi #takashi matsumoto #松本隆 #california monogatari #カリフォルニア物語 #kawa yori mi nagaku yuruyaka ni #河よりも長くゆるやかに

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imagineinside · 10 months ago

Text

Star-Like Encounters (Hugh Jackman x Fem!Reader) Chapter 2

Previous Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/imagineinside/760282819875471360/star-like-encounters-hugh-jackman-x-femreader?source=share

A/N: First of all, thank you guys for the love on the first chapter! Sorry it took me longer to get this second one out, life has gotten hectic (I study Aerospace Engineering in real life and my semester just started lol) but this is a great escape for me. I think Chapter 3 will be even more fun to write than this one. ;)

Description: You begin your first semester at a prestigious university with a mix of excitement and chaos. After a frantic start involving a late arrival due to your roommate’s Hollywood-related detour, your day takes an unexpected turn when you meet Hugh Jackman, your roommate’s boss, at a movie studio.

Hugh, intrigued by your expertise in physics, invites you to consult on a film project aiming for scientific accuracy. Balancing your new academic responsibilities with a potential Hollywood cameo, you must navigate your dual interests. As you face your own feelings, you discover that the lines between your professional and personal worlds are more intertwined than you imagined.

Currently Applicable Tags: (Future) 18+, Fluff, cocky Hugh Jackman, flirty Hugh Jackman, age gap (55 and 27), so much pining, mutual pining, more to come.

The next week and a half went by without any real hassle. In fact, Hugh and your roommate had to go overseas for some press release on the upcoming debut of the “Deadpool and Wolverine” film, which you were definitely going to see on opening day. You could hardly believe Hugh Jackman was already working on a new movie, but perhaps he needed to be busy with work right now to keep his mind off other things. You understood the feeling.

You hadn’t sent Hugh another text yet, despite the fact that your roommate had already given you the green light to do so. You had just secured your first semester at Stanford, and while there was nothing in your contract stating you couldn’t pursue other career opportunities, being a professor to over 100 students still took a lot of time. And being the newest, and youngest, faculty member you knew you were under heavy scrutiny from the headmaster.

It was rather unheard of for a young professional at the age of 27 to become a professor. But throughout your university career you had pursued your Masters and Bachelors at the same time, which had just left a three-year long Phd to complete in which you focused on laser technology and nuclear propulsion systems. Hugh Jackman had been right about at least one thing, you were very dedicated and passionate about your craft.

After your class Wednesday morning you were set on grading papers for the rest of the day, the assignment had been “What shape is our universe?” a relatively simple question but with a lot of avenues to discuss. Well, you were set on grading papers until you opened up your YouTube account to turn on background music and a new interview featuring Hugh Jackman popped up on your feed. This one was from The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, so they must have just taken a while to post it.

It was as if your hand had a mind of its own as you clicked on the video. A wild round of applause started as Hugh Jackman took his seat and seemed to readjust his sweater, hips popping in the air. God, he was so effortlessly attractive. The interview went through the normal questions, yet you still soaked up every minute of it. It wasn't until the last couple minutes that Fallon had asked him, “So can you tell us anything about the new movie that is still in pre-production? I mean, I have no idea what it’s even about!”

Hugh laughed, crows feet growing appearing to his eyes. You absolutely adored the smile lines around his eyes and mouth, you wish you could trace every single one. “I can’t say too much, sorry, Jimmy. What I can say is that we’ve recruited some expertise for the physics of the movie… y’know like the stuff that us movie producers aren’t very well versed in.” He said with another laugh, “And I gotta say, she is just amazing, and very passionate about her work.”

“Is she the hottie of her department too, Hugh?” Fallon had asked with a laugh, obviously making a joke.

Hugh seemed to pause, a smile forming on his lips, “If she isn’t, then I would be very surprised, Jimmy.”

“Does the Hugh Jackman have a crush?”

Hugh laughed, “Even if I did, I highly doubt it would be reciprocated–”

You slammed your laptop shut, heart pounding in your ears. You whipped out your phone to text Ashley but paused when the keyboard popped up, what exactly were you going to say to her? Hey! So your boss inadvertently flirted with me and it’s making me feel some very specific type of way. What do I do???

Instead, you opted to open up the email from Ashley which included an agenda for the pre-production discussions. Attached to her email, she had written, “I also let them know your work schedule and when you have your mid-term breaks, so we tried to work around them.” You smiled at your friend's generosity, she truly was so encouraging of your work and had so much admiration for you, as you did her.

As you reviewed the dates and times alongside your class schedule, you realized there was really no reason to say no. They had aligned the dates perfectly so that you wouldn’t have to worry about missing or being late to any lectures. Sure, you may have to take your grading work on the go, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. You were a professor for an introductory graduate course, you weren’t meant to be too hard on these kids.

You reopened your phone, hesitating over Hugh Jackman’s icon before clicking on your messages. Before you could really think about it, you hurriedly typed out a text and clicked send.

Putting your phone on do not disturb, you shoved it to the side and got back to grading papers. It took nearly a full three hours before you were done with the stack of 100 essays, and you had merely skimmed them. It probably would’ve taken you far longer to thoroughly read through them.

It wasn’t until you had your bag packed up to return home that you dared another look at your phone. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, the worst thing he could say was that they found someone else, or if he didn’t respond at all. You still weren’t sure this was all real, so having it come to an end may be for the best anyway.

Upon seeing that he had messaged you only minutes after you sent him your initial text, you hurriedly sent an apology.

The photo had you laughing in the middle of the hallway on your way out of the building, getting a few glares from fellow professors and students. You mumbled a quick apology and hurriedly went through the exit, simultaneously typing a response back to him.

* * *

It wasn’t until Sunday night that your roommate returned home and immediately beelined to her room. You couldn’t blame her, being gone and traveling that whole time would have made you really miss your bed too.

You decided to be a good friend and greet her with a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs the next morning, to which she had immediately devoured both. Then you were off to class, with a promise to pick Ashley up on your way to the first of the pre-production meetings.

During your lecture, it felt like it was impossible to focus on the task at hand. Instead, your mind seemed to want to focus on your nerves about seeing Hugh Jackman again, in person. Sure, you two had been exchanging a bit since last Monday, but it wasn’t about anything personal. You tried to keep your conversations strictly professional so as not to give yourself a heart attack.

“Finally, God, what took you so long?” Ashley grumbled as she clambered into the Volvo.

You rolled your eyes, shifting it out of park and merging onto the road. “Someone is still jet lagged.” “Ugh, don’t even get me started. I still want to be in a ball on my bed right now, not going to this meeting. Plus!” Ashley exclaimed, throwing a finger in the air, “I won’t even know what you’ll be babbling on about! I don’t know rocket physics or whatever.”

“Astrophysics,” you quietly remind her.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to undermine your interest. I’m just tired and grumpy.”

You laughed, “It’s fine, Ash, let’s just make it there without you jumping out of this car in an attempt to escape.

“Don’t tempt me.” She said, and you both burst out into laughter.

* * *

When you arrived at the older looking building closer to downtown Los Angeles, Ashley showed you where to park in the back to keep your license plate hidden. “Paparazzi like to take pictures of the cars here and try to track them down,” she had explained.

Then you were knocking on the back door, your heart in your throat. You heard footsteps approaching from behind the door before the door swung open to reveal an older gentleman with curly, graying hair.

He gave you two a bright smile, “Ashley, good to see you again.” He greeted Ashley to which she gave him a half-hearted grunt back. “And you must be the professor I’ve heard so much about. I’m Shawn, the director for the film.”

You smiled and shook his hand before he stepped aside to let you guys in. The building wasn’t at all what you had expected, you thought the meeting would be at a cold, fluorescent-lit office building, not this quaint, rustic old home near downtown.

You followed Ashley into what you thought would be the dining room of the household, where you were greeted with six other individuals–including Hugh Jackman himself, sitting around an oak table with a whiteboard at the very end. The whiteboard was full of different scribbled imagery and what you thought was an attempt at Newton’s Laws… you couldn’t be quite sure.

“Ah, there she is!” Hugh exclaimed as he tossed his reading glasses–which you tried not to think about how hot he looked with them on, key word: tried–and began walking over to you.

You opened your mouth to greet him, right before you were enveloped in a warm hug by his giant body. He was so much bigger than you, standing side-by-side you hadn't noticed. But right then you felt safe… protected.

You tried not to revel in the hug too much, allowing yourself one long draw of his clean, pinewood scent before pulling away. “Good to see you also made it back alive. Though the jet-lag isn’t affecting you as much as Grumpy over there from Snow White.”

Ashley flipped you off as she settled in a chair and pulled a stack of papers into her lap.

“Thank you for coming,” Hugh said as you drifted your eyes up to his face. His hands clasped around your shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze before he turned to go back to his spot at the table.

Clearing your throat, you settled into the last remaining seat at the head of the room. “I have already signed the NDA for the film and faxed it to Ashley while she was away. So, if I’m able to ask, what exactly did I need to be asked about?”

All eyes turned to Shawn, the man that had greeted you at the door. “There is a part of the film where the main characters are sending their ship through a wormhole to travel a big distance. Can you describe how that would look?”

Oh, boy… “Well, how scientifically accurate are you hoping this movie to be? Like Interstellar level, or Star Wars?”

“We were hoping for more Interstellar.” A bald man across from Hugh answered.

“In that case, it’s important to note that scientifically speaking, we don’t know if wormholes even exist or not. In theoretical physics, they can be described as ‘tunnel-like’ structures.” You paused to survey the faces of those around you, your eyes falling on one face in particular. Hugh had his head resting on his open hand, a twinkle of something in his eye as he nodded in encouragement for you to continue. “Basically, wormholes are a wrinkle in whatever fabric space is made of,” you said and picked up a piece of loose paper that was on the table. You brought the two edges together to form a wrinkle. “Simply, it would be like a tunnel traveling through this paper. But that wrinkle needs to exist first.”

“And you don’t know ‘if the technology which we humans have created would be able to survive traveling in a wrinkle through space. Or if the human body would survive on a molecular level’,” Hugh carried on.

You nodded slowly, not sure if he knew what he was quoting, “Yes, that was from my… um, my graduate thesis.”

Hugh smiled and held up a stapled stack of paper, “I know, I printed it out.” He laughed as he confessed, “I think I’ve read it three or four times to grasp everything you discussed.”

You tried to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. While you took great pride in that thesis, you didn’t think anyone–especially Hugh Jackman–would have taken such an interest in it.

“The other issue is what lies beyond the thin fabric of space if a wormhole exists? That’s the greatest mystery of my field, though,” you laughed, “We have no idea what our universe is actually expanding into. Does matter just cease to exist past that point? Is it a giant black hole? We have no clue.”

“From the sounds of it, you can’t answer our questions then.” The bald man said to you from across the room, his icy glare making you snap your mouth shut, before turning to Shawn, “I told you it would be a waste of our time–”

“I think you should leave,” a gruff voice announced, and it took you a moment to register that it was Hugh who said it. Was he seriously willing to stand up for you like that?

The man scoffed, “Seriously?”

Hugh stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor. It was hard not to notice how mouth-drooling good he looked in his green cashmere sweater. It really did hug him in all the right ways.

“Yes, seriously,” Hugh insisted as he began to walk around the table. As he passed by you, he gave your shoulder–at least what you imagined was–an apologetic squeeze. The feeling of his calloused hand against your bare shoulder sent a shiver down your spine. “Come, I’ll walk you out.”

“Shawn, really?” The bald man looked to the director.

Shawn sighed as he glanced up at Hugh. He must have seen something in his lead actor's eyes since he said, “I think it would be best for you to take a break for now, we will see you again tomorrow.”

Without another word, the man gathered his belongings and stormed out of the house, slamming the backdoor before Hugh was able to close it for him. Once Hugh returned to the room, you felt like you could breathe again.

“So, where were we?” Hugh asked as he sat back down, and you didn’t miss the way he shuffled closer to you to rub soothing circles on the small of your back.

* * *

You answered a few more of their questions regarding wormhole travel, black holes, and also the passing of time in space versus on-planet. After an hour and a half it felt like you were losing their attention, so you decided to end the discussion there. Ashley had fallen asleep on the chair, but when it was time to go you gave her the keys and she went out to the car.

Eventually everyone had cleared out of the room besides you and Hugh, which left you not really knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry about Steven,” Hugh had started. He was standing behind his chair, hands braced on the back of it. His fingers were so long and elegant, and his palms were double the size of yours. He was an all-around giant compared to you.

You waved it off, “It didn’t phase me. I’ve dealt with worse individuals before, happens a lot in my field actually.” You paused before saying, “Thank you, though, for, um, sticking up for me. But you should know I can take care of myself,” you said with a playful smile.

Hugh’s face grew into a smile that matched yours as he took a few steps forward until he was just a handreach away. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah!” You said and playfully punched him in the chest, your fist contacting with refined muscle, “I’m a big girl. Do you see these guns?” You laughed and pretended to flex your arms.

“I feel bad for whatever person crosses you,” Hugh laughed, though it quickly tapered off as he worried at his bottom lip.

You furrowed your brow and titled your head, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Hugh gave you a lopsided smile, though it didn’t really reach his eyes. “Just nervous.”

“About what?”

“Well,” Hugh began but quickly paused as he scratched at the rough beginnings of a beard. You wish you could feel that stubble scraping against your skin and watch it leave irritated marks all over you. “I am assuming you know the debut night for Deadpool & Wolverine is coming up soon.”

“Duh!” You laughed, “I already got tickets for me and Ashley opening night.”

“Right, of course, nevermind then,” Hugh laughed it off with a shrug, but you caught his arm as he went to go past you.

“You aren’t getting off that easy. What were you going to say?”

It seemed like he still took a moment to contemplate it before he said, “I am allowed a plus one for the debut, and my kids already have stuff going on. I guess I was wondering, as a thank you for your help with all this, would you like to go?” He let the question hang in the air for a second, “As my plus one, of course. And I could get you in contact with my stylists and I am sure they would love to have a woman to dress for a change,” he said with an awkward laugh that you still found quite endearing.

“Hugh,” you began and he looked at you as if you held the entire world in your hands, “I would love to go. I’ll arrange with Ashley to make sure one of our friends can go with her in my place.” You paused, something like anxiety creeping up your spine, “But won’t you be worried about what people will say if they see me there with you? I know you are inviting me as a friend and colleague, but… the media tends to run with stuff like this.”

Hugh shook his head and grabbed at the hand you still had on his arm, “No, I won’t be worried. It would be an honor to have you there.” Before you could move away, Hugh brought your hand up to his mouth, leaving a quick kiss on the back of it. “You should get going,” he said, his voice rougher, darker than usual. It’s what you imagined his bedroom voice would be like. WHOA, totally not the time to be thinking about that. “Ashley is probably waiting for you.”

You nodded and shook yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, “Yeah, right, right.” You gathered your belongings and went to leave the room, and you aren’t entirely sure what confidence came over you as you turned back to him to say, “Oh, and Hugh? I am definitely the hottie of my department.” With a wink, you disappeared from sight.

Taglist: @corvusmorte, @chinchie, @reinabxitch (if you aren't on this last but want to be let me know!)

#hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman #hugh jackman imagines #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #logan howlett #hugh jackman fluff #cocky hugh jackman #flirty hugh jackman

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