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chaimaybe · 1 year ago
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Guys, where should I start with the russian imperial family? the romanavs? there's so many books available but what do you think are beginner friendly and comprehensive??
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kaciidubs · 8 months ago
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Pearl Necklace
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❣ Summary: In which Chris gives you a personally made pearl necklace. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.2k ❣ Warnings: Smut, no plot, blowjob, cum play ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Baby, Channie, Lover Boy, Reader is referred to as Baby, Pretty, Princess, unedited, ive been so busy with life and stuck in a writing rut so please take this as an unnecessary apology ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist
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“Baby…” 
Your dramatic drawl came with the equally dramatic act of draping yourself over Chris’s body, effectively gaining his attention from whatever video he was watching on his phone as he happily welcomed your weight sinking him further into the couch. 
“Can I ask you something?”
He laughed, tilting his head, “I’d be surprised if you did all that with the intention of not trying to get my attention - what’s up, baby?”
“Can you give me a pearl necklace?”
The twinkle in your eyes did nothing to explain away your sudden request - you weren’t the type to usually wear accessories as it was already, so the desire for a pearl necklace out of any other form of jewelry had him raising an eyebrow.
“Pearls? Like, pearl beads? I mean…” Glancing at his phone, he swiped at the screen to pull up Google, “We can look up some places that sell them if you really want it, I think I can find a few stores that-”
Your hand swiftly slipped his phone from his hold before locking it and stashing it near the couch pillow underneath his head, dismissing his growing confusion with a charming smile.
“Actually, I was thinking that we could make it together.”
“Oh?” 
Do-it-yourself, of course - he loved when you had little projects you wanted to include him in, even if the outcome sometimes didn’t go to plan, it was the quality time that mattered the most.
“Sure, I’m down for that,” he sat up while you rose to sit in his lap properly, his hands resting on your bare thighs, “did you buy the stuff already? Do we need to go shopping?”
You shook your head, pink tongue peeking out to wet your lips, “Nope, everything we’d need is right here.”
A devilish swivel of your hips, loose pajama shorts almost becoming an invisible barrier against his worn basketball shorts, and his confusion spiked up once again.
“Pretty, what- Wait a second-” Hands gripping the width of your hips, he tried to will away the near instant reaction his body always had when it came to you, “What’s going on? I thought you wanted to make a necklace-”
“I do.”
Normally, your nod of agreement would’ve been enough to clear the air, but when you pulled your oversized t-shirt up and off of your body, the layers only deepened.
“So why are you taking off your clothes? Not- Not that I’m complaining, I just…” His train of thought began to trail off with the drifting of his eyes down your neck, following the contours of your collarbones to the swells of your chest he’d been acquainted with time and time again. “Are we actually making a necklace here or…?”
“We are,” leaning forward, you placed a featherlight kiss to his pouty lips, “we just need to do a few extra steps first.”
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Chris designed a few pieces of jewelry in his lifetime, and though he wouldn’t say he’s an expert when it came to the actual crafting of the pieces, he’d be inclined to assume that the process of making a necklace didn’t involve his girlfriend on her knees, giving him the best head of his life - granted, he always considered everything she did for him as the best in his life, but his point still stood.
“Fuck… Just like that, baby- Oh, god-” His head fell against the back of the couch, a shiver running down his spine when he felt the tip press against the back of your throat again. “‘S so good, baby - you’re so fucking good, pretty girl.”
You hummed around his length, hollowing your cheeks as you slowly pulled off of him with a wet pop - lips glistening in a mixture of saliva and precum that put any form of lipgloss to shame.
“Just ‘good’, Channie?” Voice laced with teasing allure, you held the base of his cock as you laved your tongue along one of his balls, sucking at the skin and smirking at the kick of his leg in response.
He choked on a moan, one hand gripping the edge of the couch cushion while the other ran through his hair “Baby, please - I can’t- fuck- can’t really think while you’re doing this!”
Giving his other ball the similar treatment, you littered open mouthed kisses along the underside of his cock, “Mm… Can you look at me then, lover boy?”
To be honest, he wasn’t even sure when he had closed his eyes to begin with, but lifting his head and directing his full attention to you made him realize why keeping them closed was working in his favor.
Hypnotizing sultry gaze behind lidded eyes, your lips resting perfectly against his shaft as your hand gripped the base of his dick with practiced perfection - if he even dared to look any further then he’d see the utterly filthy line of saliva coating your chin, or the way your free hand was making itself busy between your legs.
The twitch of his dick was all you needed to feel to know that you had him right where you wanted him, a satisfied smile curving the corners of your lips as you pumped your fist.
“Ready to make that necklace for me?”
His breath hitched, lips parting to let out a shivering moan as he frantically nodded, “Y-Yeah- Shit, yeah - gonna make you look so pretty, princess.”
Your eyes sparkled, a giddy expression almost overtaking the utter lust exuding from you as you doubled your efforts with your hand - the wet, slick sound floating through the air while you jerked him off.
Chris fought the roll of his eyes as he focused on your goal-driven face, bucking into the drag of your palm as if he were truly fucking you, until the pressure in his abdomen became too much to bear.
“I’m gonna come, baby- Oh, god, yes- Y-Yeah, yeah-” His hand flew from the couch and wrapped around your own, angling his dick toward your chest with panted breaths, “I-I’m coming - I’m coming, f-fuck-”
The first splatter of cum landed directly on your neck, dripping its way toward your clavicle and between your breasts. Tilting your head back just a bit, you felt the warmth of his cum land around the curve of your neck, painting a shaky line of white against your skin with each shivering pass of your combined hands.
He let out a strained grunt as the last few drops dotted your cleavage, using your hand to thoroughly milk himself of the final remains before effectively melting into the couch with a worn sigh.
“So…” Giggling, you dropped your chin to get a better look at your exhausted boyfriend, “How do I look?”
Looking down, he noted the way his release seemed to follow the downward curve before either spilling down your collarbones or further filling out the line down your clavicle, adding a sort of teardrop design to your necklace.
“Honestly?” A breathless giggle escaped him as he reached his non-soiled hand out toward his phone, “How about I take a picture to show you, then we can work on adding some accessories to go with it.”
Safe to say, this wouldn’t be the last pearl necklace you’d receive from him.
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✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella
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wonysugar · 1 year ago
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fuck you stupid | ning yizhuo
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synopsis : you thought you’d seen it all with her, but no, she somehow managed to surprise you even further.
pairing : bimbo!ningning x fem!reader
genre : bffs to... fwb?? idk they just fuck,, so obviously smut too! xx
tags : yall got lost help, fingering, degradation, belittling, dumbification, car sex, she's so stupid but she fucks you good so it's okay, very slight cunnilingus, she slaps you like once so impact play!
warnings : none!
word count : 1.6k
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you, y/n l/n, weren’t exactly smart, but you also weren’t exactly stupid. like yeah, you weren’t a genius per se, but it’s not like you were brain dead either. average was the term you always used to describe your intelligence.
you unfortunately couldn’t say the same about ning yizhuo, your best friend. 
you loved her, like that’s your bitch, of course you love her! however, you’d be lying if you said that she was intellectually capable, because she just wasn’t. god, she was just so, so painfully stupid?? clumsy??? careless???? all of the above applied when it came to this woman. not even to be mean or anything of the sorts, just, yknow… natural selection at its finest.
she was aware of that, though, and even thrived in being the self proclaimed bimbo everyone knew and loved. (to which you wholeheartedly agree with, by the way) and honestly? you just couldn’t stop teasing her about it whenever you two hung out. things similar to “stupid hoe” and “dumbass” always escaping your mouth as you two laughed, probably moments after she bumped onto something on the sidewalk whilst spilling all the tea to you. 
in summary, she’s done stupid shit before, but nothing, nothing could ever top what she had done that day.
the day she got the both of you lost in some random parking lot at like, 2 am.
“ning, we’re fucking lost.” you told her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you watched her giggle nervously.
she grabbed her cellphone and hovered her finger over the power button, “oh come on y/n don’t be like that, i can just go on google maps and we’ll be out of here in no ti-“
a black screen.
she cleared her throat hesitantly, sighed, then pressed the button again.
nothing.
she kept doing that, giving longer presses to the side of her phone in hopes of a miracle . your patience was running thin and you were quite frankly not far from panicking.
after the 27th-ish try, you finally snapped at her.
“fucking hell ning do you not charge your damn phone??” 
“sorry that i forgot to?” 
oh she had to be joking. 
“girl oh my god what the fuck?? we’ll stay stuck here for only god knows how long and it’s all gonna be because ‘ning yizhuo forgot to charge her phone beforehand’ for fuck’s sake.” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. trying to calm down, you ignored ning’s gaze.
her stupid annoying yapping wasn’t helping at all. like, at all.
“oh so we’re once again blaming me, got it. y/n you didn’t even bring your own phone, how do you have the audacity to put the blame on me.” she said back, her eyebrow raised up as she threw her phone down on her skirt, sighing exasperatedly. 
“because someone told me it was her turn to get the aux.”
“where in that sentence did i ever tell you not to bring your phone??”
“god, ning just- just stay quiet. okay? just- please shut up, i’m trying to think. we can’t rely on you for anything.” you told her, exasperated.
in response, she scoffed, “no?? no i won’t, actually. you’re always putting the blame on me and it’s seriously starting to piss me the fuck off. yeah i’m a bimbo, whatever, but does that mean that you have to talk to me like i only have two barely functioning brain cells??” 
“oh please, saying you have two functioning brain cells would be wayy too generous. you’re always doing the stupidest shit out of the two of us. i mean fuck, you literally drove us here, in the middle of nowhere. you’re not a bimbo, you’re just fucking dumb, ning.”
when you looked back at her, she seemed hurt. like, 
a wave of guilt quickly washed over you upon seeing her pained, pained expression. she looked into your eyes, frustration and sadness clearly showing into her own. yeah, she looked pissed. you wanted to apologize almost immediately, and you were going to, 
if she didn’t suddenly press her lips onto yours before you could even get a word out. 
-
how do best friends make up after a fight?
usually, they talk it out, they go out, hug it out then get milkshakes or whatever, hell, sometimes they just go a day or two without talking then eventually forget about it.
this? this was none of that.
since she planted a kiss on your lips, you, instead of doing anything stated above, were fucking.
like, yeahh you were still lost, but at least you were getting your pussy ravaged. the situation could be handled later; when you weren’t drenched.
throwing your head back as you moaned out ning’s name, you were straddling her in the backseat of her car, feeling her two fingers deep inside you and stretching you out. she looked up at you with lustfully hooded eyes as she kissed and left very visible marks all over your neck, all the way down to your collarbone, her free hand fondling your tits, lazily playing with the nipple. 
“f-fuck ning keep going i’m sososo close- fuckfuckfuck..” feeling yourself getting pushed closer to the edge by the friction you felt, you bucked your hips faster onto her digits. the knot tying in your stomach felt like it would’ve snapped any second now, that is,
until she stopped moving her fingers altogether.
frustrated, you whined loudly, “ninggg please let me cum pleaseplease-” 
“oh yeah? so now you wanna rely on me for something, and it’s to make you cum?” she laughed. “fucking slut. i’ll make you cum whenever i want to, got it, bitch?” she added, pressing her thumb on your swollen throbbing clit, smirking condescendingly and watching how pretty you looked when pleasure contorted your face.
you unintentionally clenched at her words, nodding shamefully. it was embarrassing enough having your best friend knuckles deep inside of you, having her call you names and whatnot, but the real embarrassing part? 
enjoying it thoroughly.
she knew this, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger at that moment and oh was it such a power trip for her. seeing you be so needy for her touch, you almost started riding her fingers yourself, too. she was always the one being treated like a dumb bitch, it was nice being on the other side of things, for a change. 
she kept twisting and pulling on your nipple with her free hand as she slowly started to slide her fingers up and down your walls again, giggling and paying close attention to how your body shook and twitched at each and every one of her slow movements. what a sight to see. 
“you like being fucked stupid hm?”
and that’s what she did,
seconds,
minutes,
what felt likes hours,
you were sloppily bouncing and grinding on her fingers, speed ranging from a painful slowness to an overwhelming rapidity. 
you gripped her arms tightly, as if you would fall into some sort of void if you didn’t hold onto her for dear life. resting your head on her shoulder, you whined, losing yourself onto her. her fingers were still pumping in and out of you at that moment, faster than they were before, by the way, so it took you all of your body strength to not just cum right then and there, but you managed to hold back. for her, you held back and took all of it. every minute passing, every single motion feeling like it was threatening to make you go insane. 
“ning pleaseplease let me cum i wanna cum so badly fuck- pleasepleasepleasepleaseee-” you begged, looking down at her with pleading teary eyes.
“fuck, look at you. calling me a dumb bitch all the time, yet here you are, acting oh so stupid for my fingers. such a brainless needy little whore for me, hm? does my idiotic, pretty girl wanna cum?” 
you nodded eagerly as you whined, tears actively running down both of your cheeks, so desperate for release that you quite honestly didn’t care for how ridiculous you looked to her at that moment. you just wanted to cum, so, so, so badly, and you were ready to give up your dignity for it.
the sound of her hand slapping your cheek resonated in the car.
“say it. you know damn well i don’t accept pathetic sounds for an answer.”
“fuck— your idiotic pretty girl wants to cum pleaseee let her–”
she hummed, smirking at your response. incredibly amused by your behavior, she took her fingers out of you, picked you up by placing her hands on your thighs, then gently put you on the empty seat that was next to the one she occupied. upon seeing you sat comfortably, she proceeded to kneel down on the empty space between the front seats and the backseats. y’know,
the ones a grown woman couldn’t possibly fit in?
it’s okay though, like, yeah she would most definitely complain about back pain later, but right now?
she needed to feel you cum all over her tongue.
and that’s exactly what she worked towards, her tongue driven by the scent of your arousal to roam all over your folds and clit, kissing and sucking on every inch of your core as she attentively listened to all the sweet noises that came out of you. it really did not take long before your moans reached octaves you didn’t even know you could achieve before, an overwhelming wave of relief hitting you like a truck. you were 100% sure you would pass out afterwards.
at the end of the day, yeah, you both were still stranded in the middle of some unknown parking lot, but at least, the stress of it all evaporated in the air.
while you were trying to catch your breath, you made a mental note;
never underestimate ning’s intelligence when she was in a bad mood! or, do. depending on if you wanna get fucked stupid that day or not.
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rhaenyratargcryen · 3 months ago
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i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine
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masterlist ❈
summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!
pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned
18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!
title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"
It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.
You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.
The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.
Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.
Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.
He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 
This man will not take a fucking hint. 
He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”
You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.
From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”
“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”
The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.
“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.
“What’s your problem?”
“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”
You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 
“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”
Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”
He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”
—————
Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.
“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.
“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”
Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.
Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.
“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”
“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”
“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”
“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”
“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”
“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”
Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.
“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”
You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.
“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”
“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.
Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”
“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”
“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”
You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 
“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”
He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.
“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”
Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”
“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 
He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.
”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”
Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?
You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 
“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”
You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.
“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”
“And if I don’t want to go?”
Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”
You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.
You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.
“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”
“Call it gut instinct.”
“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It felt good.”
—————
The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.
Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.
“What is this place?”
Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.
“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.
Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”
“Charles?”
“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”
Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”
Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”
You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.
“I heal pretty fast, too.”
Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.
“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.
“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”
The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.
“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”
“I — I guess?”
“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.
“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”
He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.
“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”
A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.
“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”
“And we’re safe here?”
“Yes.”
Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.
The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.
“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”
“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”
You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.
It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.
You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 
“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”
“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”
Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”
Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”
“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”
Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.
“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”
You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.
“Logan?”
The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”
“Why are you helping me?”
What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?
He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”
—————
The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.
“Can we stop, for today?”
You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.
“What, can’t handle it already?”
You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.
Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.
You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.
“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 
And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.
You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.
He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.
You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.
Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.
“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”
Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.
“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”
As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.
By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.
Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 
Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.
Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.
“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”
Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.
—————
“Well, well.”
You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.
“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”
“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”
You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.
“Lemme get you some ice.”
You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.
“What are you down here for anyway?”
“Same thing as you, I think.”
Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 
You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.
The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.
“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”
“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”
You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”
Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.
“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”
“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.
“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”
He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.
You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.
Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 
Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.
Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.
“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”
“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”
Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.
“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”
Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.
“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”
You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.
The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.
Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.
“Is that really what you want?”
It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 
You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 
“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you.”
Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”
“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”
Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”
“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.
“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 
“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”
He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 
“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”
As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.
“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”
He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”
Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.
“Feels good?”
You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”
You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.
“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”
You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”
“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”
Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 
“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”
Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.
Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.
Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.
“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”
You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.
He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.
“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”
The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”
“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.
Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.
“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.
“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”
The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”
You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.
Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 
Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 
“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”
“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”
“Please put your mouth on me.”
“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”
“Want you to fuck me.”
“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”
You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”
Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.
“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.
Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 
“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”
You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 
He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.
Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 
You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”
Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.
One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”
“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”
Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”
Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”
“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”
You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.
“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”
Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.
“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”
“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”
Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”
Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.
“You got a condom?”
“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”
Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”
“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”
You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.
“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”
Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 
“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”
Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.
Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”
His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.
“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 
“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”
“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 
“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”
“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.
Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.
His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.
His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 
You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.
“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”
You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”
At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.
“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”
He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.
He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.
“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”
“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”
He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.
You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.
He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.
“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago
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All In 7
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)
based on the winning option for this poll
Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes
Note: another week...
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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When Bucky leaves, you feel less than relief. It’s easier to breathe without him around but your heart continues to race. You don’t move until you see him drive away. You steel yourself with the manufactured lie before you go back inside. 
As you do, you’re surprised to find Roxie beside your mom, both of them close to the front window. You sigh. Were they watching? You guess you can be thankful Bucky hadn’t done more than talk. 
Your mom faces you with a sheepish grin, “so... did you get it?” 
You look between her and your sister. Roxie has her phone in hand and an arch in her eyebrow, “I’d die for a boss like that.” 
“I...” you glance the screen before she can hide it. Oh. She had a picture of him pulled up on Google. So, they both know exactly who he is. 
“He must be really hands on if he came all the way down here to offer you a job,” Roxie tilts her head. 
“That’s the sign of a good boss,” your mom insists.  
“Really, I think his eyes were the kicker. So blue.” 
“Rox,” your mom nudges her. “A man like him, he’s got line ups, I’m sure. Besides, she’s too young for him.” 
“Well, I’m older,” Roxie smirks, “maybe she can get me a job too.” 
“Er, uh,” you wring your hands, “I should start dinner.” 
“You didn’t say if you go the job,” Roxie challenges. 
“Yeah,” you utter softly, “I got a job. Just cleaning.” 
“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” you mom assures as she comes to you. She puts her hands on your shoulders, “I’m so proud of you.” 
“Mom,” you try not to look pained as you return her smile, “it’s nothing. Really. A cleaner.” 
“We all gotta start somewhere.” 
“Yeah,” Roxie scoffs, “most of us a lot sooner.” 
“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” your mom lets you go to spin on your sister, “don’t rain on her parade.” 
“Whatever. I’d rather hand out flyers than clean toilets,” she rolls her eyes. 
You purse your lips and shy away. You feel worse that they believe you so easily and why wouldn’t they? No one would think that someone like you would merit such a preposterous offer from a man like Bucky. You still can’t really believe it. 
Maybe it’s just some twisted hallucination. You could wake up tomorrow and be just like you were before. You never thought you would long for that but now, being alone, being the loser, that feels safe. Being noticed, being someone, that’s terrifying. 
🃏
You take your time making dinner, a brief escape from reality. The distraction keeps you busy enough that your chest stops thrumming, yet your nerves are still spastic. You’re not very hungry once it’s done but you make yourself eat. 
Roxie heads off for work shortly after you gather up the dirty dishes and your mom goes to change into her pajamas. She startles you as you scour the pan you used to bake the chicken. You splash yourself and hiss. 
“Sorry, hon, I was just coming to check on you,” she leans against the counter, “you’re nervous, aren’t you?” 
You shrug, to fraught to answer. 
“You get restless, I can tell. You do everything just to keep from fidgeting,” she says, “it’s going to be okay. You’ll be just fine and you’ll see, it’ll be nice to have your own money.” 
“I know, mom,” you murmur, turning your face down to the sink, “it’s not that I don’t want to work, I just... I guess it’s the change that freaks me out.” 
“Change is good, even if it’s scary,” she says. “You’ll see.” 
“Mm,” you hum and try not to shatter, “I just want to help out.” 
“Hon, you worry about yourself. Please--” 
“No, I owe you.” 
“Owe me? I’m your mother. I just wish I could give you more,” she smiles and squeezes your arm. “If you’re not some busy working girl, we’ll celebrate on my day off.” 
“Sure,” you accept grimly. 
She leaves you and you’re silent as you finish up the dishes. You put them away and wipe the counters. When you finish, you shut off the lights. You say good night from the doorway and retreat into your room. Tomorrow. That’s all he said. That’s the only detail you go before he strolled off. 
You grab your phone and fall back on your bed. All you want is to lose yourself in a fic or a discussion board or even just scrolling mindlessly. You can’t. It’s like he’s taking over everything. There it is, that little icon you rarely see, a new message.  
You pull down the menu and stare at the preview. Two hours ago. You’re surprised he didn’t show up to check why you hadn’t answered. Again. You will at least need to send something before the night is over. 
‘Hey doll. I’ll send a car tomorrow morning at nine. Just bring yourself.’ 
You shudder and stare at the blue bubble around the text. Oof. Nine? That’s early for you. You suppose it’s about time you break that bad habit. 
‘Sorry. I was making dinner. Nine is good. Thank you.’ 
You hit send and put your phone down. You slide your laptop across the bed and open it up. You’ll watch something. That old BBC drama you found on the free streaming service has been pretty interesting, but you think you only have one episode left. That’s good, you can’t be up all night. 
Your phone buzzes. Shoot. Alright. You can do this. You have to get to it. You swipe up your phone again, surprised to find it’s still shaking.
Oh no. He’s calling! 
You panic and nearly hit decline before you manage to drag your thumb the other way. You put the phone to your ear, unable to muster even a squeak. What do you say? 
“Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice drawls from the speaker, “hope I didn’t interrupt dinner.” 
“No, er, we’re done.” 
“Ah, and are you alone?” 
You frown, “yes?” 
“Good, good. Isn’t that sweet of you, cooking dinner for your family. That’s what I like about you. You take care of those you love.” 
You gulp. You don’t know what to say. 
“What was for dinner?” He asks as you hear a soft rustle. 
“Um, chicken and potatoes,” you answer bluntly. It’s an easy question. 
“You’re not busy or something?” He wonders. 
“Uh uh,” you shake your head even though he can’t see, “I’m just... in bed.” 
“Early night, huh?” He asks. 
“I guess, I was going to watch a show.” 
“Right, right,” he clicks his tongue as something taps followed by other indiscernible movements, “you in your pajamas? Bet those are cute?” 
“Not... yet,” you croak. 
“Mmm,” he purrs, “I just got out of the shower.” 
“You... did?” 
“Getting ready for tomorrow,” he explains, “gotta admit, I’m a bit impatient. You’ll see that about me, doll. When I want something, it’s hard to wait.” 
“Uh, oh...” you stutter out. 
“For you, I can,” he vows, “doll, do me a favour.” 
“A favour?” You echo thinly. 
“Mmm, yeah, I want you to get in your pajamas and send me a picture. Just to tide me over,” he coaxes. 
“A picture?” You open your eyes wide and gape at the wall. 
“Sure, just a taste. I wanna know what I should imagine next to me when I lay down.” 
“What?” You squeak, shocked by his insinuation. Imagining you?! 
“I can’t help myself. It’s lonely here.” 
“I...” you pick at your lower lip, “one sec. I... I gotta...” 
You put the phone on the bed and push yourself off the mattress. You trip on your own feet and hope he can’t hear you stumbling around. Your pajamas are kind of silly. You don’t really have any sexy ones. Maybe if he sees them, he’ll change his mind. 
The only matching pair you have have snoopy on the top and a large check bottom on the pants. You fish them out and change. It’s okay. He can’t see you at that moment. Still, it feels like he is watching you. Just as his presence has lurked around you all day. 
You go back to your phone and fumble around, “sorry, I... just... figuring out the camera.” 
You hear his timbre but can’t make out his words from the small speaker. You open the camera app and flip the camera. You move around, trying to take the pic, and lean the phone on the top of your dress. You angle it and mutter to yourself as you struggle to set the timer. 
You take several pictures before you’re not entirely discontent. You look awkward in all of them. The pants, like all your pants, are too long and gather around your feet. You don’t know how to pose either. Quite frankly, you look frightened in every single one. 
“Alright, I think...” you babble and find your way into the conversation and choose the least egregious frame. You hesitate and close your eyes as you push your thumb down on the arrow. 
You bring the phone back to your ear, “are you still there?” 
“Always, doll,” he assures and once more, the phone shifts around noisily. “Mm, Snoopy? I like it. More of a Woodstock myself but... Mm mm mm, you look good.” He pauses as you wriggle and your cheeks burn hotly. “Sexy.” 
“No,” you burst out without thinking. 
“No? You don’t think I’m telling the truth?” 
“I didn’t... say so, it’s... just pajamas,” you sniff, “sorry, I didn’t mean to argue.” 
“Doll, relax. Thing about you, you don’t even have to try.” 
You don’t reply. You have no idea what to say or even if you should believe him. You saw the picture, you look in the mirror every day, you know what you are. It still feels like some weird game. 
“Here, gimme a sec,” he says from his end. 
More rustling and the noise of a digital shutter. Your phone vibes shortly and you pull it away from your cheek. You squint at the screen as it lights up and an image buffers in the conversation. 
“Huh, uh, it’s not loading. My phone is--” you nearly swallow your tongue and gasp. 
Oh gosh. It’s a picture of him in almost nothing. Just a towel. His long hair is damp and pushed back and his dark beard contrasts his bright blue eyes as he aims the lens of his phone at himself in the mirror. His stomach is ridged with muscle, his chest trimmed with hair that trails down, and the towel hangs low, giving a generous hint of his pelvis. The vee above the fabric feels overly salacious. 
“Doll?” You hear the low tone of his voice and make yourself look away. You raise the phone again to your ear. “Everything okay? You got really quiet.” 
“I...” 
“You like what you see?” He asks coyly. 
You put your hand to your forehead, your flesh is fiery. It’s so much so fast. Just that morning, you’d convinced yourself you would never see or talk to him again. And now he’s sending you pictures like that and... flirting with you? 
“Yes,” you eke out then cover your mouth. He snickers and you clear your throat before you peel your hand away, “sorry, I mean... you’re... you... you must work out.” 
“Doll, you’re too adorable,” he says. 
You don’t say a word. You’re mortified. He knew you saw that. He knows you’ve seen him like that. He sent it! 
It’s all too much. You’re lightheaded. You rub your chin and shiver. 
“I should... sleep.” 
“Mm, me too,” he says, “hopefully I dream of you.” 
You giggle nervously, “really?” 
“Sure, doll. All I can do is dream. Until tomorrow,” he sighs, “and what about you? You gonna dream about me?” 
You squeak and stammer, “I... I... I...” 
He laughs again, “you really are so cute in those pajamas.” 
“Please,” you blurt out, “delete it.” 
“Now, why would I do that?” He challenges. 
“I don’t... know.” 
“I love it,” he insists, “you’re not deleting mine, are you?” 
“N-no, no, I’ll keep it.” 
“Hm, good,” he intones, “it’s all for you so don’t you go showing me off to all your friends.” 
It’s your turn to laugh. “Promise, I won’t.” If only he knew you don’t have any friends to show. 
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catboybiologist · 1 year ago
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Hi! I’m CatboyBiologist.
Formerly a femboy, now a trans woman just starting HRT, and a PhD student in molecular biology. I started using this online persona as a fun, shitposty way to explore gender a few years ago. I post selfies (generally sfw, but somewhat sexy, so minors and ppl who don’t like that have been warned), rambles about science, tutorials and advice from the stuff I’ve learned by being a femboy in the past, nature pictures, stuff about the ocean, my adorable grumpy little tortoise, and unsolicited opinions on random nerdy topics. Any pronouns are fine. I don’t plan to socially transition for a while, and still present as a man most of the time, so I’m used to whatever you wanna use for me (for now, I’ll update this if that changes). Please send me pictures of your pets or other cute animals in your life!
As a scientist, I’m also documenting my transition! This google sheet will be updated at least monthly. I also have additional metrics I’m keeping to myself, and pictures that go with this, but I’m not sharing them publicly yet. Keep in mind that this is just one person’s experience with HRT, and may not represent universal trends!
Adding a little something here, bc I think it was an interesting bit a writing: if you want to see me respond to a transphobe about what "biologically female" means, here's a thing I wrote about it. CW for transphobia and discussion, obviously.
Also, if any of my measurements look weird, its entirely possible I fucked up. Let me know if anything looks off!
Here’s some of my favorite pre-HRT pictures:
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If you want to see more of my pre-HRT selfies, browse the “femboy” tag on my blog!
And as of this writing, I’m only 2 days after the start of HRT, so here’s a picture with my tortoise that’s technically post-HRT (but with 0 time for actual changes):
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If you want to see my future post-HRT selfies, browse the “trans selfie” tag on my blog!
Also here's another really cute picture and fanart of my tortoise by @whalesharkcat:
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I have affectionately given my tortoise the title of The Grumpus.
I also wrote a couple of tutorials and general vibes about being a femboy before I started HRT:
Sometimes I make shitposts of myself, I don’t take myself too seriously:
This includes the way I came out on tumblr:
And here’s an overly serious, long ramble about trans thoughts and things that I wrote shortly afterwards:
Later addition: Someone asked how I take selfies, so I wrote a quick and dirty guide with some tips on how I do so in response to their ask:
Oh yeah and apparently I was a 196 microcelebrity? I never to thought I was popular enough for that but apparently some people do 🤷‍♀️. So uh, hi 196 tags, I'm abusing you for my pinned post LOL
As for terminology, I personally do think of myself as a “man who is becoming a woman” as opposed to having always been a woman. If that doesn’t resonate with your experience, I totally get that! But that’s why I freely call pre-HRT me a femboy, while still calling post-HRT me a trans woman. I’m also keeping the blog name as CatboyBiologist for the forseeable future, because at this point, Catboy just seems like a gender neutral term to me.
I’m also trying to put together a script for a podcast regarding how studying biology influenced my perspective on sex and gender- lmk if there’s any interest in that! It’s probably gonna be way too long and indulgent but oh well.
So uh. Yeah. I don’t end these types of things well. Byeeeeee
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syluscrows · 1 month ago
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Sylus taking care of his chronically ill pookie // hurt / comfort / fluff and slight NSFW
WRITTEN IN THE PERSPECTIVE OF AN INDIVIDUAL WITH VEDS / SBS AND ASSOCIATED DISORDERS USING THE SYMPTOMS EXPERIENCED.
Tags: Sylus x reader, gender neutral reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, chronic illness, Sylus being a sweetie pie, and sylus being a jerk...
Tw: organ rupture mentioned, joint dislocation, weak skin / bruising, discussion of shortened lifespan.
- His initial reaction to you telling him is his usual nonchalant self. He doesn't really seem to care, but only in the nicest way possible. Externally he's the exact same at first - internally his dusty brain cogs are spinning like mad, thinking 'what the fuck does that mean'
- He will probably buy you a get well soon basket.. for a chronic condition..
- unbeknownst to you, he has no idea what it is and immediately researched it.. and poor gramps didn't know how dramatic Google was when it came to medical conditions so he only thought of the worst outcomes.
S: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUR ORGANS COULD RUPTURE?!"
Y/n: "Sylus, there's emphasis on the 'could'.."
- you have to reassure him that it's not THAT bad, but the whole shortened lifespan stuff coming up does scare the crap out of this poor man.
Y/n: "sylus it's not exactly the most accurate thing.. we don't know if it'll be that early." You assure him, but he clearly doesn't find that reassuring at all, as someone who can't die, he never thought he would feel so strongly about someone who COULD die, much sooner than expected. You can tell it's left a pit in his stomach that won't go away regardless of what you say.
- He's more careful when you two are sparring, or play fighting.
- (in the perspective of a reader who is a hunter) He knows you can take care of yourself in fights. Witnessing you effortlessly slamming a joint back into place midfight etc. gives him reassurance at this, but that doesn't mean there won't be a certain crow checking up on you now and again when you're apart.
- The first time y'all get freaky he's mortified by the amount of bruises on you. How are they so dark? And so big? It looks like you've gotten into a fight.. And the bruises he leaves on you after are even worse.
- And your skin is so soft he can't keep his hands off of you. 😌
- Bless this man when your limbs go numb and you have to wait out the pins and needles in order to move, he knows exactly what to do. Usually you would have to wait for the uncomfortable feeling to dull down so you can move your legs to regain blood flow, but with Sylus around you don't have to worry, although it feels awful when he does it, he lifts your leg and bends it until the feeling goes away, ensuring the blood flow returns sooner so you aren't uncomfortable for long.
- Afterwards he's asking you where all of the bruises are from. "What about this one?" "Sylus I told you I don't know, they just appear! It probably happens when I sleep!" Oh boy do you regret saying that, this man protects you from everything, you might as well be wrapped in bubble wrap.
- If you use mobility aids, throw them out, he will buy you better ones, fancier ones, maybe even custom ones to match whatever vibe you like.
- let's just say he gets a bit too rough one day and there goes your hip, straight out of the socket.. he immediately apologises over and over again, and despite his usual emotional constipation you can tell it's given him a scare as he tries to figure out what to do, asking if you need to go to hospital, if he can put it back for you.. and despite the immense pain you're in, it's still adorable to see him like that.
- you stand up too fast and immediately just stand there and lean against something until your brain descrambles. He honestly finds it kinda cute, and has to hold back the urge to be malicious... His evil lil heart would love to one day rush you to walk forward and watch you fall, but his soft side is strongly fighting against it.
- You do have to talk him out of treating you like you're fragile, which is irritating. You find yourself constantly reassuring him.
- despite his stoic, cold exterior, he does piss himself laughing when you don't manage to lean against something in time when you're light headed, falling over sideways. Laughter is the best medicine, after all. Of course he's concerned, but only for a split second..
- the brain fog is his favourite part. "What did I just say?" You say with an adorable confused expression on your face, or when you place something down and it's as if it's suddenly phased out of existence. He doesn't care if it makes you slightly tardy on your timekeeping, if you're late you're late, you can't help it.
- the brain fog doesn't exactly make it easy to give you tasks.. he ends up sending you a million messages to remind you of what he's asked you to do.
- The man cringes so hard when you're walking along like nothings happening as if your hip isn't clicking loudly with every step. He is clueless to the fact that it doesn't actually hurt every time...
- The first flare-up he felt helpless, being so uneducated and just watching you in pain, hardly able to do a thing. By the time you'd had a few flare-ups around him he gathered a routine. Running baths, getting ointments for your joints, millions of heat pads, practically staying at your side like a lil servant. You insisted it wasn't necessary, since you've functioned through many flare-ups beforehand, but he won't listen.
- There's an emergency box with instructions in case he isn't around so that Luke and Kieran can take care of you too.🥹
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darling-i-read-it · 1 year ago
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Whispers
Dalton Lambert x fem!reader
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: insidious 5 spoilers, literally i think tahts it 
Author’s Note: In theory this is a part 2 to blue paint but honestly could be written by itself if you just squint lol. Everyone wanted me to write more for dalton and i was at WORK people but i am here to provide a plotless fluff. An old classic style of mine 🫡Also this fic could literally be called ‘maya googles whispered synonyms’ 
Everyone that asked to be tagged <3 : @geeksareunique, @chaoticxbee, @snixx2088, @ellaneyt, @bespinnn, 
Summary: The night you and Dalton just kind of let your relationship silently grow to avoid the horror of his situation. 
I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator
(not my gif)
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You could feel sleep starting to overtake you. It was in your eyes, the drooping of your lids as you sat against the twin bed. Dalton was sitting on the ground as well, across from you. You narrowed your gaze at him, pursing your lips. You both had class in the morning. He still had blue paint stained on his face. You had leaned him over the sink and scrubbed to no avail. Finally you had both given up, conceding to his embarrassment in the morning. 
The sticky heat of the day had given way for the night chills. You could feel the difference in the cracked window. The breeze had started to get to you so you threw a blanket over your shoulders. 
Dalton, not wanting to fall asleep, sat across from you with a hoodie on. 
“Uno.” 
“No way,” you muttered. You looked at the cards in front of you, a large stack turned upwards and a yellow 7 card on top. “You just had like 15 cards. Take off your hoodie.”
“No!” Dalton exclaimed, laughing a bit. 
“You’re cheating. There’s no way I missed that. I’m literally the only other person here,” you offered. He shook his head. The clock was ticking away past midnight. 
“It’s late, you’re just starting to get delirious.” You shook your head, tossing your stack of cards down beside you. Usually you would never let a game go, especially one that was decently close. But you weren’t sure if you were even going to wake up to your alarm in the morning, let alone go to class. 
“Am not.” 
“I told you to go to bed hours ago.”
“Didn’t want you to sleepwalk on me,” you muttered. 
“Astral project.” 
“Whatever.” You looked up at the window. You could see the moon outside tonight in the clear sky. It had been a while since you saw the nighttime in a peaceful way. You were so used to being passed out by the time any kind of sereneness came along, or at a party trying not to pass out. It had been too long since it was just you and the night sky. And Dalton. 
Your phones were laying on the bedside table, out of the way and silent. You told Dalton to call his mom but he refused. He said he could do it on his own. He was probably just overreacting, he promised you. Overreacting didn’t make someone stay up late before an 8:30 class but you decided not to mention that. 
“I think I’m out D,” you muttered through a yawn. He nodded. He still looked wide awake, sans the bags under his eyes. 
“I wish we had a TV in here.” 
“Then we could watch Nightmare on Elm Street,” you joked. He half smiled, one of his cute little smirks. When you came to college you never thought you would admire these quieter nights the most. 
“Yeah.” You stretched, trying to shake the sleep out of your eyes. 
“I think I’m still gonna try to go to class tomorrow.”
“You know I don’t have a choice.” You nodded once and stood up, stretching. You felt your body expand as a satisfying calmness came over your body. Dalton grabbed the uno cards at your feet and started to put them in the box. “My last card was red by the way. You could’ve won it.” 
“Rematch tomorrow,” you suggested. You put your blanket over the empty bed. It looked like it hadn’t been slept in. There was no indent of a human having been there, no one having a good night's sleep. Though it didn’t look exactly comforting, it also didn’t look unappealing to your tired mind. Dalton had given you one of his pillows. You plugged in your phone beside you and glanced over at Dalton’s side of the room. You had looked at his drawings before but never studied them. 
Things seemed clearer at night. 
There was a picture of his mom at the piano above his pillow. He was moving around, shuffling, getting ready for bed and doing the last things he needed to. His head obscured your view. 
“She’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Your mom.” He looked at his sketch like he had forgotten it was there. 
“Thanks,” he muttered. His eyes lingered for a moment. You wanted to ask if he missed her but you didn’t. Putting him in that sort of emotional position would’ve been too much for so late. “She writes music. I remember when I was a kid she would sit at the piano when she had a moment to herself. My dad was always working so I guess I thought it was her job.” He shrugged. His eyes moved away.
“She sounds like a nice lady.” 
“She is. She deserves better than that guy,” he grumbled. He sat down on his bed. You were still sitting on yours. You hadn’t climbed under the covers, even though the cold was nipping at your arms. Chris’s words lingered in your brain for a bit, the prospect of staying in the same twin bed. You shook it off and went to grab the edge of the blanket. 
Dalton’s eyes stayed on you. He didn’t want to go to bed yet. 
“Do you mind the night light?” he asked, voice laced with exhaustion and a little embarrassment. 
“Nope. I like a little mood lighting.” You climbed under the covers. Once your head hit in the pillow it was like relief flooded through your bones. You reached up and turned off the lamp beside the bed. You could still see the outline of Dalton. His face, his hair. “I like your hair when it’s down,” you whispered. Your voice was gentle, slightly fueled by the lack of sleep. You could see him turn to look at you as he was getting under the covers. You nuzzled your head into the pillow. 
“Thank you,” he muttered, awkwardly. You smiled. You liked it when he squirmed a little bit. 
“I set an alarm.” 
“Okay.” There was a silence. “Goodnight.” 
“Goodnight Dalton,” you whispered. Your name hung on his lips but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead he just watched as your eyes shut into an even calmness. The contours of your face were illuminated by his night light.
He rested his cheek against the pillow. 
He admitted to being potentially dangerous to you and you stayed. He felt safer with you. Like he wasn’t in this alone. 
You fell asleep in 15 minutes. He could tell because your face was completely relaxed. There was no tenseness in your features, no worries about anything except getting rest. When he was positive you had drifted off he sat up, grabbing his sketchbook off the center table. 
He had drawn nothing but dark memories lately. A red door with blood haunted him. A face he didn’t recognize but one that he knew, watched him sleep. After the darkness flooding his brain he was happy to think of his mom. He was happy to remember her when she was tranquil. He liked the sketches that were less cursed. 
He started to sketch you. 
His eyes adjusted to the darkness easily. Maybe if he was super tired the next night then he wouldn't be able to dream or astral project. Just sleep. He wouldn’t mind spending tonight sketching you with observing eyes. He drew your hair as it fell in front of your face. The way your fingers gripped the blanket. Your eyes, fluttering with dreams. He wondered what you were dreaming of. He wondered if you ever dreamt of him. 
Just the thought brought a redness to his cheeks. 
He grabbed his airpod to put on some music. 
The room was so still. 
Your blanket touching the ground. The wind from the cracked window. Your even breathing, mixing with his, the only living sounds in the space. His dried paint on the table. The light from the hallway seeping in under the door. His unpacked bag at the foot of your bed. 
Your bed. That wasn’t your bed. That was an empty bed, one that would be filled by anybody. 
He sketched your nose. 
That could be your bed. He had nothing against that. A sleepover every night, a buddy to help protect him from the nightmares. He thought of his parents. His brother. His little sister. He was safe. 
He turned the focus onto your closed eyes. He was listening to some indie rock or something, whatever he had playing from earlier. He wondered what kind of music you listened to. 
You moved. You hummed under your breath, eyes fluttering open. It hadn’t been that long since you fell asleep, maybe only an hour. It was two in the morning.
You forced your eyes open. Dalton was still awake, sitting against the wall. 
“Still can’t sleep?” you whispered. The sleep remained in your eyes. 
“Not sure where I’ll float too.” You nodded. You slowly sat up, keeping your blanket around your shoulder. “What’re you doing?” he whispered. Speaking any louder would break the muffled moment. 
You shuffled over to his side of the room. He looked up at you, shielding his sketchbook. You barely noticed it. You stood at the side of his bed. There was a beat where neither of you moved. You nodded towards the bed. 
“Lay down.” He squinted, unsure of what your intentions were. He put the sketchbook on the side of the bed, onto the floor. He had it facing the ground so you wouldn’t see your face. He couldn’t let you know how he perceived you quite yet. 
He did as he was told. When he was comfortable you moved his blanket aside and got under the covers. You put your blanket over his so you had double the warmth. 
Dalton froze. 
Did he put his hand on you? Did he just let you be? He had to touch you, there was no way he could sleep here, stiff as a board, all night. 
“I don’t have cooties D,” you whispered. You easily got comfortable beside him. Your eyes stayed open as you looked at him, straight ahead. “You can touch me,” you said, even lower, so much so that your voice almost gave out. “If this is okay.” 
“It’s okay,” he promised. You smiled sleepily. 
He put his hand on your side and you pushed yourself closer to him. You took the initiative and placed your hand over his waist. He moved so that you could nuzzle yourself into his chest. He tried not to breathe too heavily but he was sure you could hear his heart beating out of his chest. 
“Sleep,” you breathed. “I’ll keep you grounded.” 
His breath hitched. He finally closed his eyes. 
He fell asleep quickly with you in his arms. He remained in his spot the whole night, the first time in a week. 
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barleyo · 5 months ago
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Your requests are open... you've put the words "Corrupt Cop Daichi" in my brain... Imagine you're just like. Driving on the highway and you're not even speeding but somehow he knows what you look like so he pulls you over because you're a cutie patootie... Dubious consent follows... Daichi in a cop uniform... Reader bent over the backseat of the cop car, door open, fully visible from the road but not caring because CoP dAiChI? AHHhhhhHH? (Idek if this counts as corrupt but cop daichi is cop daichi you know)
It's 9:30 in the morning but it's never too early for Cop Daichi argargargargargarg
Mr. Officer.
Cop! Daichi Sawamura X F! Reader (smut)
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A/N: CORRUPT COP DAICHI IS MY EVERYTHING!!! Ugh dirty nasty cops who abuse their power :3 I wanted to make him mean, but my sweet, sweet Daichi could never be mean to a pretty girl... he still gets crazy with power though!
Tags: power play/imbalance, alcohol mention, small age gap (18—23), dub-con, p in v, quickies, coercion n all that good stuff :3
Wordcount: 900-ish
God, you were lucky that you were pretty, because you certainly weren't smart or slick. Daichi knew college kids were stupid, always doing risky stuff for the hell of it, but really? You were too drunk to walk in a straight line, let alone to be behind the wheel of a vehicle. 
He couldn't help but feel the pang of interest he felt when he got a good look at you after pulling you over. With the way you were driving, he was certain you'd be a blind old lady, but no. Just a college cutie. Damn it, it was hard to be stern with those. 
"Ma'am, do you know why I pulled you over?" he asked, trite words second nature to him by now. 
If you googled the definition of the word "wasted," your face in that moment would be the illustration accompanying it. 
Your face was red and warmed, no doubt tinted by all the cheap liquor you threw back at whatever frat party you came from. Eyes lazy and half-lidded. Hiccups and inconsolable giggles.
"No," you said, drunken euphoria flooding through your system. "I'm sorry, Mr. Problem, is there an officer?"
"Jesus Christ."
Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose, not entirely sure what to do with you. On one hand, it was his job to take you into the station, take your name down, and rat on you to your parents. Maybe scare you straight with a few nights in a holding cell.
On the other, well, you were a sweet little thing. Drunk and stupid as you may have been, he didn't have the heart to haul you away like a criminal. Girls with pretty faces aren't meant for life behind bars, even if only for a couple of hours. 
"C'mon, let's get you out of here. Step out of the vehicle, please," he ordered weakly, still conflicted. 
You complied, of course, stepping out and stumbling, falling forward. He caught you, letting you hold onto his forearms during your spell of dizziness. 
You stayed in his arms, drunkenly fiddling with the walkie talkie strapped to his shirt while you prattled off whined and pleas.
"Am I in trouble?" you asked while running a hand over his arms. "You're not gonna be a 'cop' about this whole thing, are you?"
He held back a snort, peering down at you. He made no effort to get you off of him, in fact, he rather liked the way you were feeling up on him. His nightly patrol was getting a little boring, and he usually had to deal with violent, dumb-as-hell college guys who drove drunk.
Cute, touchy, drunk, dumb-as-hell college girls were the easier route by far.
"Kinda my job, hon," he replied, struggling to keep a stern tone. "How much did you have to drink tonight?"
"Nothing, I swear," you slurred, shaking your head at him in defense. "Totally sober! Promise!"
Bullshit.
"Yeah, right. 'Nothing' meaning every drink handed to you, I assume?"
"Okay, maybe, but I can drive fine!"
"You almost served into a tree earlier," he deadpanned, placing his hands on your shoulders with an unamused look. 
You giggled right in his face, pressing your warm face against his chest. 
"You're funny."
What the hell was he supposed to do with you now?!
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Once he clicked his bodycam off, he knew he was going to give in. He was only a man, and men are weak. Something about you, how easily the situation was playing out— it was too tempting. It almost felt like a set-up, or maybe that was just his guilt and paranoia acting up.
He wasn't alone in this, his buddies in the force pulled sly shit like this all the time. No harm, no foul, right? You get off scot-free and he gets a little something in return. 
Everyone's happy. 
You definitely sounded happy, squeals and moans falling from your mouth while he bent you over the hood of your car. 
He knew he was wrong for this. He didn't care. It was dark out, chances of someone catching him low. Besides, it was hard to focus on anything other than the wet, warm hole clenching over him. 
"Lower your volume," he warned, pace unsteady and sharp. The hand he had wrapped over one of your thighs tightened its grip, warning you. "You want someone to see you like this?"
He could see the back of your head shake 'no,' and could hear your moans start to muffle themselves with a bite of your bottom lip. 
"Awh, didn't mean t'shut you up," his voice was softer, hand running over your hip apologetically. "Lemme hear you, jus' don't get too loud."
He was already sloppy with how he was fucking you, but when he heard the pathetic cry that you let out, his body was inconsolable. He wasn't in control anymore, he just let himself be led by pure lust. 
He pressed a shaking hand on your lower back, deepening your arch for him. He bullied your cervix's tip, acutely aware of how sensitive it was. This was far deeper than any guy had ever reached for you, way deeper. 
An intense flush of pleasure ran over you while you came. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the risk of it all, or maybe just the hot officer doing it to you, but your orgasm felt much stronger than you had felt any other time. The feeling of his cum landing on your ass and the sound of his deep groans were just the cherry on top of it all. 
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igotanidea · 1 year ago
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Species relationship (Cinnamon rewritten) : werewolf!Jason Todd x werewolf!fem!reader
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Yes, I think this is way better than previous one. :D
***
„Where’s Jason?”
All the batfamily has gathered in the batcave, the only one missing being the wayward son, the black sheep.
“I believe he’s with that girlfriend of his….” Damian muttered with the roll of his eyes.
“Girlfriend?”
“Yes, father… a fellow female…. Ugh… I don’t understand that concept either….”
“Hm.”
“Was it like a good hm or a bad hm?” Dick chimed in. “I swear your grunts are sometimes so hard to decipher, Bruce…..”
“Who is she?”
“We don’t really know…..” Dick threw up his hands “He’s very…. protective over her….”
“Is she…..?” Bruce hesitated. Sometimes it was still hard to admit that werewolves and all the supernatural occurrences to come with it were real. Yes, Bruce had an open mind when it came to technology and reality, but accepting the fact that his second adopted son could transform into a hairy beast was… a lot. However, if there was anyone who could pull that thing off, it was definitely Jason with his 6.0 ft height and 225 Ibs weight.
Imagine the heart attack Bruce would get if it was tiny Damian with such skills…….
“Is she what Bruce?” Dick teased “come on, say it… you can do this….”
“Is she…..a werewolf?” Bruce hissed through clenched teeth.
“Good job, Bruce!” Dick laughed
“She is.” Tim answered, trying to mitigate the situation before someone does something regretful. “A pretty one from what I heard….”
“Who is she Tim?” Bruce turned to his third adopted son.
“How would I know?!”
“You have access to all the Wayne Technology and you’re you. Don’t tell me you haven’t googled her”
“I did no such thing! That would be a gravy invasion of privacy!” Tim made an innocent face that no one bought.
“Hm.”
“What?! I’m serious. You can’t just go and spy on people….werewolves… whatever. “ Tim said it with so much belief that Dick couldn’t help it and burst out laughing.
“Dick.”
“I’m not sorry Bruce. You’re definitely wasting your comedian and acting talent, Tim.”
“I’m being serious. She’s just a girl. A girl who turns into a giant animal every full moon and then sometimes…. It’s not her fault she imprinted Jason…. I won’t be searching for that poor unfortunate soul.”
“Imprinted?” Damian and Bruce asked in unison.
“No.” Dick says sternly. “Just no.”
“But…..”
“You’re too young to hear about it Damian.”
“I’m 11 years old, Grayson!”
“Precisely my point.”
“You will tell me everything……” Damian reached for his katana, but before he could actually do something, Bruce held him back by the cape. “Let me go father…… this is humiliating….”
“You will now go to your room Damian.”
“But….’
“I got some things I need to discuss with your brothers.”
And with those words and Bruce stern expression Dick and Tim knew. They were toasted.
***
 Regardless of what was happening in the batcave, Jason couldn’t care less. He was in fact meeting Y/N, but to say she was his girlfriend or that he imprinted her would be too much. There was something happening between them, but they never really put a tag on it. Besides, the whole concept of finding your soulmate just by looking at them was a false ideology blown by movies like Twilight and Jason scoffed (both internally and externally) every time one of his siblings (or honestly anyone) came as close as even suggesting it.
They felt good with each other, sure, but neither of them were fully convinced whether it was because of the fact that there weren’t really that much werewolves in Gotham and it was nice to have someone to go through the same struggles or whether they liked each other as humans.
Not that they had many opportunities to see one another in that shape.
Werewolf form was… comfortable. It was easier to hide oneself in all that fur and muscle and avoid unnecessary emotions. Being human meant vulnerability, awkwardness and too many words and feelings.
And Jason was not good with feelings. And, to say the truth, he never trusted them.  He was rather used to teasing, deflecting and covering that side with snarky, harsh humor.
At least until he met Y/N.
She was working at the little bakery in Gotham. The only bakery. Maybe that was why it was so easy for Jason to figure out her true identity.
It was not even a challenge considering the fact that as a human, she was always covered in flour and her wolf fur was a mix of tawny and white, almost as if someone sprinkled that ingredient all over her. And what was more, her signature dish was an apple tart with flavoring, and she always smelled of cinnamon. And wolf senses never fails, especially when it comes to nose.
What he didn’t realize what that Y/N was not only a simple baker girl.  And it was amazing what a smart head could do with the access to the Internet and some dot connecting.
Let me repeat: there weren’t many werewolves in Gotham.
For months it was their tradition to meet at the meadow on the outskirts of town to run together or hunt together or just do anything together. He used to swing by her place by the end of her shift, always as a wolf and let her tag along (of course he was not going to admit that he wanted her company. He was an alpha after all. ). So the surprise he felt one day when he showed up at the bakery seeing her as human, not ready for the unwinding was beyond words.
She was just sitting on the threshold of the shop, reading a book, but it was pretty obvious there was something going on in her mind. Again: wolf senses never fails and he could literally smell how distracted she was.
“I know who you are.” She simply said looking straight into his animal eyes.
Jason shook his wolf head. She couldn’t …….
“Jason Todd….”
Whoops.
“Wasn’t really hard to figure.” She shrugs. “You should cut on smoking it’s not good for your health and you reek of cigarettes.” It might have been the first time since they knew each other that he heard her laughing.
The way she acted was… doing something to him. For the hell of it he couldn’t figure why that light reproach made him feel…. Guilty. Chastened. Maybe it was unfair. He knew her identity, maybe he should have told her sooner? It was actually pretty funny that a giant, predatory animal let out a whimper and hung his head in shame in front of a girl, so much smaller than him. It was like at that moment, she got some power over him. A beta!
“Can I?” she asked reaching her hand for his fur and holding back before touching it. Only when he nodded, she tangled her fingers it his silky pelage. “It’s ok, Jason. I know it’s hard to reveal yourself…. Been there, done that… But you’re not alone anymore.” She cooed, caressing his back lightly. “We’re the same kind…..”
In any other circumstances, he would never let anyone touch him like this. But she was… different. The way she talked and comforted him… but surely it was only because of the wolf in her calling to the wolf in him. Kind of a “species relationship”, nothing more.
Definitely nothing more……
So why did he felt the sudden urge to nuzzle her and actually acted on it?
Just a species relationship……
It was month ago and their acquaintance developed.
He learnt that while being a little messy human in her wolf form Y/N was full of grace and gentleness. Acting like one of the Aristocats, even if the werewolves were in fact.. dogs. When she was hunting it was never bloody. She always took care to be clean of the mud, to avoid unnecessary dirt and to choose the nice paths to run in the woods. Each and every of her move were careful, thoughtful and intentional.
Absolutely opposite of Jason who was the perfect definition of running wild and free. But even with her queen-ish attitude she never complained. And he really appreciated that, since Y/N was so different from all the members of his family, who were constantly trying to shape him, tell him what, how, why and when to do (or nor).
With her… he could just be himself.
Just a species relationship.
And after a long night of patrolling he was searching for that freedom he felt with her.
Just like he was doing at that point, escaping the batcave, leaving Bruce, Dick, Tim, Damian and all his Red Hood shit behind, running to the bakery just to spend some time with that beta.
It was purely coincidental that of late she’s been working night shifts, finishing in the very early morning. Her boss found out about the little ailment of her which was hypersensitivity to light. To put it simply, working during the day was nearly impossible for her since she was becoming half-blind, getting clumsy and ashamed of said incapability. But still, she was the best employee, letting her go was not an option, hence the work schedule alteration.
Pretty lucky work schedule alteration.
Pretty lucky work schedule alteration that gave them opportunity to spend some more time together.
But still it was just the species relationship.
Nothing more.    
And his wolf heart definitely did not start beating faster when he saw her turned into that majestic animal, waving her tail awaiting his arrival.  When she senses him approaching she tilted her head playfully, imitating the way she used to do as human when something got her attention and her eyes sparkled.
Jason let out a single howl as a form of greeting. Of course, he had to show off. He was an alpha and had to underline his presence and position. And it scaring the shit out of Y/N’s coworkers came in pair with that, he was more than willing to tease those people a bit. Even if his werewolf female friend shook her head in disapproval and was definitely going to tell him off later.
He knew better. He knew she liked him being like this and her every action was only proving that theory.
However, at the moment they were just looking into each other’s eyes. Two giant animals in the middle of the city, lost in the connection they had. Just a for a second though, because Jason got a bit scared of what Y/N may see in his mind if they were standing like that for too long and started running, signaling her to follow him. 
She just couldn’t ignore the calling of an alpha. Her alpha. It was too strong to disobey so she followed right after him, keeping safe distance to avoid getting hit with the dust he raised. She was a lady after all.
Soon enough, with their speed, they reached the meadow in the forest. Their spot. Their place for relaxation and sleeping after a hard day (night) of work.
Jason just tumbled to the ground not having a care in the world, but Y/N took a few turns to make a proper place for herself and settle down. The sun was about to raise and she needed a spot in the shadows to avoid extensive exposure. Even  if in her wolf form she wasn’t really prone to the light sensitivity, it was a bit of a habit now. Not every human instinct was turned off during transformation.
Unfortunately, the place she choose was too far from Jason for his liking as he raised onto his paws and moved closer to her, laying close enough that if they were humans they would be cuddling. And this time she couldn’t care less about his dirty, messed up fur.
It was Jason.
It was her alpha.
And she was the part of the pack. She had to obey.
Obviously only because of that she let him approach her and lay his head next to her, their noses almost touching, their tails waging happily at the presence and warmth of one another.
Only because of that she felt comfortable and safe enough to close up her eyes and enjoy that fuzzy feeling inside her. 
Only because of that she let him shift his position slightly so that he laid in a way that would give her additional protection from the light. Just in case.
Only because of the pack thing they let their guards down, slowly drifting off to sleep, away from all the people, away from reality, lost in one another. Protected by one another .  
Species relationship, my ass.
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silversainz · 2 years ago
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parking lot activities
Charles leclerc x reader
warnings fluff, fluff, fluff, Google translated french, short :]
"Charles slow down," you gigged as Charles held onto your hand while running around in the parking lot of an now empty store, "I've got small legs you angry man" you yanked onto his arm slowing him down and pulling him into your embrace.
"I'm just too excited love" he cupped your face, his forehead resting against yours. as you felt his breath on your cheek.
"about what?" you asked,
"I don't know honestly. probably because you're here with me for the next two weeks" he gave you a quick kiss and pulled away grabbing onto your hand again.
"look there's an shopping cart" you looked at where be pointed at and then to him, and he looked at you, clearly having the same ideal in your head. you both wasted no time and ran towards the shopping cart. laughing and probably looked like some high schoolers. but you didn't care, only cared about how Charles lifted you up and put you in the cart
"go slow Charles" you looked back at him, an look of mischief in his eyes, "Charles no" he only laughed, and pushed you hard, while hopping onto the back as well.
"goddamn Charles" you screamed out, hands gripping onto the sides of the cart for dear life. as he pushed you away, like some sort of skateboard. but it kinda felt nice, like you two were in highschool again and he would take you out late at night when you two were bored.
a sigh of relief left your lips as you and him came to an stop, but he still hadn't yet stopped laughing "I'm" you glared back at him, to which only made him laugh harder "so sorry love" he walked over to you and pulled you in for a hug while repeatedly apologizing in your ear.
"it's my turn now" he shook his head, and helped you out of the cart "not a chance, you'd try to do something, for payback" you put your hand over your heart offended
"me?, no i would never" he only sighed and hopped into the cart crossing his arms and already looking afraid. you snorted at his petrified face "loosen up love" he gave you the middle finger and with that, you pushed the cart ten times harder than he did which made him scream out like he was getting kidnapped.
"okay, stop, stop! slow down!" You didn't, only pushed him harder again "I can't hear you, what did you say!" you shouted over his screams of help! and stop!
you slowly stopped the cart, laughing as you saw him turn around to look at you "what the hell" he said out of breath "you said you wouldn't go so fast!"
"that's payback" you said and pushed the cart again, "round two" he shook his head rapidly at you, but you choose to ignore that. as you counted down and pushed the cart forward, "oh mamma Mia!" he grabbed onto the sides of the cart while shouting something at you but you couldn't quite make out.
"please stop!" you eventually stopped the cart, leaning over on your knees, stomach clutching in pain as you laughed so hard you thought you were going to pass out from his pure terrified face
"it's not funny!" he exclaimed as he hopped out of the cart, making his way over to you. "I could have died!"
"oh please, you pushed me way harder" you said rolling your eyes at his dramatic words.
"whatever" he muttered out, now standing in front of you, arm wrapped around your waist, peppering your face with kisses. causing you to giggle while pulling away from him.
"okay enough kisses for the night" you felt him pull you back to him, while locking hands with you.
"there's never enough kisses"
y/n_l/n
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it's moments like this I adore, mon amour 💕
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user67 they're adorable your honor
user45 I want what they have
Charles_leclerc ❤️
user89 mom and dad
user90 adopt me
,
y/n_l/n
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charles took these after he nearly killed by pushing me too fast in a shopping cart (last photo is me literally holding onto the floor for dear life :)
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user90 couple goals
user87 they're too adorable your honor
user43 I just want what they have 🥺
Charles_leclerc sorry ❤️
yourusername oh look who it is 🙄
,
charles_leclerc
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she forgave me after an hour of ignoring me
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y/n_l/n yeah, yeah, yeah. I can't stay mad at you for too Long ❤️🙄
user7 god I'm so single
user5 they're perfect for each other
user20 oh get married already
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inklore · 1 year ago
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—🍊. 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐔'𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓
this is not a writing challenge, this is just a list of summer au's that have been collecting dust in my google docs that i'm both sick of looking at, and also feel like for those who also really enjoy writing summery fics, could always use more inspiration or ideas for au's or scenario's (even if it's just smutty or fluffy blurbs).
please make note that anyone can use these for any fandom or character. it's literally for everyone, for whatever ship, gender, or verse. no one owns au's and everyone makes them their own and writes differently. so please do with the content below as you wish!!
you don't gotta tag me if you use one but would i love to read your beautiful work? hell yeah so feel free to if ya feel like it.
i separated each into categories + some might have added context or prompts because i have zero self control and like to be extra and add ideas onto things lmao.
hopefully someone finds these fun and helpful, happy writing my loves <3
LOCATION.
beach
ocean
ice cream parlor
lake town
ranch
summer camp
summer school
island
boat
fishing town
resort
the woods
national park
public pool
destination wedding
renaissance fair
lake house
bar
theme park
capecod
italy
winery / vinyards
country club
cruise ship
concert
RELATIONSHIP BASED.
brothers best friend ('unfortunately' spending the summer with your family)
neighbors au
exes back for the summer
bodyguard au (character a has to follow around reader whose some princess/rich girl on a vacation, bonus points if she's supposed to be on lockdown but refuses to stay at the hotel, even more bonus points if her parents sent her on this vacation as a rehabilitation for her bad habits)
best friends dad (you're spending the summer with your bestie and god her dads hot as hell)
mermaid x human
frat boy x good girl (last minute studying together before summer break, or maybe the frat is throwing a big grad party and reader decides to let loose for the first time in forever)
frat boy x sorority girl (it's giving rich hoes who can't stand each other who get caught doing something and have to do community service with each other alllll summerrrrr long, can you think of anything worse?!)
sitcom stars (they're both on some summer love show but fall for each other instead, or you're two celebs supposed to be fake dating on some mtv drama show in palm springs but you actually fall for each other)
park ranger x someone who thought going camping alone would be fun but oh shit i know nothing about the wilderness au
ex-best friends ex (a summer love but put revenge and 'we're only fucking because this friend screwed me over and it'll really show them' au anyone??)
lifeguard x parent au (or you saved my life let me repay you wink wink)
dads best friend
house sitter x house owner (or neighbor, or family member who came home early and wtf are you doing here and who are you?? or even the old i asked the neighbor to watch our house but also my wife wink wink)
babysitter who tags along on vacation with the family au
fake dating (for the summer)
friends to lovers was made for summer au's!!!
superhero x vigilante (nightly meet ups to keep the streets safe)
friends with benefits but only for the summer au
painter x muse
body found on beach x person who found them (+ the added bonus of the two of them working together to figure out wtf happened and how they got there)
sugar baby x sugar whathaveyou (free vacation? hell yeah)
roommates (renting a room for summer what could go wrong)
tour guide / local x tourist
camp counselor x parent of camper
friend group on a drama filled vacay au
the only single people at this resort for couples au
sad housewife x pool boy
DARK THEMED.
cult au
slasher au
hitchhiking gone wrong (or right)
monster au (summer is the perfect time to go exploring for the monster in the woods or the lake, ocean even, obviously)
haunted house au
ghost hunting au
hunter x prey (bonus points if they don't know they're being hunted until it's too late)
safe house au (gone wrong)
kidnapping au (it's giving 365 days but less shitty ok)
stranded au (on an island, in a creepy town, etc)
bestie's trip gone wrong au (the innocent looking guys at the pool who are gorgeous are actually super shitty and deadly omg, or the couple in the hotel room next to us are insane wow, or someone is killing us off...but it's someone within the friend group)
stuck in an abandoned amusement park au
INSPIRED BY.
grease au
dirty dancing au
x au (70s-80s pornstars au + added slasher element if ya wanna make it dark)
daisy jones & the six / rocker au (summer tour anyone?)
the white lotus (cheating au?? a couple hoping a vacation will fix their marriage, maybe even the whole shitty husband leaves you there and you fall for one of the resort workers)
50 first dates au (but make it 'i bet i can make you fall in love with me by the end of summer)
jurassic park au
i know what you did last summer au
friday the 13th au
the final girls au (aka you end up in your favorite movie and have to find your way out with a side of 'oh shit there's my fav character what if i stayed and made them fall in love with me instead', or go full final girls au and you're stuck in a cult horror movie and have to survive the night to get out of it)
outer banks / goonies au
schitt's creek au
romeo and juliet (1996) au
mama mia au (the prequeal tho aka boning a bunch of people and omg i'm pregnant who is the baby daddy tho??)
overboard au
OCCUPATIONS.
naturalist
farmers market vender
dog walker / dog sitter
dive bar singer
surfer
swim instructor
vet
journalist
camp counselor
author
cowboy
undercover pi
contractor
car wash attendant
lifeguard
gardener / landscaper
summer intern
tour guide
tutor
nanny
theme park owner
bartender
house sitter
summer farmhand
golf course caddy
sign-holder
movie theatre worker
uber driver
wedding photographer
hotel receptionist
RANDOM.
heatwave (how ever will we stay cool?)
shipwreck / stranded on an island au
rainstorm / hurricane au (stuck inside oh no what will we do??)
love triangle that shit
matchmaking au
love letters in a bottle au
drunken karaoke
kissing in the rain is top tier
workaholic letting loose au
(illegal) car racing au
road trip au
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romanarose · 1 year ago
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If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 4
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Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia
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Summary: Javier confronts Santi, but Candy has Santi's back; we get a little insight into Santi's childhood and what makes him this way.
Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it.
For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.
Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.
Reader speaks Spanish and had hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.
ADDITIONAL WARNING!: I'm adding implied covert incest to the warnings. If you don't know what it is, it's NOT the same as physical/sexual, its where the child has a relationship with a parent that is more like spouses than parent/child. I'll leave more to google. In the context of this fic, Santi's mom parentified Santi, made him the "man of the house", treated him like a husband and relied on him to help pay bills.
Thank you as always to my beloved Fen <3 I couldn't do this without your encouragement.
A short 1.8 words
Support writers! Reblog and comment!
**************
“GARCIA!” Javi chased after the young man, running down the stairs. Santi moved fast with his youth, but Javi’s longer legs gained an advantage, skipping stairs and eventually catching Santi and slamming him against the wall.
“I’m sorry!”
“You’re damn right you are! How did you get her number?”
“Your book!”
“You’re going through my shit, Garcia?”
Candy’s voice rang at the top of the stairs, her robe and wild curls flowing as she transcended down the stairs. “Let him go!” 
Javi backed up, letting go of Santi’s shirt with a shove. “You stay the hell away from her!” He said to Santiago.
“Excuse me?” Candy stood in front of Santi, crossing her arms over her robe to protect her modesty, for whatever that was worth. “He is my client, and if he wants to see me, he can see me! You don’t own me!”
Jaci sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose with a huff. “That’s not what I meant. He’s a DEA agent-”
“And you aren’t?”
“He’s not going to be careful! Candy, you sleep with dangerous men, men we are after! If he’s not subtle, you both end up dead!”
“And screaming out his name in my stairwell is being subtle?” 
Javi didn’t have a response, chewing on his cheeks and Santi tried to excuse himself. “I’m just, I’m going to go.” But Candy caught his hand. 
“Santi, sweetheart, it’s okay, we can go back upstairs. You paid me, sweetie.”
He was still avoidant. “No, it’s okay, I reserved the time, I-I’ll just go… yeah- fuck,” he shook his head and tried to go.
Santi pulled away again, but Candy held on: tight but gentle. 
Javi tried to nudge him on. “Go on out of here-”
“I’m sorry-” Santi tried to apologize to the floor when the door opened, and an old woman in a black lace vale shuffled in.
Candy dropped Santi’s hand in favor of wrapping her robe better. “Hola, Señora Perez.”
The old woman eyes Santi and Javi, then looks at Candy. “You alright here, mija?”
With a soft smile, Candy assures her. “Si, Señora, gracias. El,” She nodded to Javi with a glare. “él se va.”
Señora Perez nodded, placing a withered hand on Candy’s shoulder and turning her away from the two boys. “Mija, have I ever told you about my grandson?”
Candy held back a laugh. “No, Señora.”
“He’s a nice young man, a church going boy.” She touched the cross around her neck. “If I may offer some advice, I would suggest you find some different company.” She glanced at Santi and Javi who both avoided her eyes, then back to Candy’s expensive, flowing robe. “And perhaps some more clothes.” Señora Perez patted Candy’s shoulder and moved on towards her door.
Candy muttered “Garcias, Senora” and everyone waited in silence until her apartment door was closed before Candy turned to Santi, as soothing as ever. “Would you like to come back upstairs with me?”
Santi seemed to be considering it when Javier butted in. “Garcia, don’t you fucking-”
“Enough! You are not in charge of him!” Candy shouted before grabbing Javi’s arm and pulling him out the front door and closing it behind her. “What are you doing?” She asked, unsure why Javi was acting this way. 
But Javi didn’t know himself. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew she saw other men. Hell, he saw plenty of other women himself. Was it that he saw Candy with another man? Was it that the man was Santi? Or was it what he was claiming, that Santiago couldn’t be careful, that he couldn’t protect her? Yeah that was it. It certainly wasn’t the bubbling jealous at the idea that Santi was fucking her, holding her, that she kissed his plush lips- uh, that he kissed her plush lips. No, Javier Peña was jealous. 
Instead of divulging all this, Javi diverted. “What are you doing with him? He’s just a kid.”
She scoffed at him. “He’s 25, plenty old enough.”
“Yeah, old enough to get sex from bars, or a nice girlfriend not-” Javi stopped, but it was too late.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “A prostitute? You can say it, Javi. I’m aware of my job title.” 
“Candy, baby, that’s not what I meant-”
Candy rolled her eyes, her hand reaching for the door. “Call me whenever, Javi, but you leave that boy alone.”
She opened the door and Javi only got a peak at Santi, connecting eyes before the door shut in Javi’s face as he took a step forward.
*
Santi watched as Javi walked towards the door, and when it shut he was certain Javi would open it… but he didn’t, and eventually the sound of descending footsteps signaled he left.
“Santiago? Can I call you that now?” She asked as she approached him carefully, with that soft smile that always put Santi at ease. Santi kept looking at the door. “I knew that was your name, before. Knew you worked for the DEA, didn’t know you were Javi’s partner.”
Finally, Santi turned toward her. “Can we not talk about him?”
“Sure. Would you like to go back upstairs with me?” Candy extended her hand that Santi took. She smiled wider. “Let’s go, handsome.”
As they ascended the stairs, Santi’s nerves were through the roof. He felt guilt, like he’d been caught. Santi never got caught before, because he’s never done anything wrong. The pressure from such a young age to be good, to do right, to be the man of the house… it carried over. Santi got his first job at 8 with a paper route he held for years until he found a less than legal job at 13 in a kitchen. The job had so many health code violations and safety hazards, Santi’s arms and legs were burned and cut with scars he now passed off as from the military. He had wounds from there too, but that was primarily the scar down his neck from the bullet that almost killed him, and a few in the chest that went straight through. Frankie said the 4th bullet you don’t even really notice anymore. Santi’s fourth bullet he didn’t feel because he thought he was dead.
All his life he’d needed to do right. His older sister, she was the problem child, the one causing mami problems… Santi loved her too. Elena had her own troubles, their father leaving severely affected her and she sought out that healing from men way too old for her. By the time she entered college, she was a full blown feminist and was teaching Santi all she knew. For his sister’s part, Elena was insistent that Santi be a good man. He learned a lot of valuable lessons about consent and how to treat a woman, not that he had much opportunity to use it.
Santi had become the man of the house when their dad left, his mother treating him like a husband some days. She called him her esposito; her little husband. She’d stay up late at night with him on the couch talking, talking to him about how his father did her wrong, her troubles at work or church… Sometimes it made him feel special, but often it just made him feel worried. He felt like all the problems were his to fix. Elena got into college on scholarship. She’d been a part of a women’s group and had worked hard to save up… Every dime Santi made in his youth went to his mom, so when it came time for adulthood, he couldn’t afford the luxury of college. Santi enlisted in the army at 17, sending home chunks of his paycheck to his mom until the day she died.
The pressure to be good, to be right, to never mess up even the slightest… it manifested in anxiety that Santiago pushed down and down and down… it was bubbling up right now, gurgling in his stomach and in the bile at his throat.
Mami would not approve. She was violently against Elena’s premarital sex, and had told him he could not be like her. God forbid she knew he was seeing a prostitute. Did she know? Was she watching him? Did she know of all the meet ups they'd had this month? Elena wouldn’t approve either, she thought prostitution was degrading to women and that men that sought out prostitutes were objectifying them… this act with Candy was desecrating the two opinions he valued most.
But he didn’t want to stop.
“Do you want to have sex, or would you rather just talk?”
Santi turned to her, confused at that statement. “I thought… do you…”
Her smile changed from soft and assuring to bright and joyful. “Talk? Yes Santiago I can do more than suck dick.”
Panic swept through him. He didn’t want her to think of him like that. She was special to him. He wasn’t stupid, he knew they weren’t dating, but he didn’t just value her for her body. “No! Oh god no, Candy I don’t think of you like that, fuck- you’re- I”
“Santiago.” She placed her comforting hands on his shoulder, a hunt of worry in her eyes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just teasing you. Breathe, can you do that for me? In your nose, out your mouth…”
Santi did as she said, and slowly calmed down. “I’m sorry, I just…” When she cocked an eyebrow in concern again, Santi collected his thoughts better. “I enjoy your company. P-physical or not.”
Her reassuring smile was back. “Well I’m glad. I enjoy yours too.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No I’m not.” She frowned ever-so slightly, but unlike his mother he didn’t automatically feel like the frown was his fault or his problem to fix. “Santiago…” Candy took his hand, leading him to the small loveseat and sitting down. “I have a lot of different kinds of men here. I hope that isn’t shocking to say, but I do.” With a gentle nudge to his shoulder, Santi smiled again. “You’d be surprised how many men just want to talk. It’s a lot of them. Before or after sex, but sometimes that’s all we do. I like talking to them, getting to know them. And Santi?” She kissed his cheek and giggled at the tickle of his mustache. “I like getting to know you.”
So Santi stayed there with Candy curled up and lying against his chest on the love seat, just talking. She calmed him. He liked being with her, just being. He knew it was an act, at least part of it. She was paid to be here… but Santi couldn’t help feeling for her, wanting to be with her… With Candy, Santi felt like he could actually be himself, he could be that version of himself he was with Frankie, Benny, Will, and slowly but surely Javi, even if today set him back. Fuck, what was Javi going to say at work tomorrow? Would he yell at him again, get him fired for soliciting prostitutes or for going through his things, would he request a new partner- Santi’s finger wrapped around one of Candy’s curls, carefully letting the lock slip through his fingers as to not to mess them up… he found himself grounded again. That could wait until tomorrow. Candy mattered now.
*******************
Check out the playlist!!! Lots of fleetwood mac and eagles!
Prescious baby Santi <3
Now tell me...
please tell me why in the comments and reblogs! I love to here your thoughts on who had better chemistry, who would work better, who needs to work on themselves etc bc they both got their issues, Javi is a sad slut and Santi is a sad baby.
Thank you so so much for reading!!!
And I want to add, to all my readers effect by the war, whether you or your family or friends, I'm praying for your safety. I don't know how much that means to you, but it's what I have <3
@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings@whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolboo @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @axshadows @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleur @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleitte @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @nanfafnan @kirsteng42
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rhaenyratargcryen · 3 months ago
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i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | wolverine
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masterlist ❈
summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!
pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned
18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!
title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"
It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.
You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.
The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.
Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man.
Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.
He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 
This man will not take a fucking hint. 
He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”
You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.
From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”
“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”
The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.
“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.
“What’s your problem?”
“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”
You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 
“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”
Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”
He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”
Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.
“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.
“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”
Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.
Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.
“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”
“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”
“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”
“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”
“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”
“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”
Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.
“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”
You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.
“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”
“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.
Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”
“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”
“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”
You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 
“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”
He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.
“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”
Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”
“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 
He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.
”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”
Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?
You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 
“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”
You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.
“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”
“And if I don’t want to go?”
Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”
You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.
You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.
“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”
“Call it gut instinct.”
“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It felt good.”
The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.
Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.
“What is this place?”
Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.
“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.
Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”
“Charles?”
“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”
Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”
Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”
You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.
“I heal pretty fast, too.”
Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.
“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.
“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”
The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.
“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”
“I — I guess?”
“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.
“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”
He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.
“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”
A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.
“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”
“And we’re safe here?”
“Yes.”
Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.
The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.
“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”
“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”
You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.
It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.
You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 
“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”
“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”
Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”
Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”
“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”
Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.
“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”
You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.
“Logan?”
The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”
“Why are you helping me?”
What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?
He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”
The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.
“Can we stop, for today?”
You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.
“What, can’t handle it already?”
You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.
Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.
You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.
“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 
And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.
You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.
He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.
You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.
Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.
“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”
Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.
“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”
As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.
By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.
Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 
Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.
Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.
“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”
Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.
“Well, well.”
You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.
“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”
“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”
You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.
“Lemme get you some ice.”
You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.
“What are you down here for anyway?”
“Same thing as you, I think.”
Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 
You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.
The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.
“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”
“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”
You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”
Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.
“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”
“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.
“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”
He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.
You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.
Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 
Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.
Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.
“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”
“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”
Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.
“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”
Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.
“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”
You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.
The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.
Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.
“Is that really what you want?”
It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 
You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 
“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you.”
Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”
“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”
Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”
“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.
“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 
“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”
He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 
“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”
As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.
“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”
He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”
Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.
“Feels good?”
You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”
You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.
“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”
You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”
“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”
Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 
“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”
Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.
Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.
Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.
“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”
You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.
He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.
“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”
The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”
“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.
Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.
“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.
“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”
The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”
You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.
Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 
Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 
“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”
“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”
“Please put your mouth on me.”
“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”
“Want you to fuck me.”
“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”
You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”
Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.
“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.
Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 
“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”
You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 
He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.
Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 
You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”
Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.
One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”
“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”
Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”
Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”
“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”
You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.
“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”
Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.
“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”
“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”
Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”
Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.
“You got a condom?”
“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”
Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”
“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”
You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.
“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”
Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 
“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”
Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.
Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”
His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.
“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 
“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”
“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 
“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”
“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.
Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.
His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.
His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 
You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.
“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”
You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”
At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.
“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”
He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.
He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.
“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”
“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”
He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.
You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.
He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.
“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”
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lucky-clover-gazette · 2 months ago
Text
kings rising highlights & annotations
chapter 14
indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!
also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!
i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.
this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.
Because he couldn't put Jokaste in a sack and carry her bodily across the border into Kastor’s territory, the journey presented certain logistical challenges.
In order to justify two wagons and an entourage, they would be pretending to be cloth merchants. This disguise was not going to stand up to any serious scrutiny.
well, actually...
Laurent wandered in and outlined a plan so outrageous that Damen had said yes with the feeling that his mind was splitting apart.
i’ve said the thing about laurent and tabletop rpgs before but UGH. he’d be living his best life
Jord who had won short sword, Lydos of the trident, Aktis the spear thrower, the young, triple-crowned Pallas, Lazar, who had whistled at him,
i like how everyone has qualifications except for lazar, whose identifying quality is that he is gay
Laurent’s addition to the expedition was Paschal, and Damen tried not to think too deeply about the reasons why Laurent thought it necessary to bring a physician.
LMAOOOOO
And if the worst happened, Guion’s testimony had the potential to bring down the Regency. Laurent had said all of this succinctly, and told Guion, in a pleasant voice, ‘Your wife can chaperone Jokaste on the journey.’
wait does damen not even know what the testimony is? iirc guion told it to laurent off the page, after the chair scene. is it the thing about the regent killing the former king, or was that paschal’s piece of the trial? do both of them say it? whatever, the trial stuff is fun but i’m not that determined to work it all out ahead of time. it was a lot more rewarding to that with laurent’s perspective, especially earlier on, but ehhhh here i’m going to take it easy
Guion had understood more quickly than Damen.
shocking (sorry damen)
‘I see. My wife is the leverage for my good behaviour?’ ‘That’s right,’ said Laurent.
when does loyse talk to laurent? does she ever, or does she just speak at the trial uncalled for? guess we’ll see and i’ll trace back what i think probably led to it
Damen watched from a second-storey window as they gathered in the courtyard: two wagons, two noblewomen, and twelve soldiers of whom ten were soldiers and two were Guion and Paschal in metal hats.
He was waiting for Laurent to arrive in order to discuss the finer points of his ridiculous plan.
Laurent was standing in the doorway wearing a chiton of unadorned white cotton. Damen dropped the pitcher. It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor. Laurent’s arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him. ‘You’re wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Damen. ‘Everyone’s wearing Akielon clothing,’ said Laurent. Damen thought that the pitcher had shattered and he could not now take a deep draught of the wine. Laurent came forward, navigating the broken ceramic in his short cotton and sandalled feet, until he reached the seat beside Damen, where the map was laid out on the wooden table. ‘Once we know the rotation of the patrols, we’ll know when to approach,’ said Laurent. Laurent sat down. ‘We need to approach at the beginning of their rotation in order to give us the most time before they report back to the fort.’ It was even shorter sitting down. ‘Damen.’ ‘Yes. Sorry,’ said Damen. And then: ‘What were you saying?’ ‘The patrols,’ said Laurent.
damen can you PLEASE focus.
(this is part of why the baby thing doesn’t work for me. if this is a lighter comedy interlude, why is the baby meant to be understood as a dire, war-altering problem? and if it is a serious dire situation, why are we getting this moment straight out of a fanfic? i know damen is horny despite the horrors and it’s a treat for the reader, but i guess i’m just built different because this moment really does not do anything for me. although to be fair i think that’s partially just because i’m apparently sensitive to instances of laurent being reduced to his body and sexuality, or at least in a way that he is not aware of—see my chapter 12 analysis for the most blatant example. reminds me of the time last week that my mom said on the phone “you only want people to like you on your own terms,” which is a very accurate and damning statement tbh)
They had only twelve soldiers. Twelve-ish, amended Damen, thinking of Paschal and Guion.
AGAIN?? brutal. also i like the “ish,” it’s a little anachronistic and very charming
Vannes could handle Makedon, Laurent said.
i want more laurent and vannes interaction…
The soldiers only needed to know their own roles in the enterprise, and Damen’s briefing to them was short. But Nikandros was his friend, and he deserved to know how they would get across the border. So he told him Laurent’s plan.
honestly damen i think it would be a mercy not to tell him
‘It’s dishonourable,’ said Nikandros.
nikandros private twitter complaint #13. also akielions don't know what "honor" means
‘I wish to restate my strong objection,’ said Nikandros. ‘It’s noted,’ said Damen.
and there's #14
the awkward mien of his own soldiers, who had had to be schooled multiple times not to call him ‘Exalted’
clearly they did not attend the lamen school of committing to the bit
‘Your reports are wrong. The Lady Jokaste is in that wagon.’ There was a pause. ‘In that wagon.’ ‘That’s right.’ Another pause. Damen, who was telling the truth, looked back at the Captain with the steady gaze he had learned from Laurent. It didn’t work. ‘I���m sure the Lady Jokaste won’t mind answering a few questions.’
he rolled like a 9 for persuasion
He was red-faced and sweating slightly. ‘At the Lady’s request, I will ride with you personally through the last of the checkpoints, to ensure that you are not stopped again.’ ‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Damen, with great dignity.
i love that pacat didn’t tell us what the plan was, so we could worry for a second that they'd already failed. and then, this
‘The stories of Lady Jokaste’s beauty are not exaggerated,’ said the Captain, man-to-man, as they wound their way across the countryside. ‘I expect you to speak of the Lady Jokaste with the greatest respect, Captain,’ said Damen. ‘Yes, of course, my apologies,’ said the Captain.
“that’s my fucking DIVORCE HUSBAND”
He said, ‘How did you convince Jokaste to play along with the guards?’ ‘I didn’t,’ said Laurent. He tossed the wad of blue silk in his hands to one of the soldiers to dispose of, then shrugged into his jacket in a rather mannish gesture. Nikandros was staring at him. ‘Don’t think about it too much,’ said Damen.
i love the way “mannish gesture” is specified. like he can do both. good for him.
(this is sooooo botw/totk link. anyway)
Laurent held out his hand to escort her back from the supply wagon into the main wagon, a bored Veretian gesture. Her eyes had the same bored look as she took his hand. ‘You’re lucky we’re alike,’ she said, stepping down. They looked at one another like two reptiles.
they should be best friends
‘Keep the wagons on course,’ Damen said to Nikandros. ‘I’ll be swift, and I’ll take our best rider with me.’ ‘That’s me,’ said Laurent, wheeling his horse.
“and our horses are canonically in love. just in case you’ve forgotten”
Sweeping a branch out of his face, Damen said, ‘I thought when I was King I wouldn’t be doing this kind of thing again.’ ‘You underestimated the demands of Akielon kingship,’ said Laurent.
i love prince's gambit
‘The undergrowth was thinner when I was a boy.’ ‘Or you were.’
did laurent just call him thicc
‘Stop,’ said Laurent. Damen stopped. Following Laurent’s gaze, he saw a dog lounging on its chain near a small penned field full of horses on the west side of the estate.
me when i want to pet a dog
‘I’ll take care of the sentries,’ said Laurent. ‘You left the dress in the wagon,’ said Damen. ‘Thank you, I do have other ways of getting past a sentry.’
The light through the trees dappled Laurent’s hair, which was longer now than it had been in the palace, and showing signs of minor disarray. It had a twig in it.
how dare that twig mess with laurent’s gorgeous hair!!!
There was no sign of a blond head, but somehow the dog got loose and went streaking through the yard to where the unfamiliar horses were penned.
dog = pet
The spasming excitement of the dog egged them on. As did the sylph-like actions of a ghost, untying ropes, slipping open rails.
laurent is an animal whisperer. that’s a personal headcanon of mine
They probably felt they had the most to lose, but in fact everyone would lose the same thing: their lives. Everyone but Jokaste. She only said, mildly, ‘Trouble at Heston’s?’
i love jokaste. spinoff please
And then he saw the pale head, and the paler white shirt, a lithe figure palming his way from tree trunk to tree trunk. ‘You’re late,’ said Damen. ‘I brought you a souvenir.’ Laurent tossed Damen an apricot. Damen could feel the quiet exultation of Laurent’s men, while the Akielons looked a little dazed. Nikandros passed Laurent his reins. ‘Is this how you do things in Vere?’ ‘You mean effectively?’ said Laurent. And swung up onto his horse.
i’m sad that this series is best known for being horny because i am infinitely more interested in laurent being a snarky action hero than i am in him having sex. and i think lots of other people would be too
Risk of laming was high
i read that as “lamen-ing” at first
Earlier, Laurent had tossed Damen his bedroll and said, ‘Unpack this,’ and Pallas had almost challenged him to a duel for the insult.
Sitting down and eating cheese casually with their King was not something that they knew how to do.
i cannot believe people in the fandom would apparently rather live in akielos than in vere. in akielos, you’re not allowed to acknowledge the humanity of people beneath your class, which as far as i can tell is determined by birth. in vere, people like jord and laurent are homies who mutually respect each other, and you can social climb your way to the high court by giving good head
Laurent strolled up to the impasse, threw himself down on the log next to Damen, and in an expressionless voice launched into the story of the brothel adventure that had earned him the blue dress, which was so unabashedly filthy it made Lazar blush, and so funny it had Pallas wiping his eyes.
i love laurent of vere
‘You smell of horse,’ said Damen. ‘It’s how I got past the dog.’ He felt a throb of happiness, and said nothing, just lay on his back and looked up at the stars. ‘It’s like old times,’ said Damen, though the truth was, he had never really had times like this.
damen are you forgetting prince’s gambit again
‘My first trip to Akielos,’ said Laurent. ‘Do you like it?’ ‘It’s like Vere, with fewer places to have a bath,’ said Laurent.
yeah i’m sure that’s not the sum of his thoughts, but he’s trying to take it easy
‘You want me wandering around the Akielon countryside naked at night?’ And then, ‘You smell just as much of horse as I do.’ ‘More,’ said Damen. He was smiling.
laurent: if you want me to get naked you’re going to have to do it too damen: bet
‘They’re Artesian. Aren’t they? From the old empire, Artes. They say it used to span both our countries.’ ‘Like the ruins at Acquitart,’ said Laurent. He didn’t say, And at Marlas. ‘My brother and I used to play there as boys. Kill all the Akielons and restore the old empire.’ ‘My father had the same idea.’ And look what happened to him. Laurent didn’t say that either.
you just know child laurent used history books and his imagination to construct a sophisticated and complex narrative for him and auguste to play-act
His pulse beat with uncharacteristic nerves, so that he felt almost shy. ‘When all this is over . . . we could take horses and stay a week in the palace.’ Since their night together in Karthas, he hadn’t dared to speak about the future. He felt Laurent holding himself carefully, and there was a strange pause. After a moment, Laurent said, softly, ‘I’d like that.’ Damen rolled onto his back again, and felt the words like happiness as he let himself look up again at the wide sweep of stars.
i think it’s sweet how nervous and awkward they are about admitting the desire to do something this simple, when they’ve had the most complicated and intensely intimate relationship i’ve ever read in fiction
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bellaireland1981 · 2 years ago
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Starting Over | 6
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Summary: You come home to work to find your husband of three years in bed with your supposed best friend. It’s the wake up call you finally needed to take your two year old daughter and get the hell out of Texas. With nowhere to go you head to your big brother in San Diego. The sagger squad takes you under their wings, and shows you what having a family means. You get a fresh start… will you find your happily ever after?
Characters: Jake “hangman” Seresin x Sister! Reader, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Seresin! Reader (Eventually), Hangman x Phoenix (eventually) , Adorable OC Gracie!   The Dagger squad
Word Count: 3041 - shorter chapter but didn’t wanna leave y’all hanging!
Warnings: Angst, fighting, cheating husband, emotional abuse, eventual fluff, smut in later chapters, Sweet uncle Jake, Adorable Rooster with a toddler… if I miss any please let me know.
A/N: I don’t own the characters or storyline for Top Gun Maverick. All OC’s are mine. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR ANYONE TO COPY OR REPOST MY WORK TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM! DON’T STEAL! Reblogs, likes and comments ALWAYS welcomed. THANK YOU @waywardodysseys​ and  @beyondthesefourwalls​ as always for reading over my work and helping me flush out ideas!!
Taglist is open! If I missed anyone who asked to be tagged, please fill out this GOOGLE FORM  to be added. It’s getting to hard to keep track of asks.
CH 1  CH 2  CH 3  Ch 4  Ch 5
Jake came flying out of the house, Nat hot on his heels. They both ran down to where Bradley was already positioning himself in between you and Trent, who had decided to get brave and get out of the car.
“Tulip, go inside with Phoenix and call the police.” Jake said, “The bastard isn’t getting past us.”
You were shaking as Bradley helped you out of the Bronco, Nat close by to get you into the house.
“It’s ok, Baby.” Bradley said, kissing your forehead, “Nothing is going to happen, go with Nix.”
“Well isn’t this a cozy little scene.” Trent drawled, coming towards the group. Bradley and Jake immediately shifted to block his path to you. “You get all high and mighty about me hooking up with Steph, and here you are running off to whore yourself out leaving big brother to take care of the brat.”
Bradley lunged towards Trent ready to tear him apart, but Jake held him back, needing to keep Trent from getting close to you.
“Shut your fucking mouth you worthless piece of shit.” Jake said, “Y/N, go inside with Nix.”
You let Phoenix guide you inside, keeping your eyes locked on the ground, focusing on getting inside and to your daughter.
Once you were safely inside Jake and Bradley turned their full attention on Trent.
“I came here to collect what’s mine.” Trent said, bowing up against the two men. “I’ve had enough of that bitch sister of yours and her tantrum. She’s my wife and will be comin’ home with me.”
“If you keep running your mouth and speaking disrespectually towards Y/N, I’ll be putting my fist through your face, you piece of shit.” Bradley said, “Then Jake will finish off what’s left of you. So I suggest you listen to what’s going to happen.”
“I don’t have to listen to anything you limp dick jet jockies have to say.” Trent spewed, “I’ve got a marriage license that says I can do whatever the fuck I want with that little Bitch.”
Without warning, Jake drew his fist back and sent it flying into Trent’s face, causing the man’s head to snap back with the impact. Blood instnatly started to flow from his nose that had obviously just been broken.
“Well, we did try to warn you.” Bradley said, shrugging  “Are you ready to listen now?”
“There’s a court order of protection that you are in violation of.” Jake said, getting right into Trent’s face, “You aren’t allowed within 500 feet of my sister or my niece. The police are on their way, so we’ve got a few minutes to set you straight on some things. First of all, when your sorry ass gets released from jail, where you are 100% going tonight, you are going to take your ass back to Texas. You’re going to contact your lawyer and tell him you agree to whatever terms Y/N has in the divorce papers and you’re going to fucking sign them. In addition to giving her what she wants in the divorce, you’re going to sign off any parental rights you have to Gracie. You are going to forget you ever met my sister, married her and had a baby with her. You get zero rights to my niece. Are we clear?”
“And what if I don’t?” Trent had the bad sense to ask. “I’ve got access to money and can afford to keep this going in court indefinitly. Y/N is just poor trash from the wrong side of the tracks. Alcoholic abusive father and a useless mother… nobody’s gonna help her out.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Bradley said, “She’s got a lot of people behind her. She has unlimited resources and a stronger force backing her. Most importantly, if you don’t agree to the terms that Jake laid out, we will absolutely use the remaining time we have before the police get here to…convince you that our terms are your best option.”
“I’ll have you arrested for assult.” Trent said, fear now creeping into this voice. “I’ll sue you both and go after your fucking careers.”
“You can try.” Jake said, “But we’ve got connections pretty high up on the chain of command that take exception to pond scum dickless assholes that terrorize women and children. And the ‘assult’ you incurred tonight? I’d say that’s just self-defense, wouldn’t you Rooster?”
“Oh, definitely, Hangman.” He replied, “I saw him go after Y/N then you. You were defending yourself and your sister. I’d say he’s a direct threat to Gracie too.”
“Tick-Toc, Asshole.” Jake said, “It’s decision time. What’s it gonna be?”
Trent lunged at Jake, swinging and missing. Bradley grabbed him from behind, yanking his arms and pulling them up and behind his back at a painful angle. He yelped in pain, but still struggled against him.
Jake took the opportunity to drive a solid, strong punch into the man’s middle, knocking the air completely from his lungs and causing him to drop. Bradley used the forward momentum to faceplant him into the ground, keeping his arms secured behind his back and kneeled down to place a knee in his back, effectively subduing him.
“Not a wise choice, Trent.” Jake said, “Have a change of heart yet?”
“Fuck you” he weezed.
“From what I’ve heard from Tulip you don’t have the equipment to do any fucking…” Jake laughed, humorlessly.
Phoenix stepped out onto the front porch taking in the scene and making sure they don’t need backup.
“Police should be here shortly.” She called down, “Mav and the squad are also enroute.”
“Oh, did you hear that you spineless piece of shit?” Bradley asked, “The calvery is on their way. Who do you think will make it here first, Jake?”
“My money’s on our squad.” he replied, “Family always steps up when you need them.”
“I agree.” Bradley said, “They’ll be coming in hot and ready to neutralize any threat.”
“Are you a threat, Trent?” Jake asked.
“I’ll sign the fucking papers.” He said, “The bitch isn’t worth the fucking effort. Neither is the little bastard girl.”
Bradley “accidently” slipped, his weight digging into Trent’s back, causing him to cry out in pain, his arm now essentially being wrenched out of socket by the pressure and unnatural angle it was being held in.
“Oops, my bad.” He said, “Foot slipped.”
Jake laughed, “Careful, Rooster. I’d hate for this man to accidently end up with any more broken bones. It would be such a shame.”
“As much fun as you two are having down there.” Phoenix said, “Y/N could use one of you inside and Gracie woke up.”
“Shit.” Bradley said, “Go on, Man. I’ve got him.”
“It���s probably better if it’s you, Rooster.” He said, “I’ll talk to the cops when they get here.”
“Are you sure?” He asked, not wanting to get in the way, knowing how protective Jake was of his sister, but also dying to get in there to hold you.
“Go.” Jake replied, smiling when he saw how antsy Bradley was to get to you. “I’ve got it. I hear sirens anyway and I’m sure the Mav and the others will be here soon. Phoenix, can you make sure Gracie is ok?”
“Absolutely.” She replied, turning to go back into the house. Bradley thanked Jake and bounded up the walk, taking the steps two at a time.
Inside, Phoenix let him know you and Gracie were in your room. She followed him in to collect Gracie and give you a chance to calm down with Bradley.
“Sweetheart, it’s just me.” Bradley said knocking before opening the door and entering the room. The sight of you curled up on the bed, clinging to Gracie shattered him. He hated seeing you so broken. It made him want to go back outside and beat the piece of shit all over again. He quickly made his way over to you.
Gracie lifted her sleepy eyes to Bradley when he got to the side of the bed. “Woosta, Mommy sad.” she whispered.
“Yes she is, Princess.” He replied softly, “But you’re doing such a good job making her feel better.”
“Gracie, do you want to come cuddle with me and watch Beauty and the Beast?” Phoenix asked, “Or Moana?”
“Moana, pwease.” She replied.
“Sweetheart, Nix is going to get Gracie settled again, ok?” Bradley said, gently sitting down on the side of the bed, his hand coming up to rest on your leg. The contact of his warm hand against your skin pulled you back to the present. Blinking, and processing his words you nodded.
Kissing Gracie’s head, she whispered, “Mommy loves you Gracie Girl.”
“Wuv you too Mommy” She replied before Phoenix picked her up and offered a soft, sympathetic smile before taking her out of the room.
“Is he gone?” You asked, once they’d left the room.
“Not yet.” Bradley said, “Jake has him on the ground though waiting on the police. Nix called Mav and the rest of the squad so they’re probably close now too.”
“I’m so sorry, Bradley.” You whispered, emotions bubbling up and choking you.
“Baby, there is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry for.” He said firmly, moving closer to you and pulling you up into a seated position. He kicked his shoes off and moved onto the bed so he was once more seated behind you, your back resting against his chest. Your head laid against his shoulder and he ducked his head so his cheek was resting against yours. “It’ll be over soon, Sweetheart. I promise. Jake and I convinced him signing the papers…including forfeiting his parental rights…was in his best interest.”
“I don’t want you and Jakey to get in trouble.” You said, “Your careers…”
“Nothing will happen to our careers, Sweetheart.” He assured you, “But even if he did try to press charges against us, or file complaints with the Navy, neither Jake or I would let him get his hands on you or Gracie.”
“Thank you.” You said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you out there.”
“You’re so strong, Y/N.” He said confidently, “You’d have stood up to him and put him in his place. I just couldn’t bare to stand by and watch him get close to you.”
You turned in his embrace enough to be able to pull his head down lower, your lips landing softly on his. You needed the contact to ground you. It wasn’t a heated or rushed kiss, rather, it was slow and tender, the reassurance you both needed that the other was in fact there and OK.
A soft knock on the door, followed by Jake peeking his head in.
“Tulip, I hate to have to do this, but the police need your statement and a copy of the protection order.” He said, “They’re in the living room, so you won’t have to see him.”
“Ok.” You said, your voice shaky, “Are you OK Jakey?”
“I’m fine, Tulip” He assured you, a smile on his face, “You Ok?”
“I will be.” You said, getting up from the bed and moving towards Jake, “Thank you Bubs.”
“Just doin’ my job, Tulip.” He replied, smiling as he pulled you into a hug. “No way I’m letting anyone mess with my baby sister.”
Bradley got up and walked over to where you were both standing. “Did Mav and the others get here?”
“Yeah, they’re waiting outside until the police leave.” He replied, looking at you “They wanna see you for themselves and make sure you’re ok.”
Bradley put his arm around your waist, “Whenever you’re ready Sweetheart.”
You took a deep breath before walking out to the living room where the officers were waiting.
You grabbed the order of protection papers Lauren had given you and showed them to the officers when they asked to see it. You answered all of their questions before they left, letting you know someone would be in touch when he was released, and reminded you to call your lawyer to inform her of the events.
After thanking the officers they left the house, Mav and the rest of the Dagger squad filed in immediately after.
“Hey, Sweetheart,” Mav said, pulling you into a hug, “Are you ok? Is Gracie OK?”
“We’re both Ok” You assured him, hugging him back. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course!” He said, “Wish I would have gotten here quicker. Would have liked a turn with that son of a bitch.”
“From the looks of it, Hangman and Rooster had it under control.” Payback said, “I’m glad you’re ok, Y/N.”
“Thank you.” you replied, “It means a lot that you all came running.”
“You’re family, Y/N.” Coyote reminded you, “Nobody messes with our family.”
“It’s a family I’m more than happy to be a part of.” You said smiling at everyone.
“Is our Gracie girl sleeping?” Bob asked.
“She’s in her room with Phoenix.” You said, “She was trying to get her back to sleep. I should go check on her.”
“I’ve got it.” Jake said, “Relax a bit, Tulip. You’ve had a rough night.”
“The night was great until the last hour.” You replied smiling, looking up at Bradley, who hadn’t left your side.
“Well I’m glad to hear THAT.” Jake replied, turning to go to Gracie’s room.
“We all just wanted to check on you, Y/N.” Mav said, “We’ll get out of your hair so you can get some rest. Call us if you need anything?”
“I will.” You promised, “Thank you again, so much.”
“No thanks needed.” He smiled, “Take care of her, Rooster.”
“I will, Mav.” He replied, smiling.
They all hugged you before heading out, leaving you alone in the living room with Bradley.
“Come here, Sweetheart.” He said, pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you, his forehead resting against your own.  Your arms wrapped around his waist, hands pressing against his back.  The two of you stood wrapped in each other’s arms, breathing slowly and processing everything that happened.
“Well that was one hell of a way to end a first date.” You said, attempting to lighten the moment. Bradley chucked, pulling his head back in order to look at you.
“It was definitely memorable.” He smirked, “But let’s focus on the good parts of the date… like… this.” He leaned forward connecting his lips to yours in another slow, tender kiss. Once again, neither of you in a hurry, just taking comfort in the other.
“I think that’s a great idea.” You replied when you’d pulled apart.
“Gracie is out.” Jake said, coming into the living room with Phoenix.
“Good. Thank you both so much.” You said, “For watching her tonight and for making sure she was safe.”
“Of course.” Phoenix said, coming over to hug you. “Are you Ok?”
“Yeah.” You replied, calmer now, “I’m OK. I’m going to call my lawyer in the morning to let her know. I’m just worried now what will happen when he’s released.”
“As soon as we know when that will be, we can make plans to make sure you’re not alone.” Jake said, “He’s not getting a second chance to get close.”
“I’ll knock him the fuck out permanently before I let him get near you, Sweetheart.” Bradley added, “We gave him plenty of warnings this time. We won’t give him that courtesy next time.”
“For now, it’s late and it’s been a lot tonight. You need to try to get some rest.” Jake said. “We all should, Gracie will be up early.”
“Will you stay?” You asked Bradley, “If you want…”
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, Sweetheart.” He replied, “Let’s go get some sleep.”
“Goodnight, Jakey” You said, hugging your brother, then turned to hug Phoenix, “Goodnight, Nat.”
“Goodnight.” They replied.
As you and Bradley walked back to your room, you heard your brother ask Phoenix to stay. You hoped it meant they’d had a chance to talk before everything went sideways.
Once in your room and the door was closed, Bradley pulled you into his arms again, just needing to hold you for his own well being. After a while you pulled back, looking up to smile softly at him.
“Thank you for staying.” You whispered. “I feel safe with you.”
“Baby, I need to be here with you, holding you, just as much for me as for you” He admitted, “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway without having you next to me.”
“I didn’t see our first date ending like this, but… despite the reasons behind it…I’m not sad about it.” You replied.
“I could have done without seeing you so upset because that about broke me,” He replied, “But getting to spend the night with you is a big bonus.”
After changing out of your dress into a tank top and sleep shorts, you climbed into bed, scooting over to leave room for Bradley. He came back in from the bathroom, his shirt open to reveal his undershirt.
“Bradley, you're not going to be comfortable sleeping in that.” You teased him.
“I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable.” He said.
“Get comfy, Bradley” You smiled, “And please get in bed.”
Smirking, he playfully did his victory wiggle dance you’d seen him do when playing yard games on dinner nights. You laughed as he shrugged out of the button up shirt, pulling the undershirt over his head. He paused, looking at you for confirmation before he reached for the button on his pants, sliding them down until they were on the floor, leaving him in only his boxers. He stepped away from his clothes and got into the bed, facing you. You scooted over closer to him and he immediately pulled you in close, tucking you into his arms.  You released a deep sigh, all of the tension leaving your body. You wrapped your arm around his waist, and felt the tension leave his body as well.
“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He said, kissing your forehead.
“Goodnight, Bradley,” You replied, tipping your head up and leaning in to kiss him softly.  
The two of you drifted off into a content and deep sleep. It was probably the best you’d slept in a very long time.
A/N-- Protective Bradley and Big Bro Jake! Whole DAGGER team in force! How are we feeling???
Taglist: 
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