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rootedinrevisions · 3 months ago

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Attention (Kinktober 2024: Day 2)

SUMMARY: Amidst the chaos of storm fronts and unpredictable skies, your playful bratty antics spark a fiery dynamic between you and Tyler, who knows just how to tame your spirited nature. But as passion ignites and boundaries blur, a day of teasing leads to an unforgettable night at a hotel, where he reveals a different side of the southern gentleman you’ve come to adore.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was meant to be a short drabble like yesterday's Kinktober Post (my goal is for them to be at or under 1k words). But as I was writing this one it kind of just took off and I kept going and now here we are at almost 6k words! There's also just something about Tyler and the way he would smirk whenever Kate gave him any kind of sass in the movie that screamed brat tamer to me. So I hope you all enjoy this!

PROMPT: "I'm really not in the mood for you to tease me today."

KINK: Brat / Brat Tamer

WARNINGS: Teasing. 18+ SMUT. (Spanking. Unprotected Sex. P in V Sex.) Aftercare (because we love a man who takes care of his partner after.)

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @fanficmom94 I @smoothdogsgirl I @djs8891 @saucy-sassy-sparkly I @alipap3 I @dudinhastuff

If you would like to be added to my Tag List please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The day had been a whirlwind, literally and figuratively. Storm after storm popped up on the radar, each one stealing Tyler’s attention. Tyler sat behind the wheel of his truck, his eyes fixed on the screen displaying swirling wind patterns and the ominous hook echo of a forming tornado. His fingers tapped against the keyboard of his laptop, occasionally flicking to the handheld radio on the dash as he communicated with the rest of the team who were following behind.

You, on the other hand, were sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, idly watching him as he clicked through the radar images.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get this absorbed in his work. In fact, it was one of the things you admired most about him—his drive, his passion for what he did.

But today, you were feeling a little left out. Maybe it was that normally you had his attention while you were driving to a storm. Normally he’d hold your hand or have his hand on your thigh as he drove. Or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t looked at you in over an hour, but a small part of you craved his attention.

Leaning back in your seat, you crossed your arms and let out a quiet huff, eyes narrowing as you stared at him.

Nothing. He didn’t even blink, fully engrossed in tracking the storm. You knew better than to expect him to drop everything just because you wanted some attention, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun.

“Think we’re almost done chasing storms for the day?” you asked, knowing full well what his answer would be but fishing for a little attention nonetheless.

Tyler barely looked up from the screen. “We’ve got three more cells popping up, so it’s looking like it’s gonna be a long night,” he said, his voice steady.

You frowned, crossing your arms and huffing just loud enough for him to hear. “Bet you’d marry the tornadoes if you could.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Bingo. A reaction, even if it was small.

You smirked and leaned in a bit closer, tapping your fingers against the console between you and him. “I can see why you like them. They’re unpredictable, dramatic, always showing off when they don’t need to...”

He didn’t respond, just turned back to the radar, a smirk still playing on his lips. The lack of attention stung a little, but mostly, it ignited the brat in you.

Ignoring you was one of his favorite tactics when you were leaning into your brat personality, but it was your least favorite. You could feel the frustration bubbling up inside you, but it only fueled your determination to push him a little further.

“They’ve got everything you love, don’t they?” You quirked a brow, turning in your seat to face him more fully. “Reckless, impossible to control, full of attitude, and always causing trouble…”

Tyler’s lips twitched as if he was fighting off a smile, but he remained focused on the road. "You describing the tornadoes or something else?" he muttered, his tone teasing.

You shift in your seat, uncrossing and recrossing your legs with a huff, making sure he heard you. You make sure as you do this that your tight denim shorts ride up just a little bit showing more of your thighs. You then reach up and adjust the white tank top you’re wearing, adjusting your bra ever slightly to push your boobs up ever so slightly.

Tyler finally shifted his gaze from the storm to you, his eyes narrowing in that way that let you know he knew exactly what you were doing.

His voice was low, almost daring you to push further as he said. "Tornadoes are unpredictable, sure. But if you know how to handle them, if you can figure out what makes them tick...”

He let the words trail off, and you felt the tension rise again, this time not because of the storm outside. You gave him a slow smile, but your pulse quickened.

“Do you know to handle them?” You teased, though your voice wavered just enough to betray the heat simmering between you.

Tyler’s gaze locked onto yours, and the air between you shifted, heavy with unspoken understanding. “Darlin', I’m really not in the mood for you to tease me today.”

The directness of his words caught you off guard, and you blinked in surprise. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a weight to it that told you he wasn’t messing around. He glanced back at the radar, clearly still tense from the day’s events, and you could see the stress etched in the lines of his face.

But instead of backing down, your frustration only deepened. You leaned forward in your seat, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “Yeah? Well, I’m really not in the mood for being ignored,” you shot back, your voice laced with that bratty edge you knew would get a reaction.

Tyler let out a slow breath, his hands pausing over the keyboard for a moment before he turned his head to look at you fully. His eyes narrowed slightly, and that stern look—the one that sent a shiver of both excitement and challenge through you—was back. “There are a lot of storms happening right now. You really wanna compete with a tornado for my attention?”

You held his gaze, unyielding. “Maybe,” you said, shrugging with feigned indifference. “I think I could give them a run for their money.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension hung in the air, heavy and charged like the storm outside. Tyler leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours, but he didn’t rise to your bait just yet.

Instead, he shifted his focus back to the radar, the smirk on his face barely noticeable but definitely there. He was doing it again—ignoring you on purpose. And it was driving you mad.

You let out another exaggerated sigh, leaning closer to him, but he kept his eyes between the radar screens and the roads in front of him.

“Oh, come on,” you said, your voice playful but with a hint of challenge. “What’s more important? A tornado or me?”

Tyler didn’t even flinch. “Right now? The tornado.”

That was it. That smug, calm tone of his always got under your skin in the most thrilling way. You shifted in your seat, biting your lip as you considered your next move. You could stop here, but where was the fun in that? No, you were going to push him just a little further.

You waited for your next move until the next stop where Tyler pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a small mom and pop type gas station. The rest of the team hurried inside to use the bathroom and grab some drinks and snacks.

Meanwhile you and Tyler lingered in the truck for a few minutes. You leaned over the center console, your voice low and teasing as you whispered, “Maybe I should just find something else to entertain myself if you’re so busy.”

Finally, Tyler turned his head to look at you, his eyes darkening with a mixture of warning and amusement. He gave you a long, steady look, the kind that always made your pulse race, before speaking in that slow, Southern drawl of his. “I’d think real carefully about that, sweetheart.”

You smirked, unfazed by his warning. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Tyler’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but the sharpness in his gaze remained. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping so low that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Because if you keep pushing, you’re not gonna like what happens next.”

You could tell by the way his eyes lingered on you that he was reaching his breaking point, and it only made you want to push further.

You straightened up, flashing him a defiant grin. “What, you think you can handle me?” The challenge was unmistakable in your voice, and you watched his reaction closely, waiting to see if you’d finally get what you wanted.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, he leaned in close—so close that you could feel the warmth of his body, the faint smell of his cologne mixing with the rain-soaked air. His lips barely brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Darlin’, I tame tornadoes. You don’t think I can tame you?”

The way his voice rumbled against your skin sent a jolt of excitement through you, but you swallowed down the reaction, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you tilted your chin up defiantly, pretending his words hadn’t rattled you, even though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Is that so?” you shot back, your voice breathy, daring him to make good on his promise.

Tyler pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with that same stern intensity. He didn’t speak for a moment, just let the weight of his gaze hang between you, thick with unspoken meaning. Then, in a voice that was all command, he said, “You better start acting like the good girl I know you are. Or you won’t be getting any of my attention for the rest of the night.”

His words hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. You knew that look. He was serious now. The playful banter had shifted into something more intense, and you could feel the shift in the air between you. It was a warning—one you knew better than to ignore.

But still, the brat in you wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Guess we’ll see if you can keep that promise,” you quipped, your voice full of playful defiance as you met his gaze head-on.

Tyler raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh, you’ll see, alright,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. He gave you one last lingering look before reaching for the door handle and exiting the truck

As you watched him make his way into the gas station, looking hotter than should be legal in just a backwards baseball cap, a button down shirt, some Wrangler jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots, you knew you had crossed a line. The line. He was in full brat tamer mode now, you had his full attention now, and that meant you were in trouble.

* * * * *

The storm had finally passed, leaving behind soaked streets and the distant rumble of thunder as Tyler pulled into the motel parking lot around nine o’clock later that night. The quiet hum of the engine faded, replaced by the sound of rainwater trickling off the roof.

You glanced over at Tyler, but his face was unreadable, all traces of the playful banter from earlier wiped clean. He parked the vehicle, his jaw clenched as he cut the engine.

You were still trying to gauge his mood when Tyler opened his door and stepped out into the cool night air, rain droplets catching the faint glow of the streetlights. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed the keys and walked around the front of the truck.

He opened your door and waited for you to get out. He reached into the backseat and grabbed both of your bags, throwing them over his shoulder. Then without saying a word he motioned for you to follow. A thrill of anticipation coursed through you.

When you reached the room, Tyler unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for you to enter first. The door clicked shut behind you, and the sudden quiet of the room felt stifling. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your chest as you stood there, unsure of what was about to happen next.

Tyler took his time, tossing the keys onto the table by the door before slowly turning to face you. His expression was calm, but his eyes—those sharp, stormy eyes—told a different story. He was still every bit in control, but there was a spark of something dangerous beneath the surface. And you were the one who had lit the fuse.

“You’ve been testing me all day,” he said, his voice low, steady. He took a slow step toward you, closing the space between you in a way that made your breath catch. “And now, you’ve got all of my attention.”

You met his gaze, swallowing the nervous flutter in your stomach. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? His full, undivided attention. But standing here now, under the weight of his stare, you realized just how serious he was.

“I told you,” he continued, his voice dropping lower as he came even closer, “if you kept pushing, you weren’t gonna like the outcome.”

You smirked, still holding on to that last shred of defiance. “Maybe I’m still not convinced.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling into a knowing smile. He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, the scent of rain and earth still clinging to his clothes.

“Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine, “you’re about to be.”

Before you could respond, Tyler closed the distance, his hand sliding around the back of your neck as he pulled you in. His hand then moved to your hair where he tightened his grip and pulled your head back slightly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was hard, commanding, and you could feel the pent-up frustration from earlier in the way his lips moved against yours.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, heart racing as his fingers lingered in your hair. His gaze locked onto yours, and there was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice when he spoke next.

“You’ve got two choices now, darlin’,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You can behave and I’ll give you the attention you’ve been beggin’ for all day, or…” His thumb brushed along your jaw, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can keep being a brat, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A thrill shot through you at his words, the heat between you palpable as you weighed your options. But the brat in you wasn’t ready to give in so easily. You bit your lip, eyes gleaming with challenge as you tilted your head slightly, daring him.

“What if I like regretting it?” you quipped, your voice laced with that same teasing defiance that had gotten you into this situation in the first place.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, you could see the flicker of amusement there, quickly replaced by something far more dangerous. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice thick with Southern charm, “you really don’t know what you’re askin’ for, do you?”

And with that, he took a step back, his hand dropping from your neck as he moved over to the bed, sitting down at the edge. He leaned back casually, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked at you with a calm, almost predatory gaze.

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a moment, that last flicker of defiance warring with the butterflies in your stomach. But you knew the game was over. Tyler had won, and now it was time to face the consequences.

Slowly, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached him. When you reached the edge of the bed, Tyler reached out, grabbing your waist. His hands moved to the button of your jean shorts, popping it open before he hooked his fingers into the top of your shorts and pushed them down your legs.

He then reached for your wrist, pulling you down across his lap. His grip was firm, but there was no mistaking the tenderness beneath it.

“Now,” he murmured, “we’re gonna start with getting rid of that little attitude of yours.” His voice was low, filled with that unmistakable authority that always made your stomach flip. You felt one of his hands move to your back, holding you down against his thighs, and you knew exactly what was coming next.

"You’ve been a handful today, haven’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have to be a handful if you’d given me a little attention today,” you shot back, though your voice was quieter now, that bravado fading.

Tyler chuckled, low and deep, the sound vibrating through you as his hand moved to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Oh, you’ve got my attention now, darlin’,” he said softly. “So how many do you think you should get for running that pretty mouth of yours?”

“Two.”

He chuckled again. “Two? You really think two is enough for all the attitude you gave me today, baby?”

Suddenly, without warning, you feel the sharp, sudden sting of Tyler’s hand coming down on your ass. The impact sends a jolt through you, heat rushing to your skin, but before you can process the sensation, another smack follows on the other side.

After several smacks, you stopped keeping track after seven or eight, his hand lingers on your flushed skin, his fingers brushing lightly over the spots where his hand had made contact. The tenderness makes you shiver, and you let out a small whimper.

He hadn’t been rough—Tyler never was—but he made sure his point was clear. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his firm control slowly giving way to a softer touch as he released you from his lap.

Without saying a word, he gently pulled you to straddle him, his hands guiding you to settle on his thighs. The change in position felt intimate, almost grounding, as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath you, and the weight of the moment shifted from tension to something deeper, something more comforting.

Tyler’s hands moved in soothing patterns up and down your spine, his touch slow and deliberate. His fingers grazed the small of your back, the motion calming, as if he was silently asking you if you were okay. You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering trace of the storm outside.

“You alright, darlin’?” His voice was softer now, barely a whisper, laced with concern and affection.

You nodded, your breath still catching in your throat, but not from discomfort. It was the intensity of it all—the push and pull between you, the way he could shift from firm to gentle in an instant—that had you feeling unsteady, yet safe. Tyler had a way of doing that, of reminding you that even in your brattiest moments, you were always safe with him.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers so your eyes met his. There was no trace of the stern look he'd given you earlier, no hint of the control he’d exerted when he made you bend to his will. Instead, his gaze was warm, full of care.

“You pushed me today,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your jawline, “but I’m not going anywhere. I just need to make sure you’re good before we go any further.”

Your breath hitched at the sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t just a question of your physical comfort—Tyler was checking in with your heart, your mind, making sure you were completely with him in this moment. It was one of the things you loved about him most, the way he balanced his strength with such tenderness.

You offered him a small smile, your hands sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders. “I’m good,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady.

He nodded, satisfied, his hands resting on your waist as he pulled you closer once more, his lips brushing against the side of your neck in a kiss so gentle it made your skin tingle.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, the words a quiet reassurance. His hands continued their slow, calming path along your back, grounding you in the safety of his embrace. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, making you feel secure.

Tyler stayed like that for a long moment, just holding you, letting the tension melt away in the quiet. His thumb traced idle circles on your lower back, a quiet reminder that no matter how far you pushed, no matter how much fire you brought, he would always be there to catch you.

It was the kind of attention you had been craving all day. Sex with Tyler was great. You loved being with him in that way. He was by far the best partner you’d ever had. But it was this kind of affection, full of love and care, that you had missed while the storms had his attention.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was a soft rumble, still laced with that familiar, protective edge. “You ready for more?” His question was a gentle nudge, letting you know that he was still in control but giving you space to choose.

You nodded again, feeling the heat rising between you once more, but this time it came with the unspoken promise of safety and care in every touch.

Tyler’s hands guided you to the bed, his grip both firm and gentle as he positioned you exactly how he wanted. The air between you felt thick with tension, charged with the anticipation of what was coming next. You could hear your own pulse in your ears as you lay on your back, Tyler standing over you with that same intense gaze that sent shivers through you.

Your heart raced as he climbed onto the bed, hovering over you with one knee pressed into the mattress and the other still on the floor, effectively trapping you beneath him. Tyler’s fingers traced along the curve of your thigh, sending electricity through your skin as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

“You wanted my attention, darlin’. Now you’ve got it.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, sending a thrill down your spine as his hand slid higher, teasing the hem of your shirt.

You couldn’t resist. Despite the tension, despite the way he commanded every ounce of your focus, that last bit of brattiness bubbled up again.

“About time,” you muttered, eyes flicking up to meet his with just enough sass to provoke him further.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a smirk as he pulled back, shaking his head slightly. “Still got that mouth on you, huh?”

Before you could respond, he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The world outside, the storms, the teasing—all of it faded as Tyler poured every bit of the attention you'd been begging for into that kiss.

When he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing was heavy, matching your own.

"You’ve been testing me all day," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Now, sweetheart, you're gonna learn that I don’t mind giving you what you ask for—but it comes with consequences."

With that, Tyler’s hands slid up your body, his touch sending waves of heat through you. His fingers paused at the bottom of your tank top, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for the confirmation he needed.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. You could feel the tension mounting, your body responding to the way his hands moved with both authority and tenderness. He was right—you’d pushed him, teased him, and now you were at the mercy of the man who was more than capable of taming the most dangerous storms. Taming you, however, was something entirely different.

Tyler took his time, every touch deliberate as he undressed you, leaving no inch of your skin untouched by his hands. The slow build of anticipation was almost unbearable, and by the time his lips found yours again, you were desperate for the contact.

“You’re gonna be good for me now, aren’t you?” Tyler murmured against your lips, his hand cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “No more sass, no more pushing.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you nodded again, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. “I’ll be good,” you whispered, breathless.

Tyler’s smirk softened into something more tender, though his grip on you remained just as firm, his touch as commanding as ever. "That’s what I like to hear," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Good girls get rewarded."

Without saying a word, he stood up, his movements deliberate but unhurried, giving you time to take in the shift in the air. You followed him with your eyes, feeling your pulse quicken as he reached for the hem of his flannel shirt, fingers slipping under the fabric.

With one smooth motion, he pulled the flannel off over his head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he moved, and your gaze lingered on the defined lines of his chest, the way his skin gleamed in the soft light filtering through the hotel curtains. Every inch of him seemed to radiate confidence, strength—qualities you’d been drawn to from the moment you met him.

Your mouth went dry as his hands moved to his belt, unfastening the buckle with an almost lazy precision. The soft click of metal filled the room, each sound amplifying the rising anticipation in your chest. He tugged the belt free and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud, his gaze never leaving yours, as if he was fully aware of the effect his every movement had on you.

Then came his jeans—he unbuttoned them, the zipper coming down slowly, teasingly. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the slow reveal making your skin tingle with anticipation. Tyler’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, and he slid them down his hips, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them.

Your heart was pounding now, each layer of clothing he removed making the room feel smaller, more charged. He stood before you in nothing but his boxer briefs, and even then, he didn’t rush. Tyler’s eyes were dark, locked on yours, and the energy between you both felt electric.

You swallowed hard as his thumbs slipped beneath the band of his underwear, slowly peeling them off. The fabric slipped down his legs, revealing the rest of him, his body sculpted and strong. Your gaze trailed over every inch of him, heat pooling low in your stomach, the tension between you like a wire pulled tight.

Tyler straightened, his eyes still fixed on yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze settle over you like a weight. He was giving you a moment to drink him in, to take in every part of him, just as he’d done with you before. And the way he stood there—confident, steady—made your pulse race even faster.

He took a step toward you, the air between you thick with the anticipation of what was coming next, but he didn’t rush. Tyler was never in a hurry when it came to you.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing, as he made his way on to the bed again. One hand slid behind your back as he unclasped your bra. He slowly removed it from you before you felt his warm lips wrap around one of your nipples, while his calloused fingers pinched the other.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a soft moan leaving your lips. The hand that had been pinching your nipple then slid down your stomach to between your thighs. You felt him run his fingers along the lace covering your center.

You tried to roll your hips down against his fingers, desperate for more of his touch. Tyler’s lips curved into a smirk as he pulled away from a kiss to look down at you.

“Need something, baby?”

You tried to grind down against his hand again, but this time he pulled away, leaving you with nothing but the musty air of the motel.

“Tyler!” You almost whined at the loss of his touch.

“What is it baby? What do you need?”

“You!”

Tyler chuckled and leaned down, his lips moving to your neck as he started gently biting at the spot below your left ear that he knew drove you insane.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Want you between my legs.”

Tyler’s lips curved into a grin as he moved his leg higher up on the bed, spreading your legs. He pressed one of his knees right up against your center, pressing the lace of your underwear that you still had on against your clit.

This wasn’t what you meant and he knew it. But you ground down against his leg a few times, trying to get some kind–any kind of friction that you could.

“Ty, please,” you breathed out when you realized it wasn’t helping. “Need you.”

“Was that so hard to say, baby?”

“Yes.”

Tyler chuckled again before he positioned himself between your thighs. He wrapped his hand around his dick pumping it a few times before he put the tip against your entrance. He slowly slid into you.

The feeling was overwhelming for a moment. This. This was what you had been waiting all day for. You lead out a loud moan as your eyes fluttered close as he slowly stretched your walls as he pushed further and further into you.

Once he was all the way in, he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to him. Then he started to move. His hips pulling out slightly before pushing back in. Your hands moved to his arms and then his back, your fingers digging into his skin.

Tyler began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, your hips started to move, meeting each of his thrusts. The musty motel room was filled with the sound of your soft moans and his deep grunts as both of you became lost in the moment.

“Come on, baby. Let it go for me.” Tyler breathed out as he started thrusting faster and deeper into you.

You moaned his name as your back arched off of the sheets as your orgasm hit. Your walls clenched around him and you felt Tyler groan as something that sounded like a string of swear words left his mouth. He then stilled inside you a moment later as you felt him fill you with his release.

The room was enveloped in a warm silence, the air heavy with the aftermath of your passion. You lay side by side on the bed, hearts still racing as you both came down from the heights of your releases. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, intertwined and blissfully spent.

Tyler shifted slightly, a soft rustle of sheets breaking the quiet as he reached for a damp cloth. With careful, gentle hands, he began to clean you up, his touch tender and attentive. You could feel the warmth of his body beside you, a soothing presence that eased any remnants of tension. There was something profoundly intimate about the way he cared for you, each stroke of the cloth both practical and affectionate, reminding you of the connection you shared beyond just the physical.

Once satisfied, he set the cloth aside and padded quietly to the small fridge across the room, his movements fluid and relaxed. You watched him, a small smile tugging at your lips as he rummaged through its contents. He emerged moments later with a bottle of water, the coolness of it contrasting against the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and comforting as he handed you the bottle. “You should stay hydrated, especially after all that.” There was a playful glint in his eyes, a mixture of mischief and affection, as he leaned back against the headboard, propping himself up on one elbow.

You took a sip, the refreshing liquid quenching your thirst, and the sight of him—bare, relaxed, and utterly himself—made your heart swell. Once you set the bottle down, Tyler slid back down the bed, shifting closer to you.

“Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms invitingly. You didn’t hesitate, rolling into him and snuggling against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, as if he never wanted to let go.

The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—like fresh air and a hint of cologne, grounding and comforting all at once. Tyler’s fingers began to brush gently through your hair, the rhythm soothing as he held you close.

“Was that enough attention for you?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your forehead as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. The teasing tone was laced with genuine affection, and you could hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, your heart fluttering at the sight of him—the way his eyes sparkled with a playful challenge, but also the warmth that radiated from him. “For now,” you replied playfully, smirking slightly. “But you know I could always use more.”

Tyler chuckled, the sound rich and deep, reverberating through your shared warmth. “Well, I’ll make a note of that,” he said, his voice playful yet serious. “I’m always ready to give you the attention you need, darlin’. Just promise me you won’t be too much of a brat next time.”

You grinned, feeling the warmth of his affection envelop you, grateful for this moment of intimacy. It was in these quiet seconds, nestled against him, that you felt the strongest bond between you both—the balance of playful teasing and heartfelt connection that defined your relationship.

As you lay there together, the world outside fading into nothingness, you knew you had found your home in his arms.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Smut

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captainsophiestark · 4 months ago

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Take A Break

Javi Rivera x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Twisters

Summary: As part of Kate's original crew of tornado-tamers, you're as much of a workaholic as she is. Thankfully, Javi's around to help pull his girlfriend out of her notes when she really needs a break.

Word Count: 1,123

Category: Fluff, Humor, kind of angst just because of what happens to the original crew, but you can easily pretend that doesn't happen in the timeline of this fic :)

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hey, enough work for tonight. Come join the party with the rest of us."

I smiled to myself as I made a few last notes off the computer screen. I knew Jeb was mostly talking to Kate, but I also knew that if I stayed here and tried to keep working after he managed to get Kate to take a break, my boyfriend wouldn't be far behind to literally drag me away from my notes.

I scribbled down a few last things as Jeb herded Kate away to the campfire, then started the process of shutting down my computer. Just as the last program finished closing, two arms wrapped tightly around my waist and picked me up, pulling me away from my work at the back of the truck.

"Javi!" I squealed, laughing as he slung me over one shoulder and started heading for the campfire.

"Yeah babe?"

"I was about to head over!"

"Oh yeah, I've heard that one before. Sorry, I know you too well. I know how fast another minute can turn into another hour. I care about this project as much as you do, but you need to take a break."

I sighed, rolling my eyes even though Javi couldn't see me. Even so, I couldn't totally hold back a smile.

"You know, Jeb just came and threw an arm around Kate."

"That's because Jeb lacks commitment," Javi responded as we neared the fire with the rest of our friends. He made sure to speak loudly enough that Jeb could hear him, too. "And because Kate's easier to convince than you are."

I scoffed, but the impact was lessened as Javi flopped into one of the chairs around the fire, pulling me around to sit in his lap in one smooth move. I shook my head and grinned up at him once we landed.

"You don't want your own chair?"

"My girl's had her head in her work, completely ignoring me for hours. No, I don't want my own chair."

I laughed, snuggling in closer to Javi and resting my head on his chest. He wrapped his arms tighter around me, and I smiled to see the rest of our friends settled comfortably around the fire, too.

"Glad you could finally join us!" called Praveen, Addy grinning beside him. I grinned right back.

"Don't act like I'm the only workaholic in this group," I said, fake-scowling as I curled closer into Javi's side. "You're all just as bad as I am. That's why we're friends."

"Alright, I resent the implicaiton that I don't know how to have a healthy work-life balance," said Javi, drawling his words a little as he held up his hands on either side of me to help illustrate his point. "I know how to have fun and how to work my ass off with Dorothy."

I twisted in Javi's lap to look up at him with a frown.

"Is it a healthy work-life balance to go way too hard on work and fun?"

He just looked down at me with a grin, leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling back with the same roguish smile.

"Hell yeah it is."

I just laughed and shook my head, leaning back on his shoulder as he tigthened his arms around me.

"Alright, whatever you say. I guess that's what college is for anyway, even if it's grad school."

"We're making memories. We have to have something to say when we're being interviewed for our incredible scientific breakthrough. Some good memories for the memoir."

"He's right," Jeb chimed in, leaning back and stretching his arm out across Kate's chair. "Most people won't want to hear that we spent every hour of every day in the lab. They want to know the people behind the science."

"I don't think any of the journals we want to publish in are going to care about who we are outside of the lab," Kate countered, flopping back against Jeb. "Or the people reading our grant proposals."

"Still works for the long-term headlines," Addy chimed in. "'Brilliant scientists tame the tornado, protecting the home where they spent countless nights together'."

"I think that's a little long," mused Kate.

"It makes it sound like we were all sleeping with each other or something," I added.

"Yeah, that's just the two sets of lovebirds over there," Praveen added.

Kate and Jeb smiled, Kate tucking her head into Jeb's shoulder, and I shot Praveen a wink before leaning up to give Javi a quick kiss. Praveen and Addy liked to make a big show of covering their eyes and shouting at any sign of PDA, but we knew it was all in good fun. They loved the four of us, both separately and as couples, even if they'd both developed strong ten minute comedy sets on the fact that they weren't dating each other or anyone else in our little group.

"Alright, enough of this," Kate said, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow. "I came over here with the promise of s'mores. So where are they?"

"Javi packed them," said Jeb, nodding in our direction. Javi shifted under me, settling further into the chair and wrapping his arms a little tighter around me.

"They're in the back of the van, but somebody else is gonna have to get them. I'm settled in here, and if I don't keep an eye on this one, she might just run right back to her computers."

Most of our friends rolled their eyes, but even so, Addy stood up.

"Lucky for both of you, I want s'mores enough that I'm willing to get up and take one for the team."

"Thank you, Addy," we chorused. She just waved us off with a smile. I waited until she passed Javi and I and got all the way to the truck, then leaned up to whisper in my boyfriend's ear.

"You absolutely know I wouldn't choose computers over s'mores. Probably ever."

"Of course I know," Javi said, leaning down to whisper in my ear with a smile, nuzzling into the crook of my shoulder. "But I'm enjoying sitting with you like this. We're too comfortable to be getting up for s'mores when we have friends that'll take care of that for us."

I laughed, nodding and resting my forehead against his.

"You're right. Genius decision."

"I know."

We shared a smile, one of Javi's hands gently squeezing my thigh as I leaned in to give him another quick kiss. Sitting by the fire with him, surrounded by all our friends, was my absolute favorite happy place. It made all the work and risk and long nights spent huddled over calculations and theories worth it, to be able to do it with Javi and the rest of our crew.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

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ace-and-sleepdeprived · 5 months ago

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ahem, i’m starting to see people try to vilify javi for some of the choices he made, so i’m here to defend my boy.

“he purposefully put kate back into a triggering atmosphere and got mad at her for appropriately panicking!” first of all, he didn’t get mad at her when they didn’t get the full scan of the first tornado because kate freaked out - he visibly got frustrated, yes, but he didn’t lash out at her. if anything he probably felt awful for putting her in that situation, but he had to be professional cause of storm par, and second of all, he understands that she’s traumatized because he’s traumatized too!! just because javi wasn’t in the fucking tornado with the rest of the tamers does NOT mean he isn’t JUST as traumatized as kate is from losing three of his best friends in a freak storm. just because his way of coping with the trauma is more like jo’s in the original doesn’t mean he doesn’t harbor the same guilt kate does.

“he still has the storm par truck at the end so he’s just gonna continue being an opposing force to kate and the wranglers!” i think javi still having the lion truck doesn’t explicitly mean he’s still with storm par - as he tells scott in the scene where he dumps him that he’s done with storm par and with riggs - he likely either bought the truck from them or already has ownership of it [kate apologizing for stealing his truck], so he’s pretty plausibly not connected with storm par anymore. hell, it’s even heavily implied that javi’s working with the wranglers now, given his interactions with tyler at the airport.

“javi should’ve died in the movie!” so you want kate to have even MORE trauma on top of what she already has?? if javi had died that would’ve meant ALL of kate’s friends from the tornado tamers would be dead from tornadoes. i don’t know about you, but that would fuck SEVERELY with anybody’s psyche regarding tornadoes. in that situation, kate would be completely justified in going back to new york and never coming back, since oklahoma would be the place where four of the most important people in her life died horrific deaths. it’s GOOD that javi didn’t die and got to have a good ending alongside her, even if he was led astray because of his own guilt and didn’t make the wisest choices in who to connect himself with. he DESERVES a good ending as much as kate does, even if he coped with the trauma in not the best way.

this is just my two cents, but i HAD to talk about this because i don’t want to see people try to paint javi as the villain when he clearly isn’t.

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #javier rivera #twisters javi #kate carter #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #twisters spoilers #twisters

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themareverine · 1 month ago

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Closer to Hell | shortking!DP&WLogan x fem!OC

SYNOPSIS: He may be five inches closer to hell than she is, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch.

warnings: flirtation, short king!Logan (don't come for me), ogling, eye candy, absolutely nothing else but filthy thoughts, maybe some eye fucking.

a/n: it's my 100 celebration fic, yay me! i recently rolled over to 110 i think during the holiday, and i wanted to do something super fun for my 100 celly. i decided to play with comics-accurate, short king Logan, because i feel like we really don't appreciate him all that much. a small part of my brain hasn't stopped thinking about him. thanks to all my followers, you guys make me possible on this website, and without your interaction and all your fun stuff, life really would be so much more boring.

“Monkey Shoulder, neat—if you got it.”

Fingers pause, hovered over a tablet that looks as if it’s been to hell and back, only to survive the purgatory that is staring into the bartender’s face. Maybe forties, gray has overtaken the once-striking ruddiness of his beard, crows feet all but eating the templepieces of too-thick glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Once gawking at her has clocked enough time, he bats aside the tablet, the screen swiveling away, maybe in relief.

Curious if he’ll actually serve the scotch—it’s about the fourth bottle from the left of the very back row of liquors lined against the mirrored wall, not a cheap bottle by any means. Hardly top-shelf, either. An unusual request, sure, but, she’s always made a habit of trying out the screwy names when she’s traveling—and in this dress, in this bar, well. Exceptions certainly can’t be made. Cool vinyl of the barstool’s plush nips at the back of her legs as she plunks down, docking her heels on the bottom rung of the stool.

“Whatever you say, swee’heart,” gaps in his teeth make pronunciation difficult, but he nods at her respectfully. Lithe, practiced grace turns him aboutface on his heel, short fingers plucking the bottle from that very back shelf. Mirrored reflection reveals a popped brow of we’ll see how this goes. Giving the bottle a little swirl, the copper liquid spins a tornado, wild and dangerous in its glass prison. Unstops the bottle with a jerk of his wrist, the little pop tipping up the corner of her lips.

Seconds, maybe, and the short glass plunks down in front of her, untouched scotch all but begging to be acknowledged. Her finger lazily traces the rim, even from here she can taste the bark of the liquor, how it hums. Warm and biting, her chest flutters with anticipation—of all the drinks she’s sampled over the years, scotch is a favorite. Next to whiskey, but, whiskey she’s had plenty of the last few days. Scotch will be a nice tamer, something to shake up the night—shake up the thoughts burrowing trenches through the arteries and cavities in her chest.

Sliding him her credit card, it’s plastic bites against the bartop. Watching him log the number, he hands it back. She buries it against the band of her bra, against her sternum. Eyes rolling, the bartender trudges away as if he’s witnessed some great atrocity, down the other end of the bar—takes an order with hushed whispers, leaving her to eyeball her scotch in solidarity. Silence.

Friday and however much this dress would all but stand up and demand attention, she’s alone. But that’s no great sorrow—to be alone and actually let it eat away at the marrow in her bones would mean it is unwelcome, unfamiliar. Solo is all too familiar, rent free on her person–the devil and angel parked on either shoulder, guiding her through moments. It’s been this way her entire life, sparkling personality and sunshine attitude aside. Loudest wallflower to ever exist, perfectly forgettable—she’s great company when she’s seen, otherwise all too invisible. It’s learned behavior, expected of society’s less fortunate.

A quick flick of her foot has the barstool swiveling, her elbow parked on the bar behind her. Eyeballing the room quickly reveals that, wallflower that she is—she’s an overdressed one, at that. And she could, probably, forgive herself. Hadn’t exactly expected Mulligan’s to be an axe-throwing venue, complete with Toby Keith on repeat and flannel-clad lumberjack wannabees and their buckle bunnies—axe bunnies?

A sip of the scotch has her nose scrunching a little, the splash in the back of her throat almost hot, even at room temp. Two lines to her right, a cute blonde does one hell of a job playing dumb as her date comes up behind her, helping her take stance. All but popping her ass back into his pelvis, there is not a stitch of air between them that could be breathed—he’s a little unbalanced. Probably that last Coors, she’s giggly and her face is red as a beet. Probably one too many Mich Ultra’s. Together they crack up into laughter, before she actually makes an attempt to throw an axe, dressed in cutoffs and a flannel shirt a size too large, knotted off at the midriff.

Maybe should’ve Googled that one pre-game, but, as her grandmother had always chided, Better to be overdressed than under, baby. Besides, a little black sundress was acceptable just about anywhere—the heels could be overdoing it, though. Down goes another bite of scotch, and she’s perfectly content to watch blondie and her backwards-ballcap date tiptoe around the goings-on of pre-sex, until movement to her left catches her attention.

Pool tables racked with activity, there couldn’t be one more girlie in tight jeans or shorts leaning over green felt if the men had decided to make room. Each man at the table sports arm candy, some even two, full peacock with open chests and lifted chins. Stetsons, ballcaps, even a few beanies make a fine cocktail of male specimens, all bullshitting around ripped up pool tables and scuffed wooden floors. Beer bottles, pint glasses, liquor mottles here and there, hanging out on tables and pool table edges like trophies. Evidence of presence, of time spent. Side-eying the exchange of money isn’t difficult—they make a show of it, as if this is theatre. Shifts on her barstool as their jibes and shoulder-claps get a little more elevated, a little more colorful.

Too absorbed in watching the flock of men around the pool table, she misses the slight creak of a barstool accepting weight to her right. Jumps a little when the air bristles beside her, signaling a new body—someone else at the bar, too close for comfort. Too close to be ignorant. Especially when there’s nobody at the bar, taking up air. Just her and her simple Monkey Shoulder, just her and the defeat that sinks her shoulders a little as realization hits.

She doesn’t have to check if it’s a man—his presence is overwhelming, almost dizzying. Masculine and purposeful, but not in a way that sends shivers down her spine. A quiet kind of energy, like the air before a storm. Unmoving but oh so deliberate, ripe with power. As if any moment something may collapse in on itself, rip open the air—but chooses, instead, to prowl. Like a tower, overlooking, but not imposing. Temperature, too, has spiked—whoever has just parked beside her ripples with heat like an inferno, it’s nearly tangible against her skin. Thick cologne swirls, a delicious idea beneath her nose that smells like musk, pine. Sweat and smoke–exhaust. Bike, maybe.

Unsure whether the flush lifting from her breastbone to her cheeks is the scotch or the newcomer, she uses her foot to swivel back around, leaning forward to rest her arms over the bar. Thin glass between her fingers rings a little as her nail tick, tick, ticks against it, and staring into the coppery swirl of booze allows her a little bit of a casual side-eye to the man who has parked himself at her now eleven o’clock.

Hair the color of midnight is full and thick, almost tinges a bit of sapphire under the fluorescents that dare to flicker a little above them. Even beneath full mutton chops, she can see the sharp line of a jaw—strong nose, purposeful brow. A striking profile, as he stares at his hands—thick hands, strong. Massive, more paw than actual hands, if she were poetic about it. Calloused, even from here. A troop of ebony hair forests his arms, thick and wiry—does little to hide the absolutely godlike muscle that all but stands up and demands recognition.

Arms no less than small trees, her eyes zero in on his veins, veins that may as well have their own ZIP—if careful, she could watch his blood actually current. Count the flutter of his pulse—intrusive thoughts win. She would give limb, soul to just hook up him to an IV and drink of whatever raw sexuality God had poured into his form.

It’s easy to take in the rest of him—thick chest, well muscled would be an insulting adjective. She wouldn’t believe, for a moment, there was a percentage of fat on his person, not the way his jeans clung to his thighs. Unaware they made belts so small for adults, she’d never seen a narrower waistline. And abdominals—God Himself had only crafted those, broke the mold. Even from beneath whatever sad excuse of a threadbare black v-neck he’d thrown on this morning, they were washboard. She’d bet her life.

Oh my god, of all the men—

And just as quickly as she’d ventured off into whatever pornography such a man conjures up into brainspace, he shifts a little. Situates himself on his barstool—sits back, hand on his thigh, other draped along the bar easily in that only-a-guy way. And her gut all but plummets into hell between her feet—the floor could be stained with her own blood and she wouldn’t have flinched. What’s-his-name commands every molecule between them, could split atoms with his raw sexuality, probably. Every movement is like living color, and she swears to God she can feel her ovaries kicking into overdrive.

Eyes snapping back to her own feet, she rocks her heels back on the barstool’s rung, bottom lip rolling inward to consider just how flushed she felt. Heart hammering the marrow in her bones, she can all but taste the sweat that’s racing down the river of spine, dampening the delicate lace of her panties. Blinking, she manages a steady breath between her lips, trying not to think about the bite of scotch lingering on her breath. Aware that her hands are shaking, she knocks back the rest of the scotch. Cracks the glass back to the bar’s wood all too aggressively.

Somehow the bartender materializes in front of her, like Houdini. Or maybe Satan—she hasn’t decided.

“What’re you having again?”

If it's even possible to forget, she isn't sure, but her eyes connect with his. Thankful for the distraction. Movement to her eleven o’clock signal fires in her brain—her partner at the bar has, without saying anything, entered this conversation. Or, at the very least, made himself aware.

“Monkey Shoulder,” she brushes some curl behind her ear, “neat. Double it, please.”

It’s too fast, too nervous to be genuine. But it is, and of its own volition, her spine straightens a little. As if such a thing is a sin—shoulders fall back, her gaze drops to her hands. Bartender all but plucking the glass from between her hands, he travels back down the bar—retrieves the bottle, which he has somehow managed to forget. She watches him go like a desperate child, all too aware that the man beside her’s eyes have raked down her form, considering. Up and down—her heart flies, almost out of her chest.

A barstool creaks, and it isn’t hers. Oh god.

There’s always that little something that strikes the air—he’s going to say something. Her eyes flutter closed, imaging his lips parting and closing off syllables and consonants, forming words. It’s a delicious little thought that quickly ventures into ratings not suitable for children, and she has to bite the inside pocket of her cheek to anchor her back into the reality of the bar—because she’s, very suddenly, not here. Not as present and accounted for as an unescorted woman drinking should be, God help her.

Scotch appears before her almost fantastically. Reaching for it, the glass suddenly is heavier than the earth between her fingers as she knocks it back, entirely. In one sharp, flaming go. It spins her senses in a tilt, and the world all but flips—managing the glass back to the wood somehow, she anchors herself. Two hands on the edge of the bar, white knuckling for purchase. Eyes pinched so tight she can feel her mascara brushing against the sensitive skin beneath her eyes, she releases a low growl that’s more of a moan than anything.

“Now there’s someth’n you don’t see everyday,” a dark, wolfish chuckle. “Don’t think I’ve seen a lady down two scotch’s back to back without breathin’ before.”

Mother of God, it’s low. And dangerous. She wouldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion if it had detonated directly to her left, the immaculate conception had only ever been so beautiful. And if he’s tagged anything on to his statement she’s missed it, blood galloping through her ears at such a rate it should alert the Kentucky Derby to put her at the starting gate.

A steel beam would’ve been preferable to the heat dropping into her spinal column, his chuckle rattling low in a way that, obviously, is deliberate. And she’s more bolt upright than she has ever recalled in her lifetime, soldiers would patent whatever form this was for their ranks—he shifts on his barstool to face her, and she’s suddenly Icy Hot all over. Simultaneously hot and cold, shivering and flaming—Antarctic air and Vesuvius smoke. Words lap her brain like a pace car, but none form in the back of her Sahara-cracked throat.

Blanking, first she stares at the empty glass between her fingers. Then to the stranger, who’s arm rests along the bar like it was designed for him. Spider to the fly, the little smirk tugging up the corner of his lips gets lost in the dark hairs of his beard and chops, the swirl of shadow that chases light in his eyes like nightmares. All kinds of predator, she doesn’t miss his eyes flicking over her—it’s quick, practiced. You’d miss it if one wasn't looking, but nothing about this man could be ignored. He demanded to be seen, though she suspected by the cool smile and the dark clothes, he would’ve preferred to be anything but noticed. But such beauty demanded attention, otherwise heaven lied.

Realizing the conversation is open, he’s waiting, she tracks his words. Again.

And again, and again.

Swallowing the slight shake to her confidence, her eyes track back to the glass. Hone in on tracing her finger along the rim. And she ignores the souring, burning liquor in the chasm of her gut where the scotch has hit nothing but open air, maybe stones in the base of her that maybe only God could see.

“Oh.” Oh? OH? Coma patients showed more promising signs of life. “Guess you’ve seen it all?”

Oh my god, ohmygod, OHMYGODDD—

She couldn’t have been any more pathetic if she’d melted into the floor at his feet. Channeling the tremble of thinking into her hands, she nudges the glass away. Pulls it back. Plays with it like an amused cat with a toy, trying to decide if it’s friend or foe—if it's worth the distraction. A flick of her eyes back to the stranger and she suddenly realizes this glass is the only tether she has to the present world beyond this conversation—her only confidence. The only thing giving her an edge.

And should it be ripped from her, she’d be nothing but a fish out of water—a fat trout gasping for air.

“Not quite,” whatever he’s drinking, he tosses it back without hesitation. Line of his jaw twitches as the liquor registers, but not in an unwelcome way. “Haven’t seen you before.” Vanishing down the long line of his throat without so much of a flinch, he savors it—his tongue chases whatever lingers in his facial hair. The sight of his tongue, flat and wide, sends her gut twisting into thick knots she can’t even fully describe—his hand moves to smooth over his mouth, as if he’s combing his goatee back into place.

Without thinking, “Well, here I am,” slips past her lips, matching her arms that open at either of her sides, as if putting herself on display. It’s bolder and far more brash than she could ever credit herself with—Monkey Shoulder. It's booze.

He chuckles, pleasantly she thinks. “Here you are—lucky sonuva bitch, aren’ I?”

And without warning, he gets up.

Uncertain what surprises her first, she blinks at him a few times, fluttery lashes drinking in his presence on two feet—he’s short. Like, short short. Not-your-typical-guy-levels of short. Built like a god, maybe closer to a brick house, but he’s at least five inches closer to hell than she is—and she’s five foot eight. Makes up for it in presence, though—if he’d been any taller, people would jump under tables.

Alarmed by the sheer weight of him taking up space, the corner of her mouth lifts a little in a smile. If it’s a confidence killer she wouldn't know, he shifts his shoulders like any man does. Chin leveled with the floor, his eyes catch with the same fierce confidence of any man she’s ever witnessed. Unable to tear her eyes away, the muscle in his forearms twitch alive as he smoothly goes for his jacket, drapes it over an arm.

Christ alive, he is—wow.

God’s perfect design, she thinks—he knuckles his glass a little closer. Glass rakes across the bar in a little song, he swings a thick leg over the barstool directly next to hers. Nothing but air between them, now, he sinks low, and she enjoys watching him do so—how his jeans pull just so along thick thighs. How how chest flexes as he angles to drape his jacket along the bar, how thick fingers card through hair she could covet the rest of her living daylights. Closer, she can feel his heat, his masculinity ebbing like an alive river, trailblazing new paths. Looking for her, reading the moment.

More like a predator than she realized first blush. Biting the corner of her lip, his gaze flicks over her a third time. She matches his effort. Much goes unsaid for a lot of moments, until he introduces himself—Logan. No other name would suit such a man, she thinks—within heartbeats her own name slips between them, between the lines of his popped brow and the question he asks next.

“You drinkin’ alone, darlin’?”

Nudging her empty away, Logan offers her a quicksilver look, hooded eyes and a cocked back expression that’s easy, collective. Nonplussed, like this is easy—like it isn’t rattling every bone in her body, taking inventory of every organ and cell raging like wildfire in her veins. Expectation brims, and she lifts a flirtatious shoulder, looking from his hand that lingers on the bar back to his eyes—and they are dark eyes, eyes that belong to only one kind of man. The type of man her daddy had warned her about, that daddy’s all over God’s creation sat up with shotguns over.

Lovely, focused eyes. Logan knew exactly what he was doing. Few others were such masters.

“Should I be?”

Wrinkles that form along his eyes when he smiles are criminal. They belong, she thinks—he wouldn’t be right without them. “Would be worried if you were,” flashing two fingers at the bartender, his eyes move back to her, taking in the full scope of her features, “‘n my experience, pretty girls need someone t’stave off the wolves.” Chin lifted in the direction of the pool table trips her gaze to follow.

He thinks I’m pretty—and that’s newsworthy, stop the presses.

Nodding slowly, she fights back a smile. “Ah. I see,” angling to tuck a foot behind the other, her elbow props on the bar, chin in the heel of her palm, “and who’s to say you aren’t a wolf, Logan?”

A tease, of course, but the way his gaze snaps back to her so quickly, one would’ve assumed she’d reached out and slapped him. Darkness through his eyes briefly rustles alarm down her spine, and her hand gently moves to retrace the rim of a refreshed glass as silence crescendos between them. Her anchor, again. A tether to reality, to anywhere beyond the depth of the window's to his soul.

Knocking back another sharp drink, he rolls a shoulder. “Not really a wolf,” his nose wrinkles a little as he shakes off the idea, eyes moving back to hold hers, “pack animals. Too much competition,” shrugging a shoulder, he chuckles, “besides—too short t’be a wolf, too close to hell. More like a—well, more like’a wolverine, I s’pose.”

And that makes her giggle, like a child.

“Wait—a wolverine? Aren’t they weasels?” Her head cocks to the side, genuine curiosity wrinkling her nose—he smiles, quicksilver that’s cool, cuts down to parts of her she wouldn’t share elsewhere. Heat rises to her cheeks, deepening the makeup she’d been so deliberate to place earlier in the evening. “How is that better?”

Dissolving into giggles isn’t her style, not usually—but it’s too comedic a mental image to set aside.

“Brought out that smile, didn’t it?”

Oh.

She hums, nodding. Tries to hide the fluster of color sneaking up her breastbone to her cheeks. Fails.

“Charming, aren’t you?”

“It’s the scotch.”

She laughs again, shaking her head. Turns back to the bar, too flushed and girlish to take him seriously—or the weight of his eyes. They bore into her side profile like drills, lapping up the heat on her face. Any second now he’ll come to his senses, she thinks. Conversation would fall flat, too embarrassed to speak and too innocent to flirt—he’d tire of the doe eyes.

They always did.

Thunk thunk thunking axes hit home on targets far behind them, almost a world away.

She tracks, too sharply, like a desperate animal Logan getting up from his barstool—here it comes. Fishes his wallet from his back pocket. Withdraws more than enough money, actually more money than would be necessary for the entire night. Tosses it on the bar like it’s easy, like it means nothing.

Watching him, chin still in hand, he works into his jacket like guys always manage—in a sexier way than necessary. Pops the collar. He may be five inches closer to hell, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch.

Tossing back the rest of her scotch, she inhales a deep breath through her nose. Enough to swell her chest, pull her guts in tighter than she thought possible. Disappointment bleeds like a gunshot wound into her chest, mingling with her ribs, and she wills up cold courage. Hands on the bar spin her around on the barstool, lips parted for goodbyes—-

—only to be met with his hand, extended to her.

“Wanna get outta here?”

His brow lifts, investigative. Hers are nearly in her hairline, surprise shellshocked her face like broken plaster. Blinking at his hand, her stomach all but explodes when his finger crooks for her to come, to follow.

It’s a wanton gesture, the way his brow bobs teasingly. Corner of his mouth lifting in a way that’s devilish, almost sinful. Asking where to go is hardly necessary—she’d probably follow him into hell, if so persuaded.

Asks anyway.

“Not sure yet, pretty—but, tell me. How d’ya feel about ridin' double?”

64 notes · View notes