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cosmoacrosscosmos · 9 days ago

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The 4 years of high school winter guard and colorguard me cried tears of joy when I read the words color guard

The Legacy Left Behind

Chapter 1: It Could Be Worse

Chapter Summary: At this point in time, getting stuck with Henry King Jr as your lab partner was the worst of your worries.

Authors Note:

I've had this idea for well over a year and finally put it all together. Almost two months after the show's finale… But it's fine, better late than never. And this fandom doesn't have enough reader inserts in my opinion. This story follows the plot of season 1 of Stargirl with the added twist of Rick's twin sister (reader). Upon reflection she is a fusion of Rick's comic storyline, along with Grant Emerson. It was unintentional I swear. The story just kind of came to together that way. Please be aware this story contains heavy themes. This chapter in particular talks about alcohol abuse, child abuse, self harm, bullying, and slut shaming. I would love to hear feedback and questions. I know this small fandom isn't really active but I know there are still fans out there. Happy Reading.

~~~

Mr. Archer’s seventh period contemporary science class was revered in Blue Valley. It was a tough, hands on class filled with group work that was not for the faint of heart student. But it was two college credits and looked amazing on college applications.

You had signed up for it, you were not a science student, that was Rick’s domain. However, you had dreams of leaving Blue Valley far behind and this was a step out of the door.

On your first day in class you were not surprised to find it filled with mostly seniors, you were sure you would be the only junior. You were surprised to see there was only one other, Henry King Jr.

Henry was a jerk, everyone knew it. There had been a time that you could look past his misgivings, but that time had passed. After what he did to Yolanda, you wanted nothing to do with him.

Fate was never on your side because Mr. Archer made sure you pair you two together. Everyone else got to pick their groups for the year, save you two. “I figured since you two were the only juniors it would make sense to keep you two together. I know it will make things more difficult, but I will take that into consideration when grading,” he later told you.

You were less than pleased, but did not push it. Mr. Archer never changed the groups no matter the circumstance. Plus you had spent years skating under the radar and were not stopping over him.

So during seventh period you pushed aside your disgust and contempt for Henry and focused on whatever class work was assigned. It was easy at first, you quickly figured out a system between you two: you wrote everything thing down or drew and Henry tested different things. You two worked surprisingly well during class and ignored each other any other time.

Until one day after school you bumped into him while leaving. You had just finished color guard practice and were tossing your guard rifle waiting for Rick to get out of detention when you heard your name. Hearing it startled you making you lose rhythm and miss catching the plastic rifle. It landed on your forearms and hurt a bit when it landed, but you were used to it. You turned to see Henry jogging up to you.

You shouldered your bag where you kept your guard gear. This was the last thing you wanted, Henry talking to you outside of class. “Hey.”

Henry stopped in front of you, panting slightly. You were confused for a second before remembering that the football team had practice today too. “You okay?” You were confused until you saw his eyes on your guard rifle, meaning he saw your mishap.

You twirled your plastic rifle awkwardly, embarrassed anyone saw your stupid mistake. “I’m fine, it happens all the time.”

Henry raised a brow, “that thing came down fast, it looked like it hurt. You could probably take someone out with that thing.”

You shook your head at the idea of hurting someone with your plastic rifle. It only ever hurt when it landed on you when you spun it up in the air. And even then it wasn't that bad, just a tiny bruise. “What’s up?”

“Uh, I’m going to miss class on Friday, the team has to head out during sixth period to get over to Belmont for the game.” This caused an issue because the project was due at the end of class. And while you had been working on it, you needed that entire period to finish. And it was far too late to ask for an extension and Mr. Archer was not known to give them. Especially for things like sports.

Henry continued, “but we can always meet up after school to finish.” As much as you did not want to spend extra time with him, you needed to get this project done.

You nod, “yeah that makes sense.”

Henry smiles, he was expecting you to be angry. He knows that despite you being civil with him, you are not his biggest fan. He assumed you would snap since he sprung this on you last minute. “I’m free after 3, coach gives us a mini practice the day before to go over stuff so it shouldn’t take that long.”

“I don’t have guard until six so I’m free until then.” You have practice most days, more than he does. Blue Valley’s color guard was number one in the region for a reason.

There is a slightly awkward lull in the conversation. Now you actually have to pick where you two are going to meet. You know your house is out of the question.

Henry ends the tense silence, “we can meet at my house. My dad will be at the hospital so it’ll be just us.”

You hate the idea of being alone with Henry, you know what he is capable of. But you need this project done, “yeah that works for me.”

He smiles because although he knows you do not want to be around him he enjoys being around you. “Okay, I can pick you up after I finish practice.”

“Y/N,” you know the sound of Rick’s voice anywhere. And you can tell he is not happy. Then again he had been grumpy since you were young.

You turn to your brother and give him a small smile. “Hey Rick, ready to go?” Rick eyes Henry, not trusting the ginger. He knows what Henry has done in the past and wants you to stay away from him. He knows about you two working together and is not happy. He almost went to Mr. Archer himself to ask for you to be put in a different group, but you talked him out of it.

You say bye to Henry and leave with Rick. As you two leave Rick makes a point to look back at Henry and stare him down. Silently telling him to stay away from you.

~~~

The only sounds in the kitchen are of your pens writing and the occasional sound of a page turning. When you two work you are silent but focused on whatever you are doing. You never needed to talk, you hand him what he needs or he points to a mistake you make on your page. It is rather impressive that you two can work so fluidly without saying a single word.

Time passes quickly at first, then you can feel your brain losing focus. After an entire day of school and now hours of homework you can feel the mental fog creeping in.

Henry seems to notice, “do you need a break?” He can see your leg bouncing faster than it normally did and he sees you erasing and rewriting more often than usual.

You are glad he notices, “Honestly if I look at another equation my brain might explode.”

Henry chuckles, “do you want a drink or something to eat?” He can feel himself getting hungry so he assumes you might be too. He knows you must be thirsty, you drink more than any other person he has ever met.

You shrug, the thought of a snack sounds good, but you feel guilty accepting. Henry stands and goes to the refrigerator. He returns with a bag of chips and bottle of water and hands the bottle to you. You accept the water not wanting to be rude.

You open the water and start drinking. You did not realize how thirsty you were until you guzzled it down all at once. Henry’s eyes widen, “jeez, you could have asked me earlier for some.”

You blush, embarrassed because you just chugged an entire bottle of water in front of him like it was nothing. He moves the bag of chips toward you and motions for you to have some. You shake your head, you would love to have some but you feel weird eating food from his house.

The two of you begin talking, really talking. You share stories and learn about each other. You make a joke and Henry laughs so hard his face turns as red as his hair. And despite you not liking Henry that much, you are enjoying the conversation. Its natural and fun. Eventually you two realize you only have an hour before you have to leave for practice so you two go back to work.

This is what starts a friendship between you two. No, friendship is too strong of a word, more like acquaintance-ship. Being class mates seemed to be under-simplifying it because the conversations were too deep. Neither of you talk outside of class, but when you two are working together you act friendly.

Henry starts asking if you want to finish work at his house. You two get so busy talking that you lose track of time and have work left undone at the end of class. You agree. Henry may be a jerk, but when it is just the two of you and a science worksheet he seems, what’s the word? Nice?

You find yourself going over Henry’s house a few times a week. Rick hates it, but you remind him that there is only two of you in your group while everyone else has at least three or four. Work begins to pile up.

Sometimes you two have nothing to complete for science and just do your homework together.

You both sit in his family room, there are papers on the coffee table and you both have binders on your laps. You both sit on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other. You have your legs tucked to the side and he has his arm thrown over the side of the couch.

You two are going back and forth talking about your elementary school days. You had made an off hand comment about Mrs. Sheldon’s class and you two began reminiscing. “You used to push me down at recess all the time in fourth grade.”

Henry rolled his eyes, “well yeah, in the third grade you broke my heart!” You tilt your head in confusion, “I had the biggest crush on you back then. One day at recess I got down on one knee and asked you to marry me and you told me I had weird hair and you ran off.”

“I didn’t,” you thought he was messing with you. Up until this moment you two had been joking around, but he shook his head and his face told you he was not. You covered your mouth in shock and to hide a smile, you had no memory of that happening. “Well I’m sorry for what I said to you when I was eight.”

Henry shook his head, “it completely crushed me, I haven’t recovered.” You throw a pencil at him and he laughs as he blocks it. You both have smiles on your face and are clearly joking around.

“Junior,” you both stop dead and turn to the doorway where the voice was from. There stood who you assumed was Henry’s father. You had no doubt he was Henry’s father, the looked so similar. You had yet to meet him, he worked long hours at the hospital and you were long gone by the time he got home.

“Dad,” you noticed Henry had tensed like he had been caught doing something he should not.

Ignoring the tension you stand with an out stretched hand, “hi Dr. King, I’m Y/N Harris, Henry’s science partner.” You know it would be rude not to introduce yourself, plus you have been invading his house for the last few weeks.

He shakes your hand and you give a small smile. For some reason you feel like you are doing something wrong and that Dr. King does not like you.

You sit back down awkwardly. “Is your science partner staying for dinner?”

You shake your head, “no I have to be back at the school at six for practice.” Now that he was here you wanted to leave. The way he was staring you down was making you nervous.

Dr. King shakes his head, “it’s only not five yet, I can order you two a pizza while you finish up your work.” His eyes flicker to the books you have on the coffee table and the binders you had on your laps.

You shake your head, "I appreciate it, but I have to leave for color guard soon. If I eat too close to practice I'll be nauseous." Something you had done before. And something told you that even he didn't want to get a pizza for you.

Dr. King nods, "another time then." With the way he says it, you don't think he means it.

Everyone knows Henry's father wasn't the nicest person ever, but something told you he did not like you. He probably didn't want a country bumpkin sitting with his pride and joy on his antique couch in his mansion. Suddenly your extra aware of the dirt from the dirt road on your beat up sneakers, your cheap jacket your wearing as a shirt, and your jeans that ripped and worn out from wearing for days on end. You feel like you're dirtying up his house with your presence.

He leaves and you and Henry are frozen on the couch. With the way Henry has tensed and looks you can tell he is just as scared of his father as you are of Matt. Henry's asshole-ish behavior makes a lot more sense. If that was the man who raised him, it wasn't too much of a surprise Henry turned out the way he did. It's still not an excuse for his behavior, of course. But the insight does answer a few questions.

For the time being, you two work quietly. It was as if you were transported back to the first weeks of school when things were awkward between you two. You find yourself missing the conversations you had been having.

But then Henry breaks the silence, “can I ask a favor?” You nod, “I’m having trouble with my history assignment.”

“I might be able to help, what’s it on?” While you were in all honors classes you might be able to help him anyway.

Henry started to get his notebook out, “well we were talking about how during WW2 art curators hid different pieces so the Nazis didn’t get a hold of them.” You had talked about that, even watched a few clips from movies. “And we were given a question to answer for homework: what would you sacrifice in order to protect something you cared about? Money? Safety? Your life? Another’s life?” He shows you the piece of paper with the single question and the large blank space.

“Okay,” you chew your lip as you look it over and let the question sink in, “let’s start with what you do understand.” After years of staying up late and helping Rick under a lamp light, you had learned how to tutor someone who had no interest in learning.

Henry understood why they did what they did, to keep the art from bad people. He wouldn’t have liked to see a picture filled with Nazis next to The Nike of Samothrace, a piece associated with liberty. “I just don’t understand the question.”

Something told you he would not be a philosophy major. “It’s asking what you personally would give to keep things you cherish safe.” He still has a blank look on his face. “Like what would you give to keep the Statute of Liberty or the Declaration of Independence safe? Would you give up your money, safety, your life?”

This seems to make sense to him, “I see.”

But you’re not done, “I mean it doesn’t have to be something historical it could be personal. If someone had a gun pointed at you and wanted the thing you cared about most, and if you knew that taking a bullet stopped them from having it-“

“I’d take the bullet,” Henry says with a kind of certainty you didn’t think he was capable of. But then again, you were learning more about him every day.

“Okay but what if the gun was pointed at your dad? Or Cindy? Or anyone else you cared about?”

“Like you,” Henry whispers. He didn’t mean that like that, did he? He couldn’t. He was dating Cindy. There was no way he could like you like that.

So you ignore that thought and continue helping him, “but what if, it was someone you didn’t know? Would your answer change?” You look over at his face, “me personally I would give my life if I cared that much.”

Henry’s brow furrows as he thinks. It takes him a moment longer to decide, “I couldn’t sacrifice someone else’s life, it’s not mine to bargain.”

You had no problem ruining Yolanda’s life. Of course that thought stayed in your head. “That’s what the question is asking, how much would you sacrifice to protect something you loved. Where would you draw the line.”

“I couldn’t take one either,” he looks up at you, “like I couldn’t kill someone, I mean.”

That you were not expecting, “well you should include that.”

“What about you?” He fiddles with the paper.

Would you be able to kill someone for something you loved? You weren’t a violent person, you hated fighting. You couldn’t see yourself ever hurting anyone. “I think everyone is capable of hurting someone if they are pushed in a certain way. And if someone I loved was in danger I might be capable of that.” If Rick was in danger you don’t know what you would do, how far you would go. But you know you would do whatever it took.

Ignoring that thought you start packing up your stuff, “I got to get to color guard.”

Henry nods, but is more focused on staring at the paper in front of him. Until you get up to leave, “thanks for helping me.”

“I should be charging you for this,” you shoulder you bag, “I’m your science partner not your history tutor.”

Henry shakes his head, “and here I thought we were friends.”

Friends. You didn’t have friends. It was only you and Rick. You didn’t dare think that Henry was your friend, he was Henry. Sure you too had joked around and swapped stories. Did that make you friends? Or did making ramen and talking about your extracurriculars make you friends?

Did you even want to be friends with Henry? He was a jerk. But you could see under that persona he wore he at school, he was more than a stereotypical asshole jock. You could see that he was actually nice to talk to and caring. That Henry you could be friends with. Only he kept that version hidden under his letterman jacket.

Before you can answer Henry’s dad walks into the room making you both shift awkwardly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Henry says awkwardly. The weight of his father's stare is heavy on both of you. "Bye."

"Bye," you smile at Henry's father again before scurrying out the door.

You look at the instructions, you use your shoulder to move the safety goggles back into place. Cursing at how they kept sliding down your face, but you continue to read from the packet, “it says we have add the solution in the blue bottle to each port and look at the reactions to see what ‘blood type’ each liquid is.” It wasn’t actually blood (this was a high school after all) but liquids that behaved like blood.

“Okay,” Henry nods and unscrews the liquid and uses the eye drop pipette to take the liquid out and drop it in each well in the pellet plate. You both watch the containers for a moment, “how long is is supposed to take again?” You roll your eyes and shake your head.

After a few minutes some of the liquids become cloudy, only one remains the same. “It looks like the blue bottle is type A positive.” You saw as you write in your answer in the packet.

“What makes you say that?” Henry knows you're right, but he feels like you’re the smart one and doing all the work. You get the answers and know things he doesn’t. You’re the one who writes everything and draws the diagrams, he only test things. He feels like he’s holding you back. Also he is a bit of jerk.

You point to the other wells with cloudy and clumped liquid, “well does your blood look like that when it comes out?” Henry can’t help but snort at your sarcastic answer. One thing he has learned about you is that while you are quiet you are full of one liners and smart-ass answers. He enjoys hearing you say them, especially when they are directed at him.

“We should clean up now so we don’t get stuck here after class.” Henry can see the clock behind you and the minute hand is getting dangerously close to when the bell rings.

Henry begins to gather the supplies you had grabbed while you tuck the packet away in your class folder before joining him. You put the different bottles away and Henry goes to the sink to wash the items you used. Once you have everything put away you join him at the sink so you can dry the items he had washed. But one look at them told you they had to be rewashed.

“You don’t ever clean at home do you?” The well pellets still have splotches of fake blood in them, the pipette has soap both inside and outside of it, and he clearly only washed the outside of the wash bottle. You had noticed the way he wiped the table down yesterday too that he wasn’t used to cleaning.

“How’d you know?” Henry is stunned that you had been able to figure him out so easily. It wasn’t the first time you had called him out on something, and probably not the last. He had no idea if he was that obvious or you could read him easily. You glance down at the half-assed cleaning attempt he had given. Henry can feel his cheeks start to warm up, “it’s not like I never needed to before.”

You are aware of the fact that Henry is one of the richest kids in school, his designer jeans and latest iPhone make it very clear. But it seemed strange that he would have house keepers, this was Nebraska after all. You had seen them when you went to his house to do homework.

It makes you feel numb, because you had spent a good portion of the weekend cleaning the house with Rick because your uncle sure as hell didn’t do it. You and Rick had been cooking full blown meals on a budget for each other since you were seven. You could do a load of laundry with almost no detergent. You had known how to clean the kitchen and the bathroom with just a teaspoon of cleaner. Or had a problem getting down on your hands and knees to scrub the toilets or the bathroom floor. Neither of you did, the only thing Rick refused to do was clean the hair out of the shower drain since it was your hair in there anyway.

While majority of this was because your uncle refused to do it for you, it still shocked you to know that a fifteen year old didn’t know how to do dishes.

Instead of making fun of him, or giving a sarcastic comment like you normally did, you simply stood next to him and began talking him though the process of how to wash dishes. Or in this case, science class supplies. Henry pays attention, for a moment at least, but he get distracted by the way your ponytail falls on your shoulder, and the way your eyes shine in the overhead lights, and the way your smaller hands grip the bottle securely so the soapy water doesn’t make you lose your grip.

You make a joke, Henry doesn’t hear it but the way you smile makes him smile so you think he does. He likes the way you nose scrunches and how the left side of your face is beat behind the right when you smile. He finds is adorable.

Then it hits Henry like a punch to the gut. Like he had been tackled in a game of football.

Henry King Jr has a crush on you.

There’s a comfortable lapse in the conversation until your stomach rumbles. “Hungry?”

Your face heats heats up because you don’t know what’s worse: the loud rumbling sound coming from your body or the fact that it wasn’t your stomach. “I guess.”

Henry sets his pencil down, “We can run and grab something or we can get something here.”

“It’s fine.” You were used to having a rumbling stomach even when your period cravings weren’t bad. Matt got annoyed at how much food you and Rick would go through so the two of you learned to enough just enough to sustain yourselves.

Henry shakes his head, “I’m not going to let you sit here hungry, and I’m hungry too.”

Something tells you he’s not going to drop this so you relent. “Fine, what do you have?” You don’t have any money on you and you’re not going to go out to eat and have him pay. The last thing you needed was Cindy Burman on your case about why her boyfriend was buying you dinner.

Henry goes to stand, “Whatever you want I’ll tell the housekeeper-“ His voice wavers at the look you’re giving him.

You sit back in your seat and cross your arms, “you don’t know how to cook do you?”

Now Henry’s face heats up because once agains you have him all figured out. Here he was ready to show off how rich he was with his housekeeper and now you knock him down a few pegs, again.

You take his nonresponse as a ‘yes’. “Well it’s never too late to learn,” you stand and he follows.

You decide on making Ramen since it’s easy and quick. “But not just regular ramen I’m showing you how to make good ramen.” There’s two packs, normally you ate three or four at a time alone, but your not going to do that in front of Henry.

You grab some butter out of the fridge and few spices out of the cabinet. Henry notices the spices in your hand, “you add spices to your Ramen?”

“And you don’t?” You were quiet but you were always ready with a one-liner. You put some water in the pot and a chunk of butter, “when you do it like this it thickens to more of a sauce consistency.” Adding the noodles, flavor packet, and spices you stirred the contents in the pot together. “If you add some soy sauce to this it’s even better.”

Henry leans against the counter, “you do a lot of cooking at home?”

You look down at the pot, “well dad works nights and its just me and Rick so someone’s got to do it.” Actually Matt couldn’t be bothered to do anything around the house so you and Rick had been making meals since elementary school.

Henry knew one thing you two had in common was the fact neither of you had moms. He didn’t know what happened to yours but his died years before he and his dad moved to Blue Valley.

It doesn’t take long for the noodles to be done so Henry grabs two bowls. Once you have it dished out you hold both of them to him, “which one do you want?”

“You pick,” you cooked it was only fair.

You shook your head, “I cooked, you pick.” It was a rule you and Rick had that has saved many arguments over the years. If he picked he couldn’t say you purposely gave him less.

Henry grabbed a bowl, his fingers brushed against yours and he tried to ignore how it made him feel. Instead he moved the school stuff and sat down at the table with you. He takes a bite and fights the urge to roll his eyes back. “That’s really good.”

You give a proud smile, “thanks.” You blow on the noodles and take a bite. It needed soy sauce but it would do. You did eat everything.

As he waits for his ramen to cool he decides to talk to you. “So are you going to the game this Friday?”

You pause with a forkful halfway raised to your mouth. Did he really just ask you that? “Uh yeah, I have to go to home games. I’m in color guard.”

“Oh yeah,” he should have known since you were always carrying your guard rifle. He had seen you around school and town spinning it and tossing it up in the air. “So what do you sit in the stands the whole time?”

“Pretty much,” sometimes you would help the cheerleaders with their chants. For the most part you sat with the other girls, they would talk and you would listen. “Rick picks me up after, he wouldn’t be caught dead at the school if he doesn’t have to be.”

Henry smirked at that, “yeah something tells me he is not a fan.”

It becomes awkwardly silent for a moment so you break the tension by saying, “you know if you actually jumped every once and awhile you might actually gain some yards.” Henry freezes when you say making your smirk.

Suddenly his feelings grow more intense in just one sentence. “Well maybe instead of us getting a new coach they should just hire you.”

That makes you roll your eyes, “hey I’m only trying to have you yelled at less by Artemis.” The girl had a tendency to yell at her teammates when they weren’t preforming to her high standards.

Henry stares at you in awe, how does someone become more attractive just like that? “Well next time I jump and score a touchdown I’ll point to you.”

That makes any joking attitude inside of you disappear, but you play it cool. “Don’t do that,” Henry looks confused, “you’re dating the head cheerleader.” And the biggest bitch in school.

Henry looses his smile, remembering he has several unanswered texts from her. She may be his girlfriend but god did he hate talking to her. He thought maybe when they started dating she would be nicer, but she had gotten meaner. Now he hated spending time with her.

Instead he spent time with you and he was so much happier. Hell, he had more fun doing science homework with you than he did going on dates with her. Spending time with Cindy was unbearable but here Henry was making jokes over ramen with you.

Neither of you say anything as you continue eating. You finish before Henry so you get up and clean your bowl. Henry doesn’t realize it but you clean the pot while he stares at his bowl.

When you return you start packing up your stuff, “I’m going to head early, my cramps are getting pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” that was a good idea. Before he can fully process what you said you’re already out the door.

~~~

Zipping up your bag you look over at Henry, "I think we're good to turn it in tomorrow."

Henry nods, "yeah," he was ready to be done with this project. Even if you had done most of the work. He starts walking you to the door and notes how dark it is outside, "do you need a ride home?"

You shake your head, "no it's okay, it's not that far." Blue Valley was a small town and everything was a short walk away. At least for you, you had walked all over town hundreds of times.

Henry shrugged, it's that big of deal." Having you walk home in the dark, when it was getting colder seemed like a bad idea. Even if he didn't like you he shouldn't have let you walk home alone.

"It's fine," normally Rick would meet you half way, but he hadn't been responding to your texts. He had been acting weird the last few days, you had even seen him talking to the new girl and Yolanda and Beth.

"No, it's not, let me get the keys." Before you can argue Henry is grabbing a set of keys off the key rack. "Let's go."

You try to argue but Henry doesn't listen. So you follow him to his car and get in the passenger side, "do you know where you're going?"

Henry nods, "kinda."

So you guide him to your neck of the woods and to the beginning of the dirt road. "You can just drop me off here."

This doesn't seem to please Henry, "I can drive you all the way." He didn't get why you were so adamant about him not doing it.

A nervous twist happens in your stomach. He's not going to let it go, and you can't let him anywhere near your house. So you have to come up with something. "I know it's just, if my dad," Matt, "thinks I've been with a boy," you trail off. If Henry thinks that's why you don't want him to drop you off at your door step, then hopefully he'll drop it. It's not an outright lie, but not the whole truth.

Henry understands exactly what you want him to, "that makes sense." He puts the car in park for you.

"Thank you, you didn't have to do this," you really wish he hadn't. If anyone saw you it could mean a lot of trouble for you. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya," there's a split second before you start moving when Henry wants to say something. He wants to keep you in the car, close to him. But what can he say? He has a girlfriend and you had to remind him of that. Instead he watches you gather your stuff and exit his car. You start down the road and Henry can't help but admire you.

~~~

Like nearly everyone else, you hated gym class, especially since this year you had it in the morning.

Another thing you hated was the fact that you had to get changed in front of all the other girls. It was awkward. But one of the perks of not having friends and being forgotten was that nobody paid any mind to the little scars on your body. You could quickly change and be done with it.

But not today it seemed because soon Cindy Burman was standing in front of you with a scowl. "Why the hell are you going over my boyfriend's house?"

Now you have everybody's attention, something you hated. Not only that you were in the middle of getting changed so you don't have a shirt on. You're frozen with it stitting on the bench. But your brain starts working so you can squeak out, "we were working on a science project together."

Cindy doesn't look impressed, "you really expect me to believe that?"

It was true, but you could see why she wouldn't believe that. "I have it in my bag." You go to grab your shirt from the bench because you feel exposed with so many people staring at you. But Cindy grabs it and looks over at your bag. With shaky hands you open your book bag and pull out your science folder.

Cindy snatches the folder from you and starts flipping through it. She doesn't look impressed when she sees the notes that are very clearly Henry's handwriting. "Still doesn't explain why your over there so much."

"There's only two of us, so it takes us longer than the other groups." The other groups rarely had to meet up outside of class, if at all. While you and Henry had to meet up at least once a week, even if there weren't projects due. "Plus he asks for help with assignments."

"Why didn't he tell me?" Cindy stares you down.

You shrugged, "we only talk about school stuff." Even when the conversations strayed it was still about something school related, like his football or when he asked about color guard. The only time he mentioned her was when he realized she had called and texted and he missed it, he quick texted her back and apologized for the interruption. Other than that he never talked about her.

This wasn't good enough for Cindy, "why do you need to go over his house?"

"He doesn't get done football until three thirty and the library closes at four." A half hour was not enough time to get everything done. "My dad," Matt, "works nights so he's normally asleep and I don't want to bother him." Plus you would rather Cindy fight you than ever bring anyone to your house. You feel the need to add, "we only do school work, I swear I don't want your boyfriend."

But this doesn't seem to help, "what are you saying you're too good for him?"

Now you wished the ground would swallow you up and shield you from everyone's gaze. "I'm saying I'm not into him." You didn't like Henry like that and even if you did why would he ever like you? He was one of the best players on the football team and lived in a mansion, you lived on a farm and your bra that was on display was bought four years ago at Walmart on sale. "And it's not like I would be on his radar."

Cindy takes a step toward you making you step back until you feel the cool lockers against your bare back. "Take this as a warning, stay away from my boyfriend or I'll make your life worse than Yolanda's." She glances down at you, her eyes lingering for a moment, "it's not like it would be hard."

She shoves your folder and your shirt into your hands and storms off. It makes everyone go back to what they were doing. You ignore the redness in your face and pull your shirt on and put your folder back.

You replay the scene in your head over and over again. Why did Cindy suddenly care about you and Henry spending time together when you two had been doing it for weeks?

~~~

The front door opens and even before you hear his footsteps you know its Rick. "Where have you been?" Matt was sitting on the couch, you had counted four beers when you walked by and he had gotten up to get more. But this was a man who needed at least two to start the day.

"Out," Rick responds dryly.

"Out where?" Matt was buzzed, not quite drunk, but enough to be confrontational. You had been lucky, when you got home he was still functioning drinking. Of course he was been drinking, but only enough to function, it was when he was most bearable. Which wasn't saying much, but it meant you were less likely to get under his skin in a bad way.

"Since when do you care?" You loved your brother, but he was an idiot sometimes. Matt loved to bait him and Rick almost always took the bait. And Rick loved giving attitude to anyone in any form of power it seemed.

"Since I got stuck with two birth certificates that have your names on them," Matt hated that he was responsible for the both of you. "That means I have to make sure neither of you are getting into trouble like your father."

You can hear Rick take a deep breath, you can picture him balling his fists. You start to get up from your bed, ready to intervene. But then Rick says, "I was out with my friends."

That makes Matt let out a laugh that sends chills down your spine. Nothing good ever came with that laugh. "Yeah right, like anyone would want to be friends with your annoying ass."

"Whatever," Rick's footsteps get closer and the door to your room opens.

Even though you and Rick were fifteen you both shared a room. The house had only two bedrooms so there was nowhere for you to go. Your parents had said that once you all moved you two would finally get your own bedrooms. But then they left so it never happened.

Rick huffs and throws his bag on his bed. It's a single bed and much too small for the six foot young man, but Matt would never replace it. He sits down on the sheets he hasn't washed in a few months. "How was being over Henry's?"

You shrug, "fine, we finished out project."

"Good, you don't have to keep going over there." Rick never hid how much he disliked Henry, especially in the last few days.

And while you can't really blame him, you still feel the need to say, "it's not like that." When it was just the two of you, it wasn't that bad. "He's different once you get to know him."

Rick rolls his eyes, "I'm sure Yolanda told everyone the same thing." He starts taking his shoes off, "I don't trust him."

He had been saying this for weeks but something about the way he said it felt different. "I get that," he had very good reasons for not trusting Henry.

But Rick didn't want to leave it at that it seemed. "Good, then stop going over his house." He was protective of you, he had to be.

This was getting old, "the only reason I'm going over there in the first place is for school, not to hang out. And sometimes we have to work after school."

Rick stood up with his socks in his hand, ready to put them in the hamper, "yeah well, you should get a new partner."

Not this again, "I'm not doing that." Your teacher would not allow it and you had told him this. "I know he's not the greatest guy in the world-"

"You don't need to tell me," Rick puts his socks in the over flowing hamper. "He gets it from his dad."

If anyone should be saying that it should be you because you had been subjected to his glare. "How would you know, you never meet the guy?"

Rick scoffs, "I don't need to, I just know."

This is a final straw for you, "what are you not telling me?" He had been acting strange recently. With the friends he had gotten that didn't make any sense. But he had been gone more, not answering texts, dodging questions. And most importantly not telling you everything.

Being twins made you two close, but being best friends made you closer. Neither of you had spent a day apart since birth, you were attached at the hip. It was probably unhealthy, but you had no one else you could rely on. You told each other everything. There were no secrets between the two of you, until now.

Rick looks hesitant, like he wants to tell you something, "just trust me."

Even though you trust him more than anything, you're more hurt that he's not telling you this. "You know you can tell me anything," you say softly.

Rick runs his hands through his hair, "it's complicated."

He can't look at you, the hurt look on your face is making this more difficult. "If I asked Yolanda or Beth would they tell me?" His lack of response is an answer. One that hurts, "so you trust some girls you barely know more than me?"

That makes Rick finally look at you, "I promise I will tell you everything, just be patient." You look away to blink back tears, "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Just tell me," you say, "if I'm in danger I want to know." You assuming it has to do with Matt, maybe something was happening with him. But nothing felt more stressful than it normally did.

"You will be if you keep hanging around Henry," he says gruffly.

"What does Henry have to do with this?" You whisper loudly, the last thing you needed was for Matt to get upset if you were both to loud.

Just then the sound of Matt's footsteps make you both freeze. You both hold your breath as he stumbles by to his room. The door clicks shut letting you both relax.

Rick gives you a stern look, like he's in pain. Like he's being lied too. "Can you just trust me?"

The fact he even had to ask that made tears finally fall, "I'm going to bed." Rick says your name but you get under your covers and turn away from him. He sighs, knowing you won't talk to him. He finishes getting ready for bed and get in his. Rick's bed is on the opposite side of the room, parallel with yours. Once he settles and falls asleep you turn over to face him. It's the only way you fall asleep.

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 27 days ago

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Checkmate || Professor Logan x Reader Smut

summary: Your history professor is hot and you know that going after him is a mistake. He's double your age and also your professor. But you can't help yourself. You want him and he wants you. So now what do you two do.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, Taboo relationship (Professor x Student), the reader is meant to be 21-22 years old. Power imbalance, fem!reader, oral (f!recieving), rough sex, breast play, hickeys, spanking, unprotected sex, degradation, dirty talk, bondage, missionary, bent over a desk, skirt kink low key, glasses kink, mean during sex Logan, complicated feelings.

wc: 5.3k (OOPS LMAO)

a/n: Hello! So this is my first smut fic in a while so please be kind lmao. I really hope it lives up to what I wanted it to be. Obviously, don't do this in real life. It is NOT a good idea ever. This kind of relationship is not healthy. With that out of the way I really hope you guys like it and I might. make a part 2. I have an idea cooking but idk so lmk if you want one! Please enjoy! Also I'm not going to be going back to smut writing full time this is just a one off so plz don't ask ty.

"You're playing a very dangerous game darling." Logan leans back in his chair, his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose as he stares at you with his intense green eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about Professor." You tilt your head, innocent eyes as you play that clueless college girl.

A hint of a smirk on your lips as you tighten the grip on your books. They rest just below your chest where your low cut top was leaving very little to Logan's imagination. You could see his eyes flick down just for a moment. A little win for you as you continue to play this incredibly dangerous game with your history professor.

You knew you had to have him the moment you stepped into his classroom. Everything about him was intoxicating. The smell of his cologne that would waft into your senses when he passed around papers and the slight bulging of his muscles when he crossed his arms.

The tight shirts he wore, the deep gravely voice as he gave his lectures, the fucking beard, and those delicious glasses that he wore. His stupid hair that was always styled to have these little tuffs that you just wanted to grab onto. He was just so fucking handsome.

You sat front and center, legs crossed and a smile on your face as you shamelessly eye fucked him every class. Of course he noticed, how could he not.

Not to sound egotistical but you're not the first pretty young thing to look at him that way and you won't be the last. It's textbook really.

The short skirts, the low cut tops. The innocent act, faking cluelessness just to come to his office hours. The dumb questions, the over exaggerated nods of understanding.

"Thanks Professor Logan, I really needed your help." They'd always say with their eyes begging to be fucked.

Some men might have even taken their offer. Caved at the first sight of bare skin and an eager face. But Logan was not some men. He had no interest in entertaining his desperate students. Was it harsh? Perhaps. But Logan didn't really care.

He's not interested in being some girls college fling. The story she tells when she's had one too many shots, giggling to her friends as she recounts the best night of her life with her professor. And yes, it would be the best night she's ever had. Logan would make sure of that.

But then you walked in.

Logan clocked you the moment you walked into his classroom. A subtle smirk on his lips when you came up to personally introduce yourself, leaning just a little too far over his desk so he could get a clear view down your shirt. The same song and dance. He almost laughed. But there was something about you that was different.

A fire in your eyes that he had never seen. You seem smart, smart enough to know not to sleep with your professor. Yet you don't seem to care as your attempts at grabbing his attention are relentless. He would call it pathetic but there's something different. You weren't desperate like the others.

You were hungry.

It was impressive really and he couldn't deny that you were certainly attractive. So he decided to play along. Logan...has had a complicated relationship past. One that has involved too much stress and relegated him a single man at 45.

Dating apps are utter trash and it's hard to meet someone naturally with his work schedule. It's not hard for him to get his fix when he really needs it. All he needs to do is go down to that dingy bar by his apartment and sit at the bar. It doesn't take long until someone comes to talk to him. Maybe that's why his ego is so big. But he can back it up which is more than most men can say.

Though he was never truly satisfied. Deep down he wants more than a one night stand. He craves true intimacy but he's given up on ever finding it. He misses the fun flirty parts of finding love. So what's the harm in indulging you just a little.

A double entendre here or there, calling on you more than he should, and when no one's looking...sending you a wink that makes your legs cross tighter. The harm? Costing him his job and disgracing everything he's ever worked for.

But isn't that what makes it exciting?

"You get A's on all my assignments. You have a 4.0, deans list every semester. Yet I find you in my office more than anyone else." Logan takes his glasses off and tosses them onto his desk.

He takes notice of the way your mouth practically waters as he stretches his arms above his head. His untucked shirt lifting just a little to see his bare abs. The game in action. When you fire he fires back. Predator and Prey, but you can't tell who's who quite yet.

You shrug your shoulders. He watches you carefully as you walk around from the other side of his mahogany desk. Your skirt rides up just enough for him to see the hint of your black lace panties. Another classic move.

"Going to your office hours just really helped me retain the information." Logan clenches his jaw.

"Let me guess..." Logan leans back in his chair, his legs spreading as he shifts.

"You were top of your class at whatever shitty high school with overbearing parents and this college is your first real taste of freedom and you think, what better way to stick it to your parents than to sleep with your professor. How does that sound?" He sounds so condescending as he slowly gets up from his seat and place his hands on his desk.

Leaning closer and closer to you with every word until his lips are mere inches away. You can smell a hint of cigar smoke. Of course he smokes.

"Close. I was valedictorian, I do have overbearing parents, but I'm not the ditzy naive college girl you think I am. " You reach up and grab onto his tie. Your nails play with it as you debate on untying it or using it to pull him forward.

You decide on the latter.

"But if that's what you're into, I can certainly play the part." You pull him close so that your lips were at his ear. Your voice makes him shiver. His eyes closing as a low groan escapes his throat.

"Is that what you like? Having a young, innocent girl throw herself at you?" You push, enjoying how much it's getting to him.

"I'm certainly not innocent but I can pretend." You let go of his tie and he stands back up. His eyes are wide as it seems his cocky attitude has slipped just a little bit.

"Oh professor I'm so clueless about this essay." You pitch your voice higher than normal as you stick your lip out in a pout.

"Will you please help me?" Logan rolls his eyes at your dramatics. You're enjoying this but you have no idea what you're getting yourself into.

"You think you're mature? A big girl who can make her own fucking choices huh?" He growls.

He grabs your books and tosses them to the floor. They clatter with a loud bang. Suddenly the mask slips just a bit, fear shoots through your eyes as you wonder if someone heard. It's well past office hours and most everyone has gone home but there could be a janitor or another professor staying late to work. Logan sees that and bares his teeth, ready to sink them into you. An upper hand, an weak point he can use to his advantage.

"What's wrong darling? Scared someone might walk in and see you spreading your legs for your professor?" He taunts as his hands grab your thighs.

"Not at all, because they'll just see the old, lonely professor between his poor students legs." You bite back. Logan raises an eyebrow as his thumbs slowly caress your skin.

"Feisty." He hums.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other. The reality of the situation weighing on you. You could get into so much trouble for this. This could ruin everything. But you don't care. You've worked too hard to walk away now.

You want him, more than you should. Waking up a extra early so that you look just right for him. Asking questions you already know the answer to. He's been on to you for a while but you knew that. You've been waiting for this. Both of you think you've been playing the other but right now all the cards are down and it's just a matter of who strikes first.

"If we cross this line, we can never go back. Do you understand me?" Logan says lowly.

One of his hands reaches to grab your chin. His thumb pulling at your bottom lip as he studies your face. Anything that could convince him you didn't want this. That he had taken things too far. But there was none of that. Nothing but pure and utter desire was in your eyes.

You reach over and grab his glasses that were discarded on the table. Silently you slip them back on his face. You always though he was hotter with them on. Logan lets you, finding it quite amusing.

"I understand. I don't want to go back." You say breathlessly.

Your hands reach for your blouse. Logan freezes as you unbutton your shirt painfully slow. Teasing him until he can finally see what you've been dying to show him. Your bare skin. No bra. How did he not notice before? He can feel his jeans get tighter as he stares unabashedly at your bare boobs.

"What? Never seen a pair of boobs before Professor?" You purr, really stretching out his title. You know it turns him on. It's taboo but so much fun. Your hands gently coming to cup them, push them up and play with them. They're partly covered by your blouse but it still drives him completely mad.

"Dirty fucking girl." He growls.

You gasp as he wraps one hand around your waist. Sliding you close enough to feel his bulge press against your panties. With his other hand he slides whatever books and pens were sitting so neatly on his desk to the ground with a loud clatter. You look towards the door once again and Logan smirks.

"Just you and me here sweetheart. Promise." Logan knows the schedule of every professor here. No one bothers to stay any later than they have to and the janitors are practically none existent. Not that he blames them. The school doesn't pay them enough anyways. He lays you down so your back is on his desk.

Your legs hang around his waist as he grabs your blouse and rips it apart.

"Fuck, aren't you just perfect." His hands are cold as he grabs your breasts in his hands. It makes you shiver. He squeezes them softly, almost hesitantly.

But it doesn't last long as he bends down and takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His tongue teasing your nipple as his hands grope and play roughly. Your back arches up, pushing them closer into his face. His glasses smashing against his face but he doesn't fucking care. A quiet whimper is music to his ears as he continues his pleasurable assault on your boobs.

"Always showing these off." Logan mumbles as he finally lets you catch a breath. His lips now trailing up to your neck.

"You show your other professors your tits or am I the only lucky one?" He asks tauntingly.

He already knows the answer but man does it stroke his ego to hear you say it. You bite your lip as you reach for his tie. Needing him to take off his damn shirt. He grabs your hands and pins them to your side. His mouth biting harshly into your shoulder before his tongue soothes the now painful spot.

"When I ask you a question I expect an answer." He clicks his tongue in a disappointed manner.

"Just you." You whine as you try and grind your hips, craving any kind of friction against your aching cunt. But once again Logan stops you. His hips pining you down.

"Almost there..." He purrs. You flex your hands as your brain starts to malfunction. How does he expect you to focus? Prick.

"Just you Professor." You pant and he lets go of your wrists.

Your nails dig into his shirt as he pulls at his tie. You messily unbutton his shirt to reveal his ridiculously toned chest. Your mouth waters as he shrugs his shirt off and places his tie on his desk. A devilish smile on his face as he does so.

"You're smart but I bet I could turn that brain dumb real fucking quick." He says. It's not a guess, it's a promise.

"Get up." He commands and you scramble to your feet.

He cups your face, its almost sweet as he smirks. He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek before turning you around and bending you over his desk. Talk about whiplash. He lifts your skirt up to get a good view of your ass in that black lace he saw earlier. You shakes your ass teasingly and Logan isn't having it.

His hand slaps against your ass harshly making you jolt. Your eyes widening in shock at the pain. Though the pain doesn't last long as he drags his fingers along your cunt. Fuck they're so big.

You rest your elbows on his desk as you try and control your breathing. He's barely touched you and you're already going insane.

It's torture.

Pure torture.

His fingers stop and you let out an angry huff. Logan chuckles at your impatience. His hand reaching up and pulling the crotch of your panties back, letting them go and grinning at the loud snap against your skin.

"Can you hurry up?" You snap.

"Oh I'm sorry darling, is the teasing a too much?" He asks mockingly. He presses his crotch against your ass as he bends over so he could whisper in your ear.

"I agree, how terrible it would be to tease someone over and over." His false sympathy is really starting to piss you off.

"It would be like dressing in slutty skirts and shaking your ass in front of your professor after every class." You close your eyes as you realize this is payback.

"Didn't think you were one to hold grudges." You look back to glare at him and he just laughs.

"I don't. Think of this more as a learning opportunity." He falls to his knees his hands kneading your ass roughly. You just know he's got that stupidly handsome cocky look on his face.

"Yeah? What lesson are you trying to teach professor?" You try to gain some control back but Logan isn't having it. He slaps your ass again and you bite your lip. The pain dissolving into pleasure in an instant.

"Teaching you how to show some fucking respect." He growls as he leans in shoves his face into your clothed cunt. His tongue moving much to slow for your liking.

"You're fucking soaked right through darling." He hums as he pulls your panties to the side.

Your face falls onto the desk as he buries his tongue deep in your cunt. Soft whimpers fall from your lips as Logan absolutely devours you. His moans are pure filth and you start to wonder if he'll even come up for air. The sounds that fill the room are completely obscene. His nose presses against your ass as he continues his assault on your pussy. Tongue moving with expert skill. His hands have a firm grip on your ass and he isn't letting go any time soon.

You moan as his tongue plays with your clit. Teasing it every now and then when you least expect it. You're pussy is practically dripping onto his tongue. Begging for him. It needs him. You gasp when he finally pulls away. You sneak a look back and somehow he's gotten even hotter.

His eyes are dark with lust, his completely breathless. His glasses are fogged up and crooked but he doesn't even bother to fix them. His eyes meet yours and you shiver at how intense his gaze is.

"Fuck. Tastes so fucking sweet." Any reasonable thoughts and words fail him as he grabs your hips and pulls you right back onto his face. Your hips move involuntarily, chasing the sweet, sweet pleasure he offers with that dirty tongue of is.

Logan wanted to give you a proper punishment. Tease you a little until you're begging him to touch you. But the moment he got his first taste of you, all those ideas went out the window. He needed you, he craved you. The pleasure is intense and he's not letting up.

Without thinking you buck your hips trying to move away. You don't want him to stop but you just need to breathe and Logan was sucking the air out of your fucking lungs. Logan growls, actually growls. You whine when he stands up, abandoning your cunt to pin you down onto the desk.

"You're moving around too fucking much."

He grabs your hands and puts them behind your back.

"Is it too much hm? You bite off more than you can chew?" He ask. It's like he wants you to tap out. To prove he was right and you were in over your head. But you won't give in.

"No. Just want you to hurry up and fuck me. Or are you still trying to get it up old man?" You taunt.

His jaw clenches as he grabs his previously discarded tie and wraps it around your wrists tightly. Even tying a bow that he smirks at, a present just for him.

"You want my cock darling? Fine. I'll give it to you." The metal clinks of his belt make your heart skip.

Excitement surging through your body as you're finally getting what you want. You bite your lip as he tears your panties off your body. He very loudly sniffs them, groaning at the smell and tossing them behind him. Fucking perv.

He gives you no time to think as he rubs the head of his cock along your cunt. Using your own wetness to slick up his cock. Before you can utter another word he slips his tip in. A loud cry fills the room as you get your first raw feeling of Logan. He's massive.

You always hoped he'd be but fuck. He's stretching you beyond belief. Heavy, girthy, and bigger than any normal man should be. He nudges the deepest parts of you and he still hasn't bottomed out.

"Aw am I too big for you?" He thrusts his hips to shove himself in a little more. You don't even recognize the noises that fall from your own lips as he slowly takes you apart just by sliding in.

"N-No." You wish you had your hands free but there was something incredibly sexy about being tied up. At being at his mercy.

Logan wraps one of his hands around your neck. Not tight but firm enough so that you're well aware he's there. He's everywhere. He's all consuming. He leans down to kiss your bare back, his beard scratching your skin as he travels up to your shoulder.

"No? So this isn't too much for you?" He hums in your ear.

Your eyes squeeze shut as he finally bottoms out. His balls slapping against your ass he bullies his cock in. You shake your head. Refusing to waver. Though it was getting hard to even focus. You're completely overwhelmed and he can tell.

"Hey, breathe darling." Logan presses a kiss to your temple. He can feel how erratic your heartbeat has gotten. A soft moment breaking through the tension. You want to hold him. You want to kiss him and bury your face into his chest. You want all of him.

"I'm okay, just please. Fuck me Professor I need it so bad." You wail. Logan lets his forehead fall onto the back of your head.

He pulls his hips back slightly and slides back in. Easing you into himself into your cunt over and over until you start to open up for him. Your cunt is begging to be fucked and it doesn't want to let him go. Now what kind of man would he be to say no to her? Logan rests his hands next to your head, letting go of your throat.

"I'll take care of you honey, all you need to do is take it alright." He coos as he pulls all the way out until just the tip was still nestled inside of you.

With one harsh thrust he fucks his way back in. You barely recognized the cry that left your throat. His pace is ruthless. His glasses are falling off his face from the force so he just takes them and tosses them to the ground. Nothing is going to get in his way.

"Fucking shit." He hisses he slows down his movement.

He's not ready for this to be over. Slowly he fucks himself in and out. Watching in awe as you just suck his cock right up. Clenching around it. So warm and wet and fucking tight. You can't think straight anymore. Words have long left your brain as you can only manage a few incoherent mumbles and noises.

"Where'd my smart girl go? Did I finally fuck you dumb?" He asks, resting all his weight on one hand as he brushes some of your hair out of your face. His hands pushing your head to the side so he can see you better. You open your mouth but nothing comes out but a whimper.

"Hm? Come on you can do better than that." He leans down and brushes his lips against your cheek.

"Just one word?" You take a deep breath and clench your fists tightly. His dick is so far inside of you that you can feel him in your lungs.

"More." Your voice is shaky as you glance up at him, a pleading look in your eyes. Logan scoffs in disbelief.

"You really are a wanton little whore." He pulls out roughly making you whimper.

His movements are uncharacteristically wild as he unties your hands. Tugging and pulling fiercely until your wrists are finally free. You don't have time to even rub your wrists before he's got you standing and facing him.

You glance down and see his cock standing up, hard and leaking. This is the first time you get to see it in all its glory. If it was up to you you'd drop to your knees and suck him off right here.

But Logan has other plans. He grabs your ass and hoists you onto his desk. Pulling your legs until they're around his waist and the tip of his cock slips in.

"You want more? I'll give you more. I just want to watch your tits bounce while I fuck you and then see what kind of face you make when you come on my cock." He slams his hips forward and you claw at his arms.

You tilt your head back as Logan places his hand on your back. He pulls you closer and you use your hands to keep you upright. His lips latches onto your chest. Sucking hickeys that you'll for sure have to hide tomorrow.

"Professor..." You groan as this new positions sends him deeper. He's pounding into you relentlessly. Using gravity against you as he's practically pushing you up and letting you fall right back onto his cock. His other hand presses onto your stomach and you whimper.

"Feel that? I'm in your fucking guts honey." He purrs. Your head falls down and you see his hand on your stomach. Your voice is raw as he rails into you. Wailing and moaning from just how good you feel.

Your head feels faint and you can only hold onto Logan as your only anchor. His rough hands feel so nice on your burning hot skin. Though you can't focus for long as your eyes drift to his cock going in an out of you. It's hypnotic. Just him pushing his cock in over and over.

"I'm so close honey, just need you to come. Think you can do that for me?" Desperation slips into his voice as he rests you back onto the desk. One hand on your breasts while the other plays with your clit with tight circles. It's utter devastation as you convulse under his touch. The pleasure nears pain as you become completely overstimulated.

"Shh...It's okay. I got you." Logan coos.

His eyes squeeze shut as you come hard. Your cunt clenching him so tight he swears he's going to burst right then and there. Fuck he wants to. He wants to fill your pussy with his hot cum and watch it drip out. Stain his desk so that every time he looks down he can see the remnants of this night.

"Too much Logan please." You cry as you feel him pounding into you through your orgasm.

"You're okay, just take it honey. You said you could just let me fuck you a little longer." He begs.

He wraps both arms around your waist and picks you up, falling back into his chair and planting his legs onto the ground. You mewl loudly as your forehead falls onto his shoulder. You're nothing but a toy at this point. A plaything he can use to wet his cock.

With the extra leverage he repeatedly thrusts his hips up into you. Bouncing you on his cock until he can't take it anymore. With an animalistic roar he pulls you off him as his cock spurts cum all over his stomach. You watch in awe as he makes a complete mess of himself.

Logan falls back into his chair, his chest heaving as he brushes a hand through his hair. The other hand making slow soothing circles on your back. You can't help but notice he kept you in your skirt and blouse while he's completely naked. Not that you're complaining though.

Logan reaches up and brushes his fingers along your jaw. He's got this look in his eyes that makes you nervous. Not because he's angry or regretful. But he's content. The line has been crossed and you both know it. This was a game to the two of you, that's all it was supposed to be. So now what?

"Are you okay?" He asks quietly, your breasts are littered with hickeys and he can't help but admire his masterpiece.

"Yeah, I am." You sigh as a pleasurable ache starts to set in.

You haven't been fucked like this in a long time. Logan sets you back onto his desk as he starts to gather the clothes that were discarded onto the floor. He cleans himself up as best with some spare papers. Not the most ideal but he uses what he can.

You slowly button your blouse, some of the buttons are now missing and you huff at the thought of having to buy a new one. It's quiet as you both get redressed.

You pick up Logan's tie and try your best to smooth it out for him. He watches in amusement as you rub it against the edge of the desk. He slips your panties into his back pocket after finishing dressing.

"I think those are mine Professor." He stiffens at the sound of you calling him that but he just shrugs.

"A souvenir of sorts." He hums as he rests his jacket along your shoulders.

"Do I get a souvenir?" You ask semi jokingly. He reaches for his tie and wraps it around your hand.

"If you want one darling." He presses the tie into your hands and you realize he's letting you keep it. You smile as you hold it to your chest in an almost protective manor.

"We can never do this again." He says seriously, the reality of what had just occurred slowly setting in for the both of you.

"I know." You say as you pull his jacket tighter around your shoulders.

He tilts your chin up as he studies your face. He's seen a lot of students come and go through his class. Some of them he remembers, the star students, the annoying ones. But you, well he'll remember you for a long time.

"You'll come to class and sit where you always do, raise your hand and answer questions and I'll answer them. But no more office hours. No more short clothes." He says and you listen. If anyone were to find out about this. It would mean the end of both your careers and yours hadn't even started.

"The semester is almost over and you'll be out of here soon. A college graduate." He gathers his things and packs them into his brief case. Handing you your books that he had thrown on the floor earlier.

"Will you miss me?" You ask hesitantly. It's a dangerous question.

"You know I can't." He says as he helps you off his desk. Your legs are a little wobbly but you can still walk.

"I know, but will you?" He thinks for a moment, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuts off the lights. He can't answer it because he knows he will. Of course he will.

So he just gives you a somber look and you nod in understanding. You follow him out of the building, worried someone might question why you're both here so late but there's no one in sight.

"Let me call you an uber before I go. I don't want you walking home this late." He says as he pulls out his phone.

"Oh it's okay I don't live far." You tell him but he insists.

"I shouldn't be here when they pick you up but my car is close by. I won't leave until I see you get in." He says. That still gives him some anxiety but he can't drive you home. It's too risky.

"I understand, I'll see you in class tomorrow Professor." The word feels odd coming from your lips. The meaning has been tainted for ever.

"See you tomorrow." He doesn't know what to do now. He can't hug you, kiss you. But turning and leaving just feels wrong. So he waves. You laugh as you wave back.

As he walks back to his car when he hears you call out his name making him stop. You're running to catch up, stopping before him and blurting out the question you need the answer to before you walk away forever.

"Do you regret it?" You ask him. He should. You both should regret this. It's shameful and completely inappropriate. In fact you should never speak again if you know what's good for you. Logan sighs and turns to face you.

"No. Not at all." He says firmly.

"Neither do I." You tell him. You smile softly and turn away, running back to the spot where you're supposed to meet your uber.

Logan rubs his jaw as he unlocks his car. Getting in and waiting until the car comes to pick you up. He stays in the parking lot for a while. Watching on his phone until you it says you've been dropped off. A part of him wants to check just to make sure but he know he can't.

The next day he shows up to class and you're right there front and center. Gone are the risky clothes and it seems your real taste in clothes make you look even cuter. He shakes the thought away as he starts to pulls up the lecture.

"When most people think about war they think of the big moments. The bloody battles, the famous figures." He walks around the room as he talks. His students typing away at their laptops as he changes the slide.

"But when everything's said and done. The aftermath is what really affects the people. How war can change a nation." He stops right in front of your desk but he doesn't dare sneak a glance.

You look up at him, nerves settling under your skin as you wonder where he's going with this. There's no possible way anyone could know what happened between you two but you still shift in your seat as he utters his next sentence.

"What happens...when the game is over?"

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 28 days ago

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Well, folks, the numbers are in. We're in a committed relationShip with @ao3org, and it's called...drumroll...TagTeam! ao3blr was a VERY close second, so go ahead and use that tag too, ya crazy kids.

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 29 days ago

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I miss this show

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 1 month ago

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Hot take I would have done the same thing grace did in sinners

#sinners #grace sinners

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 1 month ago

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This and the song “older” by Isabel LaRosa

dont think ive ever tried requestig from you (hello i love the way you write) and if its okay could you write old man logan with like a daddy kink... or one where hes being a little cocky or teasing her about liking it while shes sat on his lap

older bf!logan howlett x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering, daddy kink, in public, slight intoxication a/n: thank you so much <3 i hope you like it, i feel a little rusty with logan lol

i just can’t get you out of my head.

the words blared through the club’s speakers with a beat of drums thumping behind it. pink and blue lights swirled around the dance floor to the rhythm.

normally, logan stayed outside places like these. he sat in the parking lot behind the wheel of the limo until the bachelorette party or group of drunk twenty-something’s came staggering out, ready to be driven to their next destination.

but tonight he’s inside. he’s in a booth in the back corner of the room, drink in hand. that group of drunk girls with IDs that show they’re not far past twenty-one are here too. half of them are seated at the table next to him. the others are out on the dance floor, hips rolling and arms raised as they dance along to the song.

his eyes lingered on one in particular. you.

you’re out there in your shimmery dress you’d bought last week, heels on your feet that boost your height several inches. he watched from a distance as you laughed and spun around to the song. your hand stayed linked with your friend while the two of you danced.

he had tried to get out of coming here with you tonight. as much as he loved you, he was often wary of flaunting your relationship to your friends. he didn’t need people seeing you, young and vibrant and in the prime of your life, with him, someone who couldn’t be hurdling any faster towards the end if they tried.

but you’d begged and pleaded, thrown in some puppy eyes and claimed that some of your other friends would have plus ones as well. so here he was.

and even though this wasn’t really his scene, he couldn’t deny that he liked watching how your skin glowed under the lights. and how your body bobbed around in perfect time to the music.

when the current song ended, another one started up, but your dancing came to a slow stop. your eyes found his across the room. you grinned before starting to make your way back to him.

your walk was bouncier than usual, still going along with the beat of the music. you did a little spin and swayed your hips extra. your friend trailed along behind you, but she diverted in paths to go to the booth beside the one logan occupied.

“having fun out there?” he asked once you were within range of his voice.

you nodded quickly. “mhm,” you hummed, doing one more twirl before plopping down in his lap.

his arm came to loop around your waist while his other hand smoothed out the skirt of your dress, making sure it wasn’t riding up and giving a show to any other set of eyes in this place.

you smacked a breathless kiss on his cheek. “did i look good out there?” you asked above the loud music.

“‘course you did. you even gotta ask?” he said. his voice was much lower than yours. husky and rough, spoken right into your ear.

that same coy smile you had out there reappeared. “i know i did. i saw you watching me. and you looked less grumpy than normal,” you teased.

“oh yeah?” he said, raising his brows to indulge you. “well, knowing i have the prettiest girl in this place all to myself does make things a little more tolerable i guess.”

that brought a giggle out of you. you looked away and brought your drink to your lips, swallowing down some more of the bright green liquid inside.

maybe if logan had a better head on his shoulders he’d tell you to ease up on the drinking since you were clearly already a little buzzed. but at the same time, if you wanted to get tipsy and cute, who was he to tell you no? he’d be the one taking care of you anyways.

you plucked the cherry out from your glass. sucking it into your mouth, you detached the small bulb from the stem. he watched you swallow it down before you tugged on his collar and brought him in for a kiss.

that saccharine syrup was all he could taste as your mouths made contact. you weren’t being coy about this. the kiss wasn’t a chaste peck, far from it. your tongue swiped against his own as your breath fanned out over his face.

“you gettin’ antsy? feeling ready to leave soon?” he murmured as you began to pull away.

“maybe…” you said.

“ah-ah. not gonna be a maybe if you’re kissing me like that,” he said, taking hold of your chin.

you bit your lip and looked at him, lashes fluttering over your dilated pupils.

“but i might wanna dance more…” you said.

“really?” he asked, his voice lilted enough to let you know it was a challenge. his hands came to grab your waist and boost you to your feet. “be my guest.”

“wait-“ you whined, hooking your arm around his neck to keep you there. “not yet.”

“and why’s that?”

“causeeee…” you said with a subtle pout.

his hand delved south to give your thigh a rough squeeze. “what’d i tell you about whining?” he asked, his voice quiet and raspy.

he could see that switch flick in your eyes, that spark that would soon be a full-fledged flame.

“because…” you went to correct yourself. “i’m still catching my breath from before… and i want daddy to take care of me.”

you were so easy. he shook his head slightly and let out a low chuckle.

he hummed in feigned realization. “i see,” he said. his hand on your waist slid around, rubbing over the small of your back down to your hip in a massage of sorts.

“mhm. my legs are tired. and i missed youuu while i was out there,” you mumbled, slotting your face against his neck.

“my poor baby,” he said.

he shifted a little in the booth, shifting his position enough that your lower half would be almost entirely shielded by the table. you were already separated from your friends by the partition between booths. and two of them had made their way over to the bar again, meaning you’d have a couple of minutes to yourselves guaranteed.

his fingers dipped underneath your skirt and found your panties in seconds. he wouldn’t waste time while you were out in public. they swiped over the cloth a few times, almost testing the waters.

“you’re lucky you have me, huh?” he said as his digits hooked under the garment and pulled it to the side. “i don’t know how you get through nights out on your own.”

you whined softly against his throat, spreading your thighs a few inches.

“i know,” he whispered. “daddy’s got you right now. you don’t have to worry.”

his fingers slid into your slick warmth. you inhaled sharply as he filled you up in one go. he just held them there for a few moments. you wanted more though, and you wanted it now.

you tried rocking your hips a bit to get some friction, but his other hand held you still.

“be good or you’ll have to wait until you get home,” he said.

it was quiet and curt, but it was the only direction you needed. from then on, you kept still.

you gasped quietly as he drew his fingers back and then pumped them in again. your body remained motionless though. you stayed in the same position as he began thrusting them at a consistent rhythm. in and out, in and out.

the music in this place was loud enough to conceal any tiny noises you let slip. all your little squeaks and whimpers were reached logan’s ears only.

“i can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he mocked quietly. “never knew my little girl could be so dirty.”

your nails dug into the shoulders of his suit. “fuck, just need it,” you whimpered.

“i bet you do. if i made you go out there to dance for me some more, you’d be lost, wishing my hands were all over you, giving you something to grind on instead,” he rasped.

your own hand flew to your mouth to muffle the noise threatening to come out that would undoubtedly be louder than the others.

his breath on your neck combined with the music thumping throughout the place and the liquor in you had your head spinning by now. even through the haze though, you could feel release creeping up on you.

you looked at him, wide eyes pleading for permission.

“ask me, baby. ask like you’re supposed to,” he said.

you peeled your hand an inch or two away from your mouth. just enough to squeak out. “please, daddy. please. please. need to cum.”

“good girl,” he praised. “let go, sweetheart. let me feel it.”

your legs went taut beneath the table and your hand clamped over your lips once again. you could only hope no one was looking over here as you let yourself hit the high. your eyes rolled back as you melted into his strong arms.

he held you close and worked you through it. he turned enough that you weren’t exactly in plain view of just anybody. his fingers kept at their task until your walls no longer spasmed around them.

“atta girl,” he said, pulling them free. he gave you a squeeze to coax you back down to earth. “did so good for me, honey.”

you sat up just a little bit before nuzzling further into his neck. he chuckled and wrapped both his arms around you, giving you a couple of moments to calm down.

after a minute, you pulled back and looked at him. your forehead shined slightly with a sheen of perspiration while your eyes had that faint fucked-out look.

“you still want that last dance?” he asked knowingly.

as he expected, you shook your head. you were more than ready to stand from the booth and head home now.

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 1 month ago

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Kitty and Marie (Worst!Logan Howlett series)

Just a bunch of oneshots about our favorite Wolverine and the single mom living in the same apartment complex <3

i. Kitty and Marie

Logan finds a little girl who's lost in the store and apparently she's chosen him to help her

ii. Babysitting

Marie asking Logan to play Barbie’s with her. He somehow ends up wearing a princess crown

iii. patch up

After coming back from a mission Logan is a mess and he runs into you and Marie. The last people he wants involved with the more violent part of his world.

iv. A little jealous

After your date with Logan you notice he hasn't been around as much. Then you see something that makes you spiral just a little.

v. Family Fun Day

Marie has a family fun day at school and wants to invite Logan.

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 1 month ago

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────۶ৎ not that kind of kid

or... jean sending logan off to comfort one of those kind of kids.

warnings : $3lf h4rm, not gore!! it's actually hurt-comfort tbh.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: i'm not coping through writting self-indulging comfort fics, you are!!1!!1!

♱ *ೃ.⋆

The day had been unremarkably quiet, which for the X-Mansion, was saying something. No alarms, no students sneaking into the Danger Room, no exploding soda cans, no telepathic projections of teen crushes leaking out mid-lunch.

It starts like nothing.

Logan was leaning against the kitchen counter, chewing the last bite of a sandwich that didn’t stand a chance. A mug of lukewarm coffee sitting beside him, half empty. His flannel hanging loose over the usual white tank, claws retracted, boots crossed at the ankles. For once, there’s no screaming, no explosions, no alarms blaring. Just the hum of the refrigerator and some faraway laughter from the main hall.

Peace.

It’s unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. He’s been here long enough now to stop expecting disaster every morning. Long enough to know most of the kids' names. Long enough to know which ones will make it through all this mutant mess with their heads on straight, and which ones will need a little more help.

It was just... quiet.

Logan liked it that way—mornings spent nursing bitter coffee in the oversized kitchen, booted feet kicked up on the counter no matter how many times Ororo scolded him for it. He’d slipped a cigar from behind the fridge magnets where he thought no one knew he hid them, even though everyone absolutely did.

No classes to sub. No Cyclops to argue with. No Magneto wreaking havoc. Just a worn flannel shirt, a mug of black coffee, and peace.

He was just about to mentally bet himself how long it’d last when soft, deliberate heels echoed into the room. Jean. Her presence was commanding in that way only she had: Red hair haloed framing her face, shoulders tight, hesitation in every step.

That wasn’t good.

“Hey, Red,” he drawled, flicking ash into the tray beside him. “You finally gonna admit I’m the best thing that’s happened to this place?”

She hesitated.

That was the first sign.

She didn’t laugh. Just crossed her arms and hovered near the doorway. Her lips pursed, her eyes flickering with whatever she was swallowing down for the sake of not spilling it all on him too suddenly.

“Logan…”

“If it’s about Cyclops’ shampoo being missing, that wasn’t me.” He started his deflective technique with the usual sarcasm.

“Logan—”

“Unless it smelled like pine trees and self-importance. In which case—”

“Logan.”

He stopped at that. That voice. Doctor voice. He arched a brow, instantly alert.

“…Alright,” He muttered, putting down the mug. “What’s up?”

She was never this solemn unless it was serious. And not battle serious, but human serious. He leaned back on the counter, letting the silence stretch between them like a wire.

“I found a kid crying,” She said finally.

“Not really my department, Jeannie,” He replied, more out of habit than meaning. But his tone softened when he added, “Aren’t there like, a dozen telepaths here who can talk them through the crisis-of-the-week?”

Jean sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s not that kind of kid.”

That stopped him.

She didn’t mean fussy. Didn’t mean a scraped knee or a petty fight between roommates.

She meant troubled. Logan only ever had the upper hand in the situation when it came to troubled kids, he was like a magnet for them. And Jean’s voice had held that subtle weight, the kind she only used when it was bad.

“Where?” Logan asked, already setting his mug down.

Jean led him to the second floor, past the classrooms that sat mostly empty on a day like today. She paused outside one of the older language rooms, the kind with scratched desks and faded maps of Europe tacked on cork boards, and gestured.

“In there.”

She didn’t follow him in.

He hesitated for half a second. Then pressed open the door, boots thudding against linoleum.

And there you were.

Curled in the farthest corner, knees to your chest, trembling in that silent, invisible sort of way that adults rarely noticed. But Logan saw. And more than that, he smelled the salt of tears, the faint iron tang of blood, the dull ache of shame that hung off you like a second skin.

You.

Out of all the kids. Out of the loud-mouthed pranksters and broody delinquents. You. Logan wasn’t even sure he knew your name. He’d only spoken to you maybe twice, maybe three times max. But he knew you. Knew the shape of your silence. You were never loud, never caused scenes. You helped others in the hallway when they dropped their books. You held the doors open. You laughed quietly, like you didn’t think you had the right to take up space.

You were good. Too good to be sitting in a classroom with your arms around your body like you were holding yourself together.

You weren’t supposed to be crying.

Something in his chest twisted tight.

“Hey, kid,” he said low, his voice gravel dipped in warmth. “Mind if I sit?”

You didn’t answer. Your breath hitched, your face half-hidden by your arms. He caught that sound.

He sat anyway, slow and heavy, keeping space between you like he was coaxing a spooked animal.

Which you were. And he was good with animals.

“Jean said someone was cryin’. Guess that’s you, huh?”

Still nothing.

He let the silence hang.

Then, gently, “Wanna tell me what happened?”

You shook your head, eyes glistening. Not from fresh tears. But from the exhaustion of holding them in for too long.

His nose twitched.

Blood. Not a lot. Not enough to scream emergency, but it was there. Metallic, damp, personal. His stomach sank.

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his palm down his jean-clad thigh. Then nodded to your arms.

“That from a fight?”

You stiffened.

“No,” came your whisper, small and cracked. “It wasn’t anyone.”

Logan felt his heart slide into a colder part of his chest. “Alright,” He said. “I ain’t mad. Not even a little. But I gotta see.”

You shook your head. Eyes finally lifting, red-rimmed and swollen. You looked wrecked.

Logan’s jaw tensed, his tone patient but dragging over the words slowly in that father-who-doesn't-want-to-use-force way. “Show me.”

You didn’t move at first. But then something in his eyes, steady, not judgmental, unlocked a tiny piece of you. You sniffled, and slowly, shamefully, peeled back your right sleeve.

There. Raw red lines. Some new. Some old.

Logan didn’t flinch. He didn’t make a sound. His gaze lowered, and something ancient stirred inside him.

Not anger. Not disappointment.

Protectiveness. That was all.

He reached out, slow, and gently, without touching your skin, tugged the sleeve further to see.

“That’s why you’re cryin’, huh?” he murmured. “Did it and it didn’t fix what you thought it would.”

Your chin wobbled, and your voice came small and wet. “I just—I thought it’d help. I just wanted to feel something else.”

He nodded, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rasping. “I get that.”

You blinked, confused. “You—you do?”

He huffed. “You think I got these claws and this temper and this loner act because I’m a well-adjusted ray of sunshine?”

A watery, startled laugh broke out of you before you could stop it. Logan grinned softly.

“That’s better.”

Then, quieter, “Listen, kid. I ain’t gonna tell you off simply ’cause even when i’ve lived more than one hundred years, I still haven’t got all the right answers either.”

You looked down, ashamed again. “I didn’t mean to make anyone deal with it.” Except maybe you wanted, maybe you had finally allowed yourself to be selfish enough to let someone find you like this and help.

He frowned. “Deal with it? You’re not a burden. You’re not some mess we gotta sweep under the rug. You’re a kid. You hurt. That’s allowed. Hell, if anyone in this damn place gets it, it’s me.”

He shifted closer, and this time, you didn’t flinch.

“Can I…?” he asked, gesturing gently to your hand.

You gave a trembling nod, and he took your wrist in his large, calloused hand. No judgment. No revulsion. Just this steady warmth.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he said. “Then you’re comin’ with me. Kitchen’s got cocoa. Real cocoa. Not that powdered crap.”

You stared. “Why?”

He raised a brow. “What d’you mean why?”

“Why… be nice to me?”

Logan sighed, eyes soft and piercing. “Because out of all the damn teenagers in this place, you’re one of the good ones. And because you remind me of someone I wish someone had protected back when they needed it.”

You blinked. “Who?”

He looked down. “Me.”

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 2 months ago

Text

𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽

summary: you and logan live together in the canadian mountains. he wakes up in the morning, but you're not beside him.

content: SMUT, implied age gap (reader calls logan "old man"), possessive logan, rough sex, riding, logan has a huge d, anal play, creampie, tiny bit of cockwarming, fluffy ending

word count: 2.7k

author's note: i struggled writing the summary pls but it is basically soft dom logan! i envisioned origins logan and it makes the most sense with the story but whatever logan makes your heart happy. i hope you guys enjoy!

Logan wakes up to the sound of birds chirping outside, the sun streaming in through the dainty white curtains that line the large bedroom window. He smirks and stretches out his long limbs, reaching over to grab you. His favourite way to start the day is with his head between your thighs, not stopping until you’re a sobbing mess beneath him.

But to his surprise, you’re not there. His ears perk up, but he can’t hear you either. He sniffs, his brow furrowing. You’re outside…but not alone.

You woke up before Logan, a rare occurrence. You’re a night owl, usually choosing to stay up while your boyfriend crashes beside you. But this morning, you awoke to the sound of his soft snores still echoing around the room.

You had crept downstairs with the intention of surprising Logan with breakfast in bed, but you got distracted when you saw a baby bear lingering by the garden outside. Without slipping on shoes, still dressed in a sheer nightgown, you stepped outside and approached it. It didn’t run from you. Your heart hammering in your chest, you watched the cub with curiosity. The wildlife in the Canadian mountains fascinated you.

Logan knows something isn’t right the moment his feet hit the floor. That cub – wild animals don’t just linger like that unless they’re sick or something else worse is nearby. And if there’s a baby, there’s a momma not far behind. His instincts kick into high gear as he yanks on a pair of jeans and storms towards the door.

Barefoot himself, he steps onto the porch, nostrils flaring as he catches the faintest whiff of danger in the crisp mountain air. And there you are, standing too close to that thing, looking like some ethereal woodland creature yourself in that piece of silk, all shimmer and delicate limbs. Christ, you make him crazy.

“Sweetheart,” he growls, voice low but sharp enough to cut through your trance. “Step back.” His claws itch beneath his skin, ready if needed.

You jump slightly at the sound of Logan’s voice, turning wide-eyed towards him. The movement spooks the bear, who scurries off into the trees. For a second, disappointment flickers across your face – you’d been mesmerized by its presence – but then you register the tension in Logan’s stance.

“Oh! Sorry! I just…it looked so sweet,” you murmur as you start shuffling back, bare feet caressing the dewy grass. You tuck a strand of messy hair behind your ear, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” Then, softer, “Were you gonna stab a baby bear?”

Logan exhales sharply through his nose, half-amused despite the adrenaline still humming in his veins. He strides towards you, closing the distance with purposeful steps. “Didn’t want to, but I would if it meant keepin’ ya safe,” he mutters, catching your wrist to tug you closer. His thumb brushes over the bone there. Your skin is cold from the morning chill, and he frowns. “You’re shakin’. And barefoot. In the goddamn wilderness.”

His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, forcing your gaze to meet his. “What were you thinkin’, huh?”

Your cheeks flush under his touch. You lean into his palm, though your lower lip juts out in a small pout – part defiance, part sheepishness. “I was thinking…” You hesitate, tangling your fingers in his. “...that maybe bears aren’t as scary as everybody says? And also…I wanted to make you pancakes. Before you woke up. As a surprise. But then I saw the cub and…I got distracted.”

Logan shakes his head, a rough chuckle escaping his lips. He pulls you tighter against his chest. You’re freezing. Without warning, he scoops you up bridal-style, ignoring your squawk of protest as he carries you back inside.

“Pancakes, huh?” he grunts, kicking the door shut with his heel before depositing you onto the couch. He sits beside you, his hands moving to rub warmth back into your arms, calloused palms dragging gently over goosebumped skin. “Bears ain’t pets, baby. Especially not here.”

You tilt your head as his hands work over your skin. “Mmm, yeah, pancakes,” you mumble. A smirk plays at your lips. “But then you interrupted my adventure. Now how am I supposed to prove I can tame wild beasts?” Your fingers twirl through the hairs on his chest, teasing. “Guess you’ll just have to be my wild beast today.”

That smirk of yours does things to him. “Tame me, huh?” A low growl rumbles in his chest as he leans in close, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Good fuckin’ luck, princess.”

But even as he says it, his hands slide down to cradle the back of your thighs, hoisting you higher against him. The couch creaks as he drops into it, settling you squarely in his lap.

You gasp softly, arching into him. Your fingers twist in his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “Is that a challenge, old man?” Laughter spills from your lips as you shift, feeling the evidence of his desire press against you. “Because I seem to recall you folding pretty quick last time I–”

Your words dissolve into a startled yelp as Logan nips at your neck. His large hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still before you can grind that perfect little ass against him again and really set him off.

“Last time you what?” he rasps. He lifts one hand, a metallic snikt! echoing around you as he extends a single claw. He hooks it under the strap of your nightgown, threatening you to keep running that mouth. “Say it. Or don’t – either way, you’re gonna regret startin’ this before breakfast.”

Not that he minds skipping meals when you taste sweeter than any pancake ever could.

Your pulse thrums, pupils dilating as his claw teases the fabric separating you. You know better than anyone how quickly restraint gives way to raw need with him – how one move could leave you pinned beneath him, begging in seconds.

“Last time I…” You drag your bottom lip through your teeth, watching his gaze track the movement hungrily. When you speak again, it’s barely above a whisper – taunting, triumphant. “...rode your cock until you forgot your own name.”

A feral grin splits Logan’s face as his claw slices through the flimsy straps, your breasts spilling out as the silk material falls around your hips. Logan rips the rest off of you, sending the scraps fluttering to the floor. Your gasp fuels the fire burning low in his core. “That a fact?”

One hand fists in your hair, tipping your head back to expose your throat – his teeth find purchase there instantly, sucking a bruise onto your skin. His arm bands around your waist, flipping you so fast the room blurs. Your back hits the cushions, legs splayed around his hips as he looms over you, breathing ragged.

“Show me then,” he dares you, grinding down hard enough to wrench a moan from your lips. “Prove you got what it takes to tame me.”

The shock of the sudden movement sends a thrill down your spine. Your hands fly up to grip his biceps, feeling the flex of muscle beneath warm skin. He grinds against you and your head falls back, hair fanning around you like a halo – such a contrast to the sinful picture you make sprawled wantonly beneath him.

“Fuck, Lo–” you pant, rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts. The friction is delicious agony, stoking the heat building between your thighs.

The sight of you laid out like some kind of offering – tousled hair, lips swollen from biting them so hard – it nearly undoes him right then and there. His cock throbs insistently against the zipper of his jeans, straining towards your heat like a magnet.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he coaxes, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His facial hair rasps over your sensitive skin as he breathes you in, filling his lungs with the scent of your arousal and something else uniquely you. “Gonna ride me properly, or just lay there lookin’ pretty?”

His words ignite something primal in you – a hunger to dominate, to claim, to mark. With a burst of strength born from desperation, you reverse positions so you’re straddling him again. Your nails rake down his bare chest, leaving red welts in their wake as you grind down hard.

You yank his zipper down, freeing his aching cock. It slaps against your palm, hot and heavy and perfect. Pre-come beads at the tip, smearing over your fingers as you stroke him from root to crown.

His head falls back against the couch with a dull thud, eyes squeezing shut as sensation overwhelms him. The sting of your nails, the slick glide of your hand – it’s almost too much. “Shit–” he grits out, hips bucking into your fist. Every muscle in his body tenses, fighting the urge to flip you back over and pound into your tight little cunt until neither of you can think straight. But no. This is your show. And fuck if he doesn’t love to see you take control.

You drink in every twitch, every strained muscle, every laboured breath that puffs from his lips. Power surges through your veins, addictive and electric. Slowly, you position yourself above him and you sink down. Your walls stretch around his girth, drawing a guttural moan from deep within your chest. “F-Fuuuck–”

It feels like being split open, filled to the brim with pure, molten heat. Your head drops forward, forehead pressed to his shoulder as you adjust to the intrusion. Nails dig crescent moons into his skin, anchoring yourself against the overwhelming fullness. “S-So big…” Whimpers spill from your lips. No matter how many times you fuck him, his massive cock always makes it feel like the first time.

Logan’s large hands fly to your hips, gripping tight. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to slam up into you, to let you set the pace. Sweat beads at his temple, jaw clenched so hard it hurts. “Easy, baby,” he manages. Thumbs stroke soothing circles over your hips, trying to calm the tremors wracking your frame. “Take what ya need. I got ya.”

And you know he does. Always. No matter how wild you get, no matter how far you push – Logan will always be right there, grounding you, catching you when you fall.

You begin to move slowly. Up, down, up, down – the rhythm is stuttering at first, your body still adjusting to the invasion. But with each stroke, your confidence grows. After a few moments, your hips start to circle, grind, and snap in a blur of motion, milking him for all he’s worth.

“Y-Yes–” You throw your head back. The sounds your pussy makes are obscene – wet, sloppy, utterly depraved. “Lo, oh God, Lo–”

Pleading, demanding, begging. All of it. More of it.

Logan’s vision blurs at the edges, reduced to the singular focus of your face contorted in ecstasy. The noises you make – Jesus Christ. You’ll be the death of him.

His hands migrate to your ass, urging you faster, harder. “Ride me, sweetheart,” he growls, teeth bared in a snarl. His hips surge upwards to meet yours, driving deeper, stretching you wider. Fingers slip into your crack, tracing the puckered hole hidden there.

The near intrusion at your rear entrance sends a bolt of lightning straight to your core. You yelp, a high-pitched wail that borders on pain but is all pleasure. “L-Lo, fuck–” Your movements become frantic, bordering on erratic. Hips piston wildly, chasing the high only he can give you.

Logan pulls his hand back to lick his thumb before sliding it back down, breaching your tight ring of muscle and pushing it in knuckle-deep. The dual penetration sends you spiraling, your cunt squeezing him. It’s too much. Too good.

He smirks. “C’mon, babygirl.” His hand tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat. His teeth graze the skin. “Come for me.”

The last threads of your control shatter. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, stealing the air from your lungs and the strength from your limbs. You convulse violently, inner muscles clamping down on his length like a silk fist. Clear fluid gushes around his shaft, soaking his groin and the couch beneath you. “I-I’m coming! Oh God, Logan!” you wail, voice cracking on a sob.

Your climax triggers his own. He buries himself to the hilt, grinding his cock against your cervix as he empties himself inside you with a primal groan. His hot seed fills you, painting your insides white and leaking out where you’re joined. His fingertips dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he continues pumping his load into you.

“Fuck, babe–” He throws his head back. Pleasure crashes through him like a tsunami, wiping out all coherent thought. All he knows is the wet heat engulfing him, the exquisite pressure, the way your body yields to him. His girl. His everything.

You collapse against his chest, boneless and spent, heart pounding. “Mmmph…fuck…” you mumble, nuzzling against his neck. “You’re such a fucking animal.” Your hips give a feeble wiggle – but you know better. Logan will stay buried inside of you as long as he damn well pleases.

“Animal, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. A satisfied rumble vibrates through his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His cock twitches inside you, still semi-hard and unready to relinquish its prize just yet. “Maybe you’re right. But you love it.”

His teeth nip at your earlobe, tugging playfully before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Admit it, princess. Ain’t nobody else who can satisfy you like I can.”

You let out a breathless laugh, fingertips trailing lazily across his torso. His ego doesn’t need stroking, but you’ll indulge him anyway.

“Mmm…maybe,” you concede coyly, shifting just enough to make him groan. Your lips curl into a smirk. “But I pity the poor bastard who’d like to try.”

A warning growl builds in his throat at your smartass remark. “Pity,” he scoffs, nipping at your shoulder hard enough to leave another mark among the constellation already decorating your skin. “We both know you wouldn’t last five minutes with some city boy.” A deliberate roll of his hips emphasizes his point. “Nah, princess. You need a real man. Someone who ain’t afraid to put you in your place when you get too mouthy.”

Your breath comes out in a shaky sigh, caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper. The possessive tone in his voice wraps around you like a chain, pulling you under. You want to argue – bite back with something sharp and cunning – but all you can do is press closer, craving more of his dominance, his ownership.

“Shut up,” you mutter half-heartedly. Your nails scratch lightly over his stomach. “You win anyway. I didn’t tame you.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through him as he loosens his grip enough to let you settle against his chest. Your heartbeat syncs with his, steady and sure. “Nope,” he hums, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Not this time, but you came pretty damn close.” His fingers thread lazily through your tangled strands, combing them back into place. “Now quit talkin’ and go make me those pancakes.”

You let out an offended squeak, swatting at his chest as you lift your head to glare at him – with all the authority a post-orgasmic mess can muster. “Excuse me?” Your brow arches, lips twitching. There’s a playful fire in your eyes. “You just used me for sex and now you still want me to cook for you? God, at least put a ring on it then, Lo.”

A flicker of something softer passes by your gaze, but you shake it off with a smirk. “Okay, fine.”

As you start to move, Logan pulls you closer. He tightens his hold on you, rolling you slowly, his semi-hard cock still inside of you, until you’re tucked safely beneath him. He thinks about what is hidden under the floorboards in the bedroom – a place you never think to check, where he hides his cigars and other important items – like the diamond ring he purchased a few months ago.

“Go and make the pancakes, brat,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the tip of your nose. “And when you’re done, I’ll tell you where I’ve been hidin’ that ring.”

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 2 months ago

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cosmoacrosscosmos · 2 months ago

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Apex Predator

Sabertooth/ Victor Creed x FemReader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.4k (like how? How did that happen?)

Summary: You hear two animals fighting in the woods one night. You find one of them the next day and bring him into your home. The red flags stack up, yet you can't help but find yourself drawn to him. A/N: don't ask me what possessed me to write a Victor fic I dont know I don’t know and I'm not gonna think about it too hard. Just enjoy. Liev Schreiber is fine as hell with a voice that should be studied Warnings: Injury and wound descriptions, blood, S M U T, Porn with Plot, hurt/ comfort, feral/ animalistic behavior (duh), rough sex, oral sex, cum eating (out of pussy... hell yeah), biting, licking, I wrote the word tongue too many times, why have none of you put me down yet?

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

There are monsters in the woods tonight.

You hear them roaring just past the tree line— massive animals battling for dominance. Not a completely uncommon thing in your part of the world, but definitely an unwelcome one. You grip the shotgun tighter as you dare to step out onto the front porch of your modest cabin. The late fall air would send a chill up your spine if the fear hadn’t done that already. You see nothing. You turn the yard light on, thinking it might scare whatever is out there away, but the blind roaring doesn’t stop.

Whatever was out there, it wasn’t afraid of man.

You’d lived out here long enough to identify almost any critter by sound. But this wasn’t like any animals you’d ever heard before. Grunting and snarling accompanied by snapping branches, sometimes almost sounding borderline human. You lived too far out for the police to be any help and the only self-defence you had was already in your hands. You immediately retreat back into the house, lock the doors, and turn out all the lights. If whatever was out there couldn’t be scared away, then you’d have to do your best to hide and stay safe.

You turn your armchair to face the door, shotgun resting at the ready on your lap. A sleepless night was nothing if it meant your life. You’d only done this once before. A mother grizzly bear had stalked your cabin for 2 days. She almost broke down the door on the last night. Somehow… This seemed worse.

The turbulent unforeseen violence outside continued as the night crawled on, but it never came close to your door. Regardless, you sat at the ready as the clock ticked on and you forced your eyes to stay open.

Eventually, the roaring faded. When the woods were tranquil again, you were already asleep.

______________

You wake up to the blinding morning light. The shotgun was still resting on your lap, and you silently scolded yourself for falling asleep with it still on your person before setting it to the side. You recline the chair, stretching out as the evening events come flooding back to you in an instant.

Something horrible happened last night just outside your door. If you were younger you’d be absolutely petrified right now, and maybe a small part of you was. You can never fully train fear out of you. But you’d been out here a while. You’re part of the ecosystem like anything else. This was your territory. That was challenged last night. You needed to establish you’re not afraid.

With heavy feet, you walk to the front door. You step onto the porch, shotgun still in hand. Your first steps onto the ground are cautious. The woods are quiet this morning, creatures hidden away in fear of whatever they witnessed last night. It makes your hair stand on end, but still, you press on.

The only sound that can be heard is the crunch of leaves under your feet as you stalk towards the edge of your property line— closer to where the sounds came from last night. You stop when the treeline gets denser and the ground gets steep. The sound of the river just down the hill is comforting.

Panic grips you when you spot it.

A man— beaten and blooded, half submerged on the shore.

You scramble down the hill without thinking. It wasn’t a fight between two predators. It was a fight between an animal and a man. He was fighting for his life and you just sat there all night.

He’s worse when you get up close. There are gashes on nearly every part of his body— claw marks in sets of three. There’s a massive one across his entire face. He’d likely lost his right eye.

You crouch down beside him, getting a better look at his features beneath the gore. His hair was short and dark. You can make out some thick stubble caked with blood. You cautiously hover your hand over his mouth. It was faint but it was there— breath. God, he’d been bleeding out all night, how is he still alive?

There’s no time to think about it now, you have to help him. You had to try at least.

You drop your gun, hook your arms under his shoulders and heave. He’s heavy as hell but you still manage to walk, one step after the other. You’re amazed you managed to get back up the hill to the cabin. Adrenalin is a hell of a thing.

You put him on the couch in the living room. His skin was ice cold, so your first priority is to light a fire before you do anything else. Dressing his wounds wouldn’t mean anything if hypothermia set in.

You had a modest stockpile of medical supplies, it was a necessity when someone lived the way you did. The nearest hospital was over 50 miles away and the only road to town had been washed over by a mudslide last week. His only hope was you— and your modest medical knowledge.

You pile up a few rolls of gauze and bowls of clean water next to him on the coffee table. All you had to do was clean and cover the wounds— maybe stitch a few. You take a deep breath and get to work.

__________

Hours. It took hours but you did it. He more resembled a mummy than a man by the time you were done. The cabin was finally warm and his skin was slowly heating up… well, what little of it you could see under the bandages.

You’d tossed his shirt immediately, it was practically scraps anyway. You let him keep his pants, only with a few holes in the knees and a stray tear or two. He didn’t have shoes, which, now that you’re thinking about it, was a little odd. How do you manage to lose your shoes in a fight for your life? You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up. If he wakes up.

You sit across from him in your armchair, just looking. Though he was asleep he seemed… rough. Mean almost. His haircut made you think he’s a military man but the rest of him said otherwise. Massive sideburns and spotty stubble. Long unkempt nails. You’d never seen hands like his before. They looked… unnatural. This man survived an hours-long fight with some kind of predator, everything about him was unnatural. There’s a name for people like that— you try not to think about it.

It’s hours later before anything happens.

You’re in the kitchen when you hear a gasping breath. You immediately run over.

He’s awake, grasping at the bandages on his chest. He’s breathing rapidly.

“Where am I?!” he croaks out.

“Don’t do that,” You grab at his hands to stop him from pulling the gauze off, “You’ll open your—”

“Get the hell away from me!” he shoves you down in a flurry of movement. He attempts to get off the couch, collapsing under his own weight instantly. He barks out a pained grunt, grasping at his leg. You’re sure there was at least a severed tendon or two.

“You’re safe!” you assure him as you scramble to his side, keeping a safe distance this time, “You’re in my home. I found you by the river and—”

“Where is he?” the stranger growls through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” You dare to touch him again, urging him back to the couch. To your surprise, he doesn’t flinch away, “Please, get back in bed.”

He finally looks at you now, and the rage in his eyes— well, eye–- sends a shiver down your spine. Your first assumptions were right, this man was angry. Maybe it was a mistake to bring him back here. You brought a stranger into your home— an angry stranger.

You notice his nose twitch. Is he… smelling you?

“You scared?” he asks bluntly.

He doesn’t take his eye off of you. You’re not sure how to navigate this situation. He was clearly dangerous, but he also couldn’t walk at the moment. Was he really a threat or just panicked? He did just wake up in a stranger's home after probably the worst night of his life after all.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you ask.

He scoffs, shaking his head with a faint smile.

“No, I don’t think so, frail,” he rolls on his back with a pained groan. He looks at the bandages snaking up his arms. He brings his grizzled hand down to touch the patch over his eye, “Christ, you went through a lot of trouble for nothin’.”

“Should I have left you there to die?” you ask cautiously, reestablishing some distance between the two of you.

“Probably would have been best,” he mumbles, hand still over where his right eye should have been, “Never had it this bad before.”

“Before?” you scoff, “You go wrestling bears in the woods often, stranger?”

“Didn’t fight a damn bear,” he grunts, sitting up and inching his way back to the couch.

“Oh yeah?” You loop your arm through his and help him the rest of the way onto the couch. “What did you fight?”

He lays back with a heavy sigh. He lets out another small chuckle and you see a flash of pearly white pointed teeth.

“A wolverine.”

_________

You hide away in the other parts of the house until evening. You tried to talk to him a little more after he initially woke up, but he didn’t reciprocate much and honestly, you can’t blame him. You wouldn’t want to be berated with 20 questions after you survived a wolverine attack either. Still, you got a little out of him.

Victor. He said his name was Victor.

As the hours rolled on your anxieties stewed more and more about the situation you’d put yourself in. He’s already sitting up and talking. He was conscious less than a day after heavy trauma. He surely had to be in excruciating pain but didn’t say anything. Didn’t even touch the painkillers you set on the table for him. He just sat there, waiting almost. He said he wouldn’t hurt you but you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s capable of.

He has clawed hands and pointed teeth… and he’s just sitting in your living room. You don’t want to dwell on it. You don’t want to judge. You keep your shotgun within reach just in case.

You’re in the laundry room when you hear booming footsteps down the hall.

You rush out to the kitchen and there he is, standing tall and straight.

“What are you— You’re—”

“I was thirsty,” he grits through your stammering, reaching into the cupboard to pull out a glass.

“You’re walking.”

He makes a small show of looking down and wiggling his toes, then looking back at you with faux shock on his face.

“Well, would ya look at that,” he drawls, “It’s a goddamn miracle.”

He brushes you off and fills his glass in the sink, downing the entire thing in one gulp before immediately filling it up again.

“You’re still scared.” he gruffs without even looking at you.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” you stand your ground, glancing to the hallway where your gun was mounted.

“I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” he reiterates in an almost annoyed tone. He turns to face you now, leaning back against the counter with a new glass of water.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

He raises his hand and you can’t help but notice his long nails peeking out from behind his fingers. “Scouts honor.”

“I need more than that.” you take a step closer, quelling the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. “If you’re going to stay I need more.”

“More?” He scoffs before taking a swig of his water. “What could you possibly—”

You don’t let him finish, slapping the glass out of his hand. It clamors to the floor without breaking, water splashing at your feet. He seemed like the type of man that would only respond to aggression. He was a guest in this house. This was your territory and you couldn’t let him think he was in charge. He couldn’t walk all over you. Sometimes showing dominance is the best way to stay safe. Show no fear.

You were going to get answers one way or another.

“I want honesty,” You stand directly in front of him. You see the seething rage in his almost gleaming eye and match it, “I find you mauled half to death and drag you in here. You wake up without so much as a thank you. You couldn’t even walk a few hours ago and now here you are standing in my kitchen thinking you own the place. You give me a little honesty, and I’ll give you a little trust.”

You stand there in bloated silence, both of you refusing to back down. Christ, he’s big. He looks down at you with contempt almost, until his expression melts back into something more neutral. You flinch when he reaches up, but he doesn’t lay his hand on you. His clawed fingers grip the bandages around his chest and rip them off in one fluid motion.

You almost scream at him to stop before you notice it. The deep gashes that were so prominent on his skin just a few hours ago… were almost completely gone. Only small cuts on fresh pink skin littered his chest. Christ, even the hair was growing back.

“You— what does… how is this possible?” you ask, almost dumbfounded. But you knew. Deep down you knew.

“Aw, and here I thought you might be smart,” he tuts, turning to retrieve another glass.

“You’re a mutant.” You finally say it out loud. There was no denying it now.

“Told ya you went through a lot of trouble for nothing,” he grunts almost dismissively. He turns to face you again and his expression is almost… soft. He’s relaxed. He’s trying to make you comfortable. That or he was finally relieved everything was out in the open now. Either way, the air was lighter.

“You still scared?” He asks.

Are you? You’re not sure. He promised he wouldn’t hurt you. And, he gave you what you asked for. He gave you honestly. Now you have to keep up your end of the bargain.

Unsure of how to continue, you simply reach out your hand. It hovers there in front of him for a moment. He stares at it almost dumbfounded, before he takes it. Your hand feels so small in his.

“Welcome to my home, Victor,” you offer him a small smile. “I hope you’ll behave or you’ll have led in your ass to worry about next."

His sharp smile could almost be considered kind, “Thanks a million, kitten.”

__________________

By the next morning he’s taken off almost all of the bandages, say for the one over his eye. He said it would take longer for his eye since it was fully regrowing something instead of mending skin. You’re still in awe of it all. You never knew much about mutants, but you're sure he had to be something special. He’d practically come back from the dead.

You worked up the courage to ask him about the claws last night.

Don’t you know an animal when you see one? Was his only answer. You could make your own assumptions off of that.

He stands just outside of the cabin right now. You’d found an old grey henley shirt for him to wear. He didn’t seem to mind having no shoes. You assume it’s all part of the whole ‘beast’ thing he has going on.

He said he wanted to exercise before he left the house, mumbling about still being sore. His walk has the slightest limp in it you think he’s trying to hide. He stretches his arms over his head and cracks his neck a few times before bounding off into the woods with the agility of a tiger. He really did move like an animal.

You’re still not sure what to make of him. You didn’t care that he was a mutant, but you can’t shake the feeling that he’s someone dangerous. You could just see it in him. A quiet rage about everything. A cocky smirk that sets you on edge in a way you can’t quite place. And in its own way… a carefully curated image.

On top of all of his red flags, something about him was just so… alluring. You just can’t seem to stop your thoughts from drifting to the more lustful side when you think about him.

He comes back an hour later. You’re standing at the kitchen window when you see him bound down from the trees. He has two dead pheasants in hand. He takes a seat on the porch and begins plucking them, his back still facing you. You watch his shoulders rise and drop with his ragged breaths, his wide back almost mesmerizing. He was strong, you knew that from the moment you saw him. Vicious too.

An animal. He called himself an animal. You wonder just exactly what that meant.

You feel the arousal stir in your belly, a wet ache growing between your legs. You notice his demeanor shift outside, and his head turns slightly. You jump out of view of the window, ashamed to have been spying on his personal time. You’re not sure, but you think you hear a small chuckle outside.

He comes back in about ten minutes later, with two freshly plucked and gutted birds to offer. Birds he hunted down with his bare hands.

“Brought dinner,” he announces, placing them in the sink. “Noticed you were almost out of meat.”

You stand on the opposite side of the kitchen, back towards him. You're not sure why, but you're embarrassed.

“Thank you,” you say, fiddling with whatever books were on the table.

You feel him come up behind you, standing just inches away.

“Sure thing, kitten,” his lips faintly brush your ear before pulling away. “Gonna shower.”

_______

He was going to track down Logan and finish what he started. He wasn’t going to come back to this fucking place. No reason to. He barely made it 3 miles before the exhaustion started overtaking him, his still cracked ribs and torn tendons aching in protest. It was taking too damn long this time. The runt had done a number on him. He hoped he’d at least returned the favor in equal measure.

It didn’t matter anymore. He lost Logan’s scent in the river, the water erasing whatever trail that was left. He’d find him eventually and they’d do it all over again. Same old song and dance forever.

So he scurries back to this shithole cabin to lick his wounds.

He hates it. He hates it here. He hates that he’s apparently so goddamn weak he needed help from a human. He hates the way this fucking cabin smells. He hates you.

His cock’s painfully hard in his hands. Victor stands hunched over himself in the shower, hoping the rushing water is loud enough to drown out any lewd sounds you might hear. He honestly didn’t know how good human hearing was anymore.

Truth be told this was probably his favorite way to relieve some stress after getting his ass handed to him— though he’d rather be cumming in someone pretty. You would do nicely, but for some reason, he held back. You wanted him, he could smell it, and Victor Creed held back. Instead giving himself a sad quick jerk in the shower.

He chalks it up to having some kind of respect for you, whatever little he’s capable of. You dragged his ass up here, kept him in your home, did your best to put him in his place. Usually, he’d call all that stupidity, but being on the receiving end of your kindness was…nice.

No one was nice to Victor. No one gave a shit, and he was fine with that. You didn’t seem to care he was what he was. Seemed like you just wanted him to be nice. Fine, he can be nice. The Victor Creed version of nice at least.

Christ, you wanted him— and he smelled it.

He cums with a groan hissed through clenched teeth. It was empty. Not the release he wanted and it just serves to piss him off more. He wouldn’t stick around here much longer. Wait for his eye to be back in its socket again and bones to snap back into place— then he’d go and do what he’d always done. He’d forget about all of this.

He already smells the pheasants roasting in the oven. You came with perks, he won’t deny that.

He doesn’t bother putting a shirt on once his pants are buttoned, walking out of the bathroom dragging a towel across his damp hair. It smelled even better out here. He sits by the kitchen where you scurry around doing god knows what.

“When’s the bird ready?” he asks.

“A few hours. We should—” You finally turn to face him, pausing as soon as your eyes land on his face, “You… showered with your bandages on.”

“So?”

“So, you’re gonna get an infection,” you sigh, reaching into a cupboard next to the sink and pulling what he’s pretty sure is your last roll of gauze.

“I don’t get infections,” His words do nothing to stop you as you somehow just materialize in front of him. “You don’t need to—”

“Hush, these things are filthy anyway,” you touch him without hesitation, unwrapping the damp bandages around his head, “Don’t want your eyeball to grow back wrong, do we.”

“You’re unbearable, woman.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” You brush his words off with a faint smile. When you take the final patch off his eye, he can’t resist.

“Boo!” he snarls, popping his claws up for dramatic effect. You jump, fear only taking your senses for a brief moment before you smile and smack him playfully on the chest.

“Asshole,” you mutter, taking his face in her hands. He can’t help but chuckle… just a little. your expression drops while you observe the surely hideous gash on his face. Something is growing in his eye socket, he can feel it. It’s almost fully there, but if it’s functional yet is a totally different story. He can barely open it, faint blurry images throwing off his vision and making him dizzy. Maybe it was best to keep the damn thing covered after all.

“How bad is it, doc?” He breaks the silence.

“Well,” you run a thumb across his cheekbone. He pushes down whatever foreign feeling it stirs in his stomach. “It’s better than it was.”

You grab the gauze.

“Just a patch this time. Don’t need ta wrap half my head.” He insists.

“Fine, fine,” you absent-mindedly agree while cutting off a few strips of tape. He feels his muscles tense when you touch him again. “It’s amazing your body can do this, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ll count my blessings,” He huffs, almost annoyed. You don't know a goddamn thing.

“You think your eye will come back a different color?” you continue on absentmindedly, taking your sweet time to position the patch just right.

“What?” he scoffs in amusement.

“Like you’ll get a blue or purple eye instead. Does that happen?”

“No. No, that doesn’t happen.” He can’t tell if you’re just being naive or trying to make small talk. You don't smell afraid anymore. You smell… relaxed. He liked it. The smell was almost…inviting.

“Mm, probably for the best. You’ve got nice eyes— well, eye.” You honest to god laugh at yourself.

“Oh, do I?” He’d bounce his eyebrows sarcastically if you weren’t finally putting the tape on.

“Yeah, you do.” you smooth out the final strip of tape across his forehead. “They almost glow. Like a wild cat’s.”

“Honey… you have no idea.”

Your hands still haven’t left his face. When was the last time someone touched him without the intent to hurt him? When was the last time someone paid him an honest compliment? When’s the last time he talked to a pretty girl without the express purpose of getting information out of her? A girl that wasn’t afraid of him… He can’t remember.

Victor didn’t have quite nice moments like this with people. Never let anyone get close enough to try. He wasn’t someone nice things happened to… so of course the moment was ruined almost immediately.

He hears it before he smells it, stalking footprints in the distance. A large predator coming for the cabin. He takes a deep inhale and closes in on it immediately. A cougar, one he’d met earlier today when he was out. He’d encroached on a mother's territory and she’d tracked him here. Now he’d have to defend yours.

“What is it?” you’d noticed him go stiff, his attention darting to the open door. He grabs your arms as gently as he can and pushes you back.

“Stay inside…please,” He stalks to the door, instincts immediately overtaking his senses. Protect. Defend. Fight if you have to.

He stands on the dirt just in front of the cabin, pacing back and forth— an open challenge. The cougar does the same just beyond the treeline, staying hidden. It doesn’t matter, Victor may be down an eye but he can smell her just fine. This could go on for hours if he didn’t try something. May as well just kill the thing and get it over with.

“Victor?” your meek voice almost pulls him from his predatory focus— almost.

“I said stay inside,” it comes out as more of a growl than he intended, but he doesn’t particularly care at the moment, “Back up and lock the door.”

“Please… don’t kill it. Whatever it is.” You beg him for reasons he can’t fully comprehend at the moment.

“Go inside. Now.”

You said nothing and followed his command, locking the door behind you.

His attention is back on the silent predator just beyond the treeline. This was a territorial dispute, a display of dominance— something Victor was always good at.

He plants his feet, standing parallel to your front door. He squares his shoulders and roars. A challenge. An invitation, really.

Just try it, it won’t go well, Victor thinks as he readies his stance, prepared to pounce.

An eerie silence follows in his voice's echo. The type of silence when there’s about to be trouble.

The mother reveals herself, only slightly, peeking her head through the brush. Her gaze is locked on to him and teeth bared with quivering cheeks. He should pounce now, take her out in one strike. It would be so easy. Killing was always so easy… but you’d asked him not to. And for some reason, that was harder. Restraint wasn’t something Victor ever practiced, so why now?

Because you asked him to.

The two predators both remain unmoving. Both pushed to the edge. Victor pushed her to the edge. She didn’t want to fight, she was just protecting what was hers. So was he… in a way. So Victor does something he’s never done before.

He takes a step back.

He stands at the bottom step of the porch, crouching even lower. He bares the full length of his claws before he roars again— the primal message clear to his fellow predator.

This is mine. Stay away.

There’s a beat of heavy silence between the two, a bit longer than he’d like, before he sees the mother’s posture relax. She steps out of the brush, head hung low— a sign of respect. A promise not to come back. They share one final look before she bounds away into the woods once more.

But it’s not good enough for Victor. He desperately wants to go after her. He wants assurance that you’d be safe. He wants revenge on something for having the audacity to cross him. He wants to march back into the cabin and claim what he’s now marked as his.

Instead, he paces. He walks the perimeter of the cabin praying something else challenges him so he can kill it.

__________

He stayed outside until nightfall that day, just walking around the tree line. You didn’t dare stop him. Something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself, it frightened you. And in a way you’re not ready to admit to, it excites you. This massive lumbering man ready to fight a full-grown cougar stalking around your property like an animal… it did something to you. You try not to think about it, busying yourself with whatever unimportant work you can find.

You ate by yourself that night, leaving out a plate for him. The next morning you woke up to him asleep on the couch with a full pheasant carcass completely cleaned off on the plate next to him. You find two more plucked and gutted birds in the sink too. Well… at least he liked your cooking.

When he woke up he immediately took the bandage over his eye off. You almost slapped him for being too hasty before you saw two perfectly matching topaz eyes looking back at you, the previous gash now thinned to a faint sliver over skin around it.

He left the cabin before you could do anything else, mumbling something about testing it out.

He’s been gone for hours now while you nervously scurry about your humble home, willing your thoughts not to drift to him. It’s useless, he encompassed every thought you had. Those strong clawed hands, his deadly swift movements. His—

You almost yelp when you hear the cabin door slam. You don’t turn around to face him, but you hear his heavy steps lumber back to the living room and collapse on the couch. There’s a heavy sigh as the couch creaks in protest. He’s relaxing. And, somehow, the air is so much lighter now.

“Dinners ready,” you dare to speak up, pulling the probably overdone pheasants out of the oven.

“Good,” he grunts before strolling into the kitchen. He takes an entire bird for himself again, not giving the accompanied roasted vegetables a second glance. You can’t say you're surprised, but it makes you smile a little. You join him in the living room once your plate is filled, sitting kitty-corner from the couch on your armchair.

He didn’t even bother to grab a fork, pulling apart the bird and eating it down to the bone piece by piece. He really was an animal. You chose not to comment on it, quietly eating your own meal on the side.

“What was that?” you finally speak up after a few bites, “Out there the other day. A cougars never come close to here.”

“My fault,” he simply answers, breaking one of the striped bird bones in his hand, “Territory dispute, should be fine now.”

“Okay,” You simply answer despite all of the swirling questions in your head. How can he act so casual after stalking your property like a goddamn tiger for an entire day? Because this was normal to him. This is just part of who Victor was.

Don’t you know an animal when you see one?

You both finish the meal in silence, choosing to stare at the dancing fire instead of each other. The air felt charged. Heavy with something you’re not ready to admit to yourself. You take your plate to the kitchen before you say something stupid.

You almost scream when you turn around to find him directly behind you at the sink, too close for comfort. Christ, you didn’t even hear him walk up. He stands there, staring down at you with those glowing predatory eyes that are so mesmerizing. He reaches out and rests his hands on the counter on either side of you, caging you in. His massive body crowds you against the counter. You can feel your heartbeat start to quicken.

“You think I don’t know what you’re thinking, little girl?” he all but growls out, “You think I can’t smell you? You’ve been driving me crazy.”

One of his hands comes up to your face, the backside of his claws running down your cheek. He was dangerous, a killer. You’re so close to it and it thrilled you.

“What do you want?” his face is hovering closer to yours now.

“I—” You try desperately to hold yourself together, but you just can’t. Not with him, “I don’t know…”

He scoffs slightly, clawed hand coming down to rest on your neck. There’s no pressure in his grasp, but there’s the lingering feeling of control. You should be afraid, you should be absolutely terrified.

“I know what you want,” his head drops to your neck, taking a deep inhale. You swear you feel the faint brush of his fangs against the delicate skin of your shoulder. “You wanna be fucked like an animal. Taken by a beast. Claimed… That what you want?”

The grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly as his body pushes into yours. You’re trembling now, but there’s no fear.

“Yes.”

His mouth envelopes yours with a growl and you finally surrender to him, your previously stiff body melting into his. It’s not gentle. It's not sweet and loving. It’s possessive and a little terrifying— and it’s exactly what you want.

He’s strong, you knew that the moment you saw him, but those rough hands are on you now and it gives his strength a whole new meaning. The steel grip of two clawed paws on your hips almost makes you wince in pain. His body is rigid against yours, a massive unmovable pillar. He’s in full control here. You still have almost no reason to trust him with your body like this, but for some reason you do.

He shoves one of his massive thighs between your legs to the point of being forced to stand on your tiptoes. Admittedly, the pressure against your clothed pussy was delicious. His leg remains steady when you give an experimental roll of your hips. There’s a rumble of approval that stirs in his chest and reverberates straight down to your cunt.

His lips break from yours with heated breath, taking a moment to pierce you with those damned glowing eyes before attacking your neck with his mouth. One of his hand's claws into your hair, pulling your head back to a near uncomfortable angle. The flat of his tongue drags slowly across your pulse before biting down. He doesn’t break skin, but that doesn’t stop you from wailing.

At his mercy— you’re at his full mercy.

You find a rhythm against his thigh, searching for some kind of relief from the building pressure at your core. You’re so wet already, you can feel it through your pants. The built-up desire. The almost all-consuming need for this man. You’d never felt this way for anyone, but again… there was just something about Victor that drew you in. A moth to a flame—or maybe a mouse in the mouth of a tiger.

“Filthy little thing,” He growls against you, “Jesus, you’re already so—”

All at once his intense presence leaves you, just for a moment. His knee drops and he releases your hair. He flips you around against the counter so quickly you almost lose all the air in your lungs. Even from behind his presence is still all-consuming— feverish almost.

One hand still squeezes your hip while the other snakes around to the front hem of your pants. He paws at your clothed cunt, his middle two fingers lingering right over your clit. You can feel the pressure of his claws through your jeans. He holds his hand there, just for a moment.

“Take them off,” His voice is hot and low against your ear. You do as he says, unbuttoning your pants and shimmying them down your hips along with your panties.

His rough hands massage into the plush flesh of your hips while he lingers there, his reach eventually sneaks up your shirt, cupping your bare breasts underneath. He has you completely pressed against him, playing with you like a cat plays with their food.

Every touch of his calloused hands is pure electricity. Somehow gentle and rough at the same time. He was an expert at this, you’re sure of it. You will your knees from shaking.

One of his hands finally trails back down to your waiting pussy, slowly dragging his fingers through your drenched folds. He holds there, pulsing his finger ever so gently on top of your aching clit— that’s when your knees start to shake.

“Needy little thing,” he almost praises into your hair, “Never thought you’d smell this— be this—”

He breaks, suddenly forcing you over the counter. You have just enough time to brace yourself with your hands. You’re on full display for him now, bent over completely with his hands on your hips. You hear the rustling of fabric and the heavy thunk of a belt dropping to the floor.

You moan so sinfully when you feel his velvet cock running through your folds. The wet, sloppy sound is practically pornographic.

“Oh, Christ. Oh fucking Christ,” You hear him rumble as he lines himself up, “You ready for me, darlin’?”

You nod vigorously, bracing yourself for him to just slam in. To your surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, it's slow… agonizingly slow. You whine as inch by inch he takes you, savoring the feeling. You feel his grip tighten the deeper and deeper he goes. You squeeze your fists to ground yourself, being pushed to your absolute limit. He’s big. He’s fucking big.

“Relax,” He grits out, “You can take me, sweet thing. You can—” He cuts himself off with a moan, finally bottoming out. He pauses there, pelvis grinding into your ass ever so slightly. You hear his breathing grow heavy, and he draws out of you.

He slams back in with force and you scream. You hadn’t adjusted to his size yet and there was a good deal of pain mixing with the pleasure. You’d never had anyone this big. You’d never had anyone like Victor, period. A few steady and purposeful thrusts later the pain wasn’t even a factor anymore.

He finds a pace, pulling your hips back to meet him harder and harder. It feels good, god it feels heavenly, but you can’t help but feel like this isn’t what you wanted. You want to fuck him, but you don’t want him to just use you. To not be just some bent-over whore just taking it. Maybe you’re lonelier than you realize, or maybe you're just a romantic, but either way, you need connection.

“W-wait,” you manage to gasp out. He stops immediately, buried to the hilt and pressing you almost painfully into the counter.

“Fucking hell— what?” you can tell he spits it through gritted teeth.

You crane your neck around, only able to see him out of the corner of your eye. He was like a black shadow behind you, completely silhouetted by the moonlight from the window.

“Wanna— I wanna see you.” It feels so pathetic coming from your mouth.

You see his posture shift. He hesitates a moment before pulling out of you. You whine at the sudden loss. You stand up straight with shaky knees and turn to face the black mass with glowing eyes.

“I want to see you,” You repeat, running your hands under his shirt and over his bare torso. You feel his muscles tense in your touch's wake. “I want to look at you when you fuck me.”

Something rumbles in his chest before he grabs you again. He hooks his hands under your ass and lifts you onto the counter. He hovers there, his nose tracing over your face but never fully touching you. Your hands haven’t left him still, he lets you roll off his shirt completely. He stands before you now completely bare and waiting. You loop your arms around his neck.

“Take me to bed, Victor.”

He consumes your mouth again when he pulls you into him, lifting you off the counter like you’re nothing. He carries you down the hall and you somehow manage to finally shed your shirt in the fever of it all. It catches you completely by surprise when he drops you onto your bed, you hadn’t even noticed him walk through your bedroom’s threshold.

You lay there, chest heaving while you gather yourself. He stands there, a faceless black mass again just barely highlighted by the light from the window— piercing eyes a blaze in the darkness. You swear you can feel their burning gaze running over your body.

Your legs hang open at the edge of the bed and he stands directly between them. His upper body crawls over yours, his movements are agile and fluid like a panther. You hook your legs around him, pulling him in closer and he hums in approval.

“Frail wants to watch me fuck her, hmm?” his hands run over your thighs, those claws so dangerously close to breaking skin.

“S-stop calling me that.” you weakly protest, “I’m not frail.”

He simply chuckles in response, a deep throaty thing that puts your hair on end.

“Sure ya aren’t.”

He comes down on one of your breasts, rough tongue dragging over your peaked nipple before taking it into his mouth. Your hands claw down his back and up into his hair. He’s so heavy on top of you. So warm. His tongue greedily rolls around your nipple and over your chest to the other side. His chest rumbles with lust against your stomach as he devours you alive.

He slowly comes off you, those predatory eyes glossed over with need. He crawls down your body until he’s standing on the floor again. He grabs your thighs, yanking you further to the edge of the bed. He rests his cock on top of the mound of your cunt, lazily rolling it back and forth right over your clit. Tiny gasps escape you with every velvet hard stroke.

“Big t-tough girl wants to watch me fuck her,” he purrs. You swear you catch his eyes rolling back from the sensation, “Okay, pretty girl… you can watch.”

In one fluid motion, he slams himself back into your dripping pussy. Your entire back arches off the bed, muscles tensing with your silent scream. You didn’t expect him to be gentle, you didn’t want him to be.

He holds there a moment, savoring the stretch around him. He barely pulls out before rolling back, grinding his pelvis against yours. He grips your legs tightly around the thigh, claws completely retracted so his fingers can dig into the pillowy flesh— he holds you for dear life while he finds his rhythm.

“J-Jesus, you’re so damn tight,” he grits out, “Pretty thing like y-you all alone out here not getting fucked good on the d-daily… it’s a damn shame.”

You think it’s the closest thing he can give to a compliment, but you're not complaining at the moment— he’s not calling you frail anymore.

Tiny little gasps escape you with each thrust, your knuckles going white from gripping the sheets. He looms over you, this massive beast of man drilling into you like it’s the deepest primal urge— and it’s exactly what you wanted.

Looking up at him you feel so close to danger, so close to absolute demise, and yet you’ve never felt safer. Never felt more desired than you do when he looks at you with those glowing eyes. He might be a beast, an animal as he called himself, but he is yours. Right now he’s yours and he’s giving you everything.

“Touch yourself,” he urges through gritted teeth, his movements getting rougher, “Wanna…. See you touch yourself.”

You immediately oblige, having been so lost in the sauce that you completely forgot your own hands were an option. You release a throaty whine as soon as your middle finger circles your clit. The contrast of your gentle strokes mixed with his rough thrusts was an incredible combination you’d never experienced before. You apply a little more pressure, gasping out at the new heat building in your stomach.

“You keep… you keep making those s-sounds and I’m not gonna last.” Victor’s hands trail up your legs, moving your ankles to his shoulders. You’d forgotten you were this flexible. His fanged mouth nips at the flesh of your calves, an attempt to drown all his senses in you.

“Trying—” He moans against your skin, “Trying not to bite you.”

“T-then just do it,” You barely manage to gasp out. You're not so sure why you were so fast to reply to something so insane.

Those gem-like eyes immediately shoot to yours. His teeth bare down on the flesh of your calf, but not enough to break skin. The sharp pain mixed with the all-consuming pleasure makes you squeal. His tongue comes out to soothe over the freshly raw area.

“Not yet, sweet thing—shit— N-not yet.” You have absolutely no idea what he means.

Your whole body bounces up and down against the bed, his thrusts powerful enough to make your headboard slam against the wall. The coil was tightening now, the heat building to that amazing mind-numbing climax you were both so desperately searching for.

“V-Victor– I— I—” is all you manage to squeak out before it overtakes you with a thunderous snap. The massive man collapses on top of you, pulling you into his rough body as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

“That’s it— t-that’s— give it to me,” He growls in your ear like a prayer, his hips starting to spasm out of rhythm. He sinks his teeth into your neck with a deep moan as his own bliss overtakes him. Again, he does not break skin.

He still you both there, the wet slaps of skin against skin now replaced with breathy gasps and muffled moans. You feel him spill into you as you pulse around him. His body pins yours down like a weighted blanket until both of your pleasures are spent.

His tongue laps over the indent his teeth have made just like he did with your calf. You think it’s his own primal way of saying sorry. Still, he refused to break the skin, and you wonder why.

“Victor…” you whisper against his ear, running soothing hands down his massive back. A growl rumbles in his chest and reverberates into your own, rattling your heart between your ribs.

“Not done.” you think he mummers against your neck.

“What?” You pause your hands at his waist.

He sits up from you, those predatory eyes still just as hungry as before.

“I’m not done with you yet.” he declares before dropping to his knees on the floor, dragging your lower half with him. You grasp at the sheets for dear life while he holds you balanced there, your leaking pussy right in his face.

“Victor, what are you— ohhhh!” You’re cut off by the overwhelming sensation of his rough tongue dragging through your folds. He laps at you as you squirm in his grasp.

“Taste so good together, darlin’,” he mumbles against you in between the ungodly wet sounds. His tongue delves into you selfishly, the wet muscle pumping in and out while his nose nudges against your clit. Your nerves are so overwhelmed you're not sure you even register everything he’s doing. He moans into you so aggressively you start to wonder if he’s doing this for him or you.

Surely feeling this good must be illegal, you think. Surely this man isn’t actually real.

You writhe against the overstimulation, but his strong hands hold you anchored there against him so impossibly close. His entire mouth closes over your cunt, that agile tongue narrowing in to dance circles around your clit. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

“Pretty pussy like this needs to be licked every night,” He moans between laps of his tongue, “Every goddamn night.”

“V-Victor— P-please— I can’t—” You attempt to plead before he interrupts you.

“Yes you can,” he says it like a demand, “You got one more for me. Please… need one more.” He’s begging for it. Begging for you to come.

Yes, he’s definitely not real. You’re sure of it now.

His attention is back entirely on your clit now, closing his lips around and sucking— it’s your undoing.

You grasp at the edge of the mattress, your entire body arching off the sheets as your second orgasm rips through you. Victor is unforgiving, his mouth and tongue drinking you in greedily and you uselessly squirm against him.

He holds you there for what feels like hours, enveloping himself in the mess you’d both made between your thighs. He can’t enjoy this, you think. There’s no way on Earth he can be enjoying this. Yet he holds you there until your muscles finally relax again, reveling in the mess you’ve both made together.

He guides you down to his lap and you drag the sheets off the bed with you, burying yourself in his hairy chest. He pulls you into him without hesitation, his nose burrowing into your hair and his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head— A sharp contrast to how he was previously handling you. It's…. nice. Soothing away the pain of the numerous sins you’d surely just committed.

You both lay back on the floor, bodies effortlessly curling in around each other. The bed seemed too far away now anyway. He brings the blanket up around you both, but it feels like a useless gesture. His body is all the warmth you need.

You both lay there in silence for possibly eons, letting the electricity in the air settle until you can think clearly— though you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to again. You can’t help but feel like this absolute beast of man has changed everything now. This stranger that you’d rescued and brought into your home has left an eternal mark on your soul. This man you know almost nothing about.

Only a single question comes to mind.

“Who the hell are you, Victor Creed?”

His chest jumps under you with a small huff of a laugh. He lets the question settle in the air for a moment.

“Sweetie, you don’t wanna know.”

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