#Not bright red like maroon

[chickenisamazing]

Okay it's supposed to rain tomorrow morning so

[seaweedraindraws]

Date fits from my fic Cherris outfit was based off of this

[adamsvanrhijn]

ok taking nail polish ideas/suggestions once again...

[cinnabeat]

rememebred everyones kh3 outfits and now im annoyed again

[youcanfacethis]

Taylor Swift I know you won’t do this but I need a list of your top reads every month and for you to suddenly create a brand new lipstick line just for my own sake!!! I will buy every color!! I will read every word you recommend!!! pls!!!!

[hauntingblue]

I've been seeing a lot of red hoodie + leather jacket on jason lately and it has got me thinking that I've never seen him in a red leather jacket

[relicsongmel]

Saw a real-life Miles Edgeworth walking out of the mall today lmao

[ccccatttta]

red string of fate au where james is sick and tired™ of having to wait for destiny to bring his soulmate to him.

especially because in this universe the intensity of the red in your string shows if you are close to your other half (bright red when you are really close, but a maroon-ish color when far)

also, only you can see your own string, and the only part that's truly visible is what's tied on your pinky finger and a bit of the loose part, but it's just a couple inches of it that then turns invisible so it's not a bother.

so! james' string is bright bright red, like BRIGHT red. his soulmate is close but he has no way to find out who it is until "the right moment" which is when he and his soulmate get to hold hands for the first time.

james tried to hold hands with EVERYONE (who was willing and with a bright string as well, he's not daft) on the gryffindor tower, his quidditch team, and even some students from other houses who he has classes with.

results: nothing.

he gets so riled up and impatient, that one day he just snaps.

which means: he goes to the great hall for breakfast (because everyone is there), sits at the very beginning of the gryffindor table (to have everyone in his field of vision), grabs as much of his red string as he can (so, right before it becomes invisible) and. pulls. like. a. motherfucker.

two things happen in like two seconds.

one. regulus black, who was just about to leave the great hall, is yanked backwards and barely caught by barty before he hits the ground. his arm painfully stretched to james' direction.

two. before james can finish processing that what the fuck, regulus black is his soulmate and sirius is going to murder him. regulus manages to stand back up properly, stares at his pinky like it has personally offended him, and. also. pulls. like. a. motherfucker.

so james also gets yanked, only that, as he was still stunned from what just happened, he gets pulled out of his seat and dragged for maybe five steps towards regulus. arm painfully stretched towards him.

sirius, who has been watching everything, loses his shit.

[technologyvoid]

Ok maybe red isn't as pretty as I thought

[yummymitzy]

It means everything to me.

Summary: The team decides to play a truth or dare game to end the night after one of Tony’s parties. Throughout the game, reader felt eyes on her, but she doesn’t know that they came from a certain redhead. Would something grow between them once the night falls?

Warnings: G!P Nat, SMUT, hair-pulling, back shots against door, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, Nat jus bein rough n jealous, 18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 3,154 

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Rogers!Reader

————♡————

Stark parties at the compound were so very often hosted, it could have been for any occasion. As long as Tony thought it was a good time to celebrate, he’d host a party for that night. Today just happened to be one of those nights.

You, your brother Steve, Bucky, and Wanda were sent out on a mission four days ago. You four came back to the compound and deemed the mission successful, which made Tony practically jump up and exclaim that he’d host a party for tonight for another mission gone well.

You were definitely a party person, the life of a party whether you were drunk or not. But goddamn? The last party the team hosted felt like yesterday to you, when it was actually last week, but that was still close enough right? 

As of right now, you were getting ready for his party, as you take a quick glance at your phone, it was 5:45 and the party was at six, so you definitely had enough time to be ready by then. You set down your phone as you went straight to your closet, your makeup already done.

After rummaging through your dresses, it took you a few minutes before you came across your dress of the night and put it on. It was a backless maroon dress with a slit that went dangerously high on your upper thigh, the back of the dress incredibly accentuated your ass to which you appreciated. 

Overall it was a great dress, who were you going to impress? You weren’t sure but you had an idea though. You strolled out of your closet and heard a knock echo through your bedroom, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You still had way more time you wondered as you went to open the door.

There stood Bucky clad in a dark blue suit, hand still raised in the air as if he was going to open the door. Regaining his composure instantly, he drops the hand and leans against your doorway.

“You clean up nice, Buck. Didn’t think you still knew how to groom yourself with all that time you were up in the ice.” You tease lightly as you step back from your door and heading over to your vanity, putting in shiny gold earrings to complement the red.

“Hey… Don’t get used to it though.” He acts slightly hurt before switching to a joking manner. “But do hurry up, doll. At this point the party will be waiting up on you.” 

“I’m done, was just putting in earrings. Now cmon, I need a drink.” You slip on your red bottomed heels and brush past Bucky as you head down the corridor of the elevator, laughing slightly as he tries to catch up before the doors close.

As soon as the elevators open to where the party was being held, you went straight to the bar, in desperate need for a drink. Your eyes widen slightly before you smirk, realizing that Natasha had been put on bar duty.

Natasha was glammed up, hair curled down to her back, a long fitted emerald dress that showed off all her curves, it ran down to her knees and glimmered in the light. Her bright red lipstick complimenting it as she also has on some emerald earrings. 

You approach the bar, surprised Natasha hadn’t caught sight of you yet, until you stood right in front of her eyes, smirking. 

“Hey Nat, what got you doing bar duty tonight?” You lean against the bar counter, your arms crossed. The action making Natasha stare down at your breasts hungrily before she snaps her attention back onto you.

The thing was that you and Nat had this thing going on, where you’d both go back and forth with trying to flirt with each other. You never knew when exactly it started, Nat just started calling you pet names and being more touchy one day.  

But what she didn’t know was that the game got real on your side. You didn’t know what changed but you started becoming more flustered with her advances and even started blushing, something you never did. Until you realized, you liked her.

It had come a shock to you at first but as time passed, you came to terms with it and just played along with Natasha. It wasn’t like she liked you back, you doubt it, hell she might even be cuddling it up with Bruce.

“Fella did me wrong.”

“You got a real weird taste when it comes to your people Nat.” You laugh as you sat upon one of the many stools in front of the counter.

“It’s not all bad, and my taste in people are quite immaculate if you asked me, Y/n” She raised an eyebrow as she prepared your usual whiskey neat, before sliding it over to you as you laugh.

“Alright, alright, I’ll catch you later, Red” You stood up, your whiskey in hand as you go out to the couches and plopped yourself right next to Sam.

————♡————

You had completely lost track of what time it was, the party was long over and the after party had just started. 

You were sat in between Sam and Bucky with Tony on the far side of the couch. Across from you had been Bruce Natasha and Clint, while to the couch on the right of you was Wanda, Vision.   The couch left of you consisted of Tony, Thor, and Steve.

The team was so drunk they could barely uphold their conversations with one another. Thats how bad it was, and it was embarrassing that you were especially drunk too. 

Soon after, Tony stood up from his side of the couch and stepped forward while raising both of his arms. He proposed a game of truth or dare, refuse to do it, you take a shot. Your lips curled up into a smirk, you honestly couldn’t tell if you were too drunk or not but you did know that you wanted to play. 

After hearing the majority of the team agree, Tony had prepared a line of shots, just enough for the first few people before starting off the game. 

“Truth or dare, Capsicle.” Tony stared at Steve, a smug smirk planted on his face as he awaits Steves answer.

“Truth.”

“Is it true that Bucky was the cause of those “mosquito bites” when you came out to breakfast the other day?”

Bucky shifted in his seat at the mention of his name which made you shake in laughter as he playfully smacks your arm, catching the eye of Natasha.

“Yes.” Steve admitted, his face flushing a deep color of red as he leans back into the couch, before regaining his composure and picking his victim. “Wanda, Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” She raised an eyebrow as a slight smirk plays on her face.

“I dare you to give somebody in this room a lapdance. EXCEPT Vision.” Making Wanda widen her eyes slightly as she turns her head to look at Vision, to which he nods in confirmation, letting her know its alright. 

Wanda stands from her seat, slightly surveying the area before her eyes land on Sam, she approaches you with a torturously slow walk as she pretends to walk to Sam, before snapping her head to you and finding her place on your lap. 

Your eyes widen in shock as Tony tells Friday to dim the lights and play a song. You didn’t know what song it was, you were hyper focused with Wanda on your lap. You thought she was going to pick Sam, why you?

Across from you sat Natasha, you noticed she was fuming in her seat as she watched Wanda’s little show. Her knuckles turned white due to her deathly grip on the couch while a scowl was firmly planted on her face. If Natasha had been put into a cartoon, she would have definitely had smoke coming out of her ears.

Natasha was on her last straw when it came to the dance, all she wanted to do was stand up and rip Wanda off of you and take you for herself. As soon as she brushed away those thoughts, Wanda’s dance had already ended. But what she didn’t see was you sighing in relief after she retreated to her seat. 

————♡————

You and the team got a few more rounds in and this round ended up having Natasha as the victim.

“Truth or dare, Natasha.” Clint said as he bites his cheek to compose himself for her answer.

“Dare, arrowboy.” She smirks as she turns her whole body to face Clint as he begins cackling.

“Swap clothes with the person you find most attractive in this room.” He grins, visibly proud at his dare.

Natasha stands wondering her next move as she looks towards Wanda, her best friend. “Just go for it, whats the worst that could happen.” Wanda says in her head while she subtly nods her head towards you. 

Natasha thought it over once more before she strutted straight to you, her hips swaying as she walked, practically hypnotizing you. She held out a hand in your direction, her eyes meeting yours as they held an unspoken gentleness.

You took her hand as you lifted yourself up off the couch, you never realized how drunk you were until you were on your feet. You were slightly swaying as you tried to regain your balance, which was quick with the help of Natasha as she supported you with her other hand wrapped around your waist.

As you regained your balance, you noticed that you still were holding hands with her but you don’t find it in yourself to point it out. You move to take Natasha to another room nearby, her following behind you close by.

Once you both stumbled into an empty room, that was when you sobered up a little, but Natasha seemed drunker than ever.

“Are you sure you still want to do the dare? I could get Wanda to take you to your room.” You whisper, as you look up to meet Natashas gaze. 

You saw something change in Natasha’s eyes, from a drunken look to what you think is hunger?

The emotions that were brewing up within Natasha during the lapdance burst out of her as she shoved you against the door of the room, trapping your body between her and the door. 

“Nat!” You yelp, not expecting a reaction like this from Natasha.

“Ya know, I didn’t really like how Wanda was just grinding up on you..” She husks, her face inching towards yours as your gazes to each other never faltered. You can feel her hand hovering over your waist, soon stopping to rest there on the curve of your hips.

“But you wouldn’t really mind that would you, huh?” She smirked as she buried her head into your neck and kissing it slightly, leaving back bright red lipstick marks, she had also left some hickeys unbeknownst to you.

You sigh, leaning into her touch unknowingly and running your hands through her fiery hair before you pull her up gently and crash your lips onto hers.  

Natasha’s lips were as soft like they looked, you could have honestly gotten obsessed with them right then and there. You deepened the kiss as one of your hands slid down to her waist to pull her impossibly closer.

You were so focused on Natasha’s lips kissing you that you didn’t feel a hard bulge pressing up against your upper thigh. But soon enough was when Natasha started getting slightly desperate, subtly grinding against you as you felt the bulge become more insistent.

That was when you pulled away, slightly concerned. “Are you sure, Nat? You’re drunker than I am.” You ask, your eyes flickering between hers and her lips. 

“Yes baby, I’m sure. Plus I was at the bar handing out drinks, not downing shots with you and Wanda.” She whispered, her attitude rising with the added mention of Wanda. Her teeth grazing the skin of your neck as she nips at it before she pulls away entirely, making you whine.

“Awe detka, so desperate already? Did you get so desperate because of Wanda?” She snarled, as she flips you around by your hips, pushing your face into the door as she kept a deathly grip on you.

“Mphm! No, Nat. It’s all you.” Your voice is muffled against the door as she sternly keeps you pinned there. Your hands flat on the door to keep you stabilized as Natasha starts grinding her clothed bulge on you.

“Damn right it is.” She mumbled as she gave a harsh slap to your ass making you jolt forward into the door as you yelp. Before she continues grinding up on you.

Soon enough, Natasha reaches over to your front and over to your breasts as she gave them a quick squeeze before she trailed her hands to the straps of your dress. You peeled your hands away from the door to allow Natasha to practically rip the dress off of you.

The sight of you braless with a lacy red thong might as well make Natasha drool as her hands went straight to your ass, massaging the flesh and pulling a quiet whimper from you.

With quick efficiency, her dress was off in the blink of an eye, her boxers had an insanely large tent forming, to which you could already assume was by you. 

She takes off her boxers as quickly as her dress as she positions herself behind you on the door. Leaning down, her hands find themselves on your waist as her lips find the shell of your ear, her cock just centimeters away from your dripping heat as her breasts press against your back.

“I can tell you want this as much as I do, detka. You’re practically leaking onto the floor.” She husks into your ear, she doesn’t wait for an answer as she stands up straight and slams her cock into your wet cunt making you press your cheek against the door as you moan out. 

Natasha begins to pound herself into you, the sound of skin slapping, your moans, and Natasha’s grunts echo the quiet room as she ruts into your tight cunt.

“You’re so fucking tight, detka. Я не могу насытиться тобой. (I can’t get enough of you.)”She growls as she lifts her hand from your waist to pull at your hair, pulling you up to meet her front, her breasts brushing against your back once more as your back completely arches. 

The new position allowed Natasha’s cock to thrust even deeper into your cunt, her thrusts were powerful, each movement drove you up the door trembling with pleasure.

She started pounding up into you at a more intense pace, making you moan in shock, the action making you push back against her cock. Her hand that wasn’t in your hair lifted from your hip, and came down on your ass once again, sending a hard slap to it as she massaged the flesh immediately after.

“Ah! Fuck!!” You cried, the pleasure was too much to even suppress your moans as you kept pushing your hips back to meet Natasha’s relentless pace. “Oh, please Nat!!” You scream as she drove into you.

“Nat, I’m gon..gonna cum, please can I cum.” You begged, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Natasha fucked you dumb. 

“Go ahead and cum, baby.” 

To which you complied, your release had been intense but yet so full of pleasure. You trembled at reaching your climax, but to your surprise. Natasha kept rutting her cock into you as her thrusts got more and more sloppy as the seconds passed, her grunts turning into whines. 

“One more baby, just for me, c’mon. I know you’ve got another in you, please.” She pleaded as her thrusts grew more sloppier as she leaned her head down into your neck, placing delicate kisses on it as she tries to muffle her whimpers. 

You give her a loud moan in response, the overstimulation soon turning into overwhelming pleasure as you feel your second orgasm of the night building up in your lower belly. 

“Fuck..Im gonna cum detka. I can feel you clenching around me,” She babbled slightly, her red hair fluttering over the expanse of your back as she sets a faster pace for her relentless pounding, now nibbling on your neck to prevent her moans from spilling, her hand gliding in front of you as it frantically rubs at your clit.

“Fuck!!” “Cmon baby, cum, cum on my cock.” You and Natasha cried out as you reached your second climax of the night, your tight cunt clenching impossibly more around her shaft as your juices flow out of your pussy. 

The action made Natasha cum directly after you, the clenching of your soft velvety walls around her dick made her burst her seed into your womb as she let out a loud moan into the juncture of your neck. 

Natasha waited a minute before pulling out slowly, the overstimulation strong as she trembled slightly. She knew you were terribly overstimulated too with the way your legs were shaking. 

She watched as the both of your combined juices leak out of your cunt, a little bit of it landing on the floor as she fingered it back into you, making you moan once more. 

You rested your forehead against the door in front of you before slowly turning around to face Natasha, all while still leaning on the door. Natasha had always been a beautiful sight, especially now. 

Her hair was slightly tousled up, her cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red, her lips were smudged off of her lipstick, and her eyes held a deep softness and slight lust in them. You could always get lost in Natasha’s gorgeous eyes any day.

“Natasha, I just want to ask if this will mean anything to you. I wouldn’t want to have you like this with it not meaning anything.” You ask in a soft whisper, afraid of hearing the answer you dreaded the most.

Natasha saw the genuine sadness in your eyes as you whispered the question, the sight made her heart crack. It took her a second to respond as she gathered her words.

“I’ve loved you ever since Steve showed up with you in the living room. I always hoped that you returned those feelings I had for you. What happened between us right now, means everything to me, Y/n.” Natasha spoke softly, as if she were going to break a porcelain doll if she was any louder.

“I love you too, Nat. So much” You admit, walking up to Natasha and instantly closing the distance between you both. The kiss wasn’t lust filled at all, it was full of love and passion, something that you and Natasha always had for each other.

[trulyumai]

Be My Distraction

pairing: emperor geta / wife! reader

Synopsis: Bloodshed wasn't in your interest. good thing you had your emperor there to comfort ill feelings.

Warnings: blood, violence, fighting.

Enjoy!

You’ve been married for eight months and twenty three days. It was rough in the beginning— to be belittled so easily and forgotten within every moment the two of you spent together. 

But over time, the jokes, the pradling eased. He didn't grab you as much, or as roughly as he once did. The scratches, the bruises faded with time, no more did they grace your cheeks, your arms. 

You learned early on that the man craved violence— sought it out in the coliseums every so often. Blood didn't seem to bother the emperor, in fact, the more that the maroon color graced his presence, the better. 

You, however, could do without. 

It was so hot- so stuffy that day. Humidity clung to your skin like an unwanted sickness. Sweat dabbed at your brow as you tirelessly fanned at your face, sitting just beside Geta himself. The crowd was ever so loud, jovially crying out, impatient for the show to begin. 

The emperor sat, knees spread with an arm bent on the rest attached to the chair. 

“This will be a good one,” Beside him, his brother; Caracalla hummed in agreement, giggling at the aggressive pushes and shoves the citizens gave to one another. 

You couldn't imagine how hot it must be down there, so close to the pit. 

Even up in the stands, you thought you might melt. 

“Wife, did you hear me?” 

Flinching you looked back at Geta, meeting his intense gaze upon your form. 

“W-What?” 

“I said, are you ready to be entertained?” 

The movement in your hand stopped, it was useless trying to fight such a heat. Not wasting a breath you answered. 

“Of course, husband.” 

Smiling, the man stood and raised his arms to the citizens. Screams erupted, they cried out in response to the man of such power, of such terror. 

With his arms back at his sides; the signal was given. 

The fight could commence. 

Roughly turning back to the box, Geta sat upon the edge of the throne, waiting to see the first death of the match. 

Not wanting to disappoint him, you stood straight, facing the clashing of swords, the crying of men. A particular soldier had ill timing with his slash, missing his foe entirely. It left him open for a second, but that was all the time that was needed. With a quick slash, the man's entrails dangled from his stomach, painting the ground a bright red. 

It was unbearable to see such a display of violence, to see these men's lives end right before your eyes. 

Your palm met with the skin of your lips, afraid of the rising bile you covered your mouth tightly, eyes gazing over with wet desperation. 

A distraction— you needed one and quick. How embarrassing would it be for the wife of the emperor to throw up her morning meal? 

In front of her own citizens? 

Nothing was working, the sounds, the clashing was too loud. The blood littered the field, running freely over the crevices with its own dirtied purpose. 

Your breathing was beginning to be too fast, too quick to catch up with. 

Think, think, think- 

“Wife?” 

Oh gods. Not now. You couldn't take the poking, the showing of bodies that lay limp and torn. 

Geta noticed the desperation in your eyes, the way you squeezed your mouth shut like a tragedy just struck before the coliseum.

“Wife. Look.” 

“Geta please-” 

A hand reached out, a mirage of colors graced your vision. 

His hand? 

His.. rings? 

“Oh…” you sighed, reaching out with both hands to grip onto the bigger one in front of you. 

“New rings?” you smiled. The bile no longer burned the back of your throat, with ease it bubbled down and the taste of your previous meal left instantly. 

“Indeed. See this one?” His pinky moved lightly, it moved up and down meticulously.

You nodded and the jewelry around your neck sounded out. The man couldn’t help but look upon it, with a smile of his own. 

The golden chain you wore, decorated in the finest stones lay about your image, resting just above your collarbones. He remembered gifting it to you not long ago, just upon the third full moon of this month's harvest. 

Your touch brought him back to the present. To your sweating form.

“This one brings good fortune.”

“Good fortune?” 

“Mmh,” he agreed, once more setting his eyes on the show in front of him. 

Couldn’t show everyone how soft he could be with his betrothed. His reign would lose its footing; a weakness she brought, they would say to him.

“What would you need that for, dear husband, when you have so much already?”

He could see you from the corner of his eye. Saw the way you stroked at his fingers with a light- loving touch. 

Your hands were much softer than his, he had to resist letting out a pleased sigh at such a discovery. 

“There can always be more.” He spoke low, distracted by the onslaught of men that paraded around the ground floor. 

“...I suppose.” The nausea was replaced with a wave of comfort. His heavy hand sat atop your lap, with your smaller fingers dancing across the new set of rings upon the man's digits. 

“Husband?”

Geta hummed. With no response, it meant he was starting to get impatient, itchy with anger. 

“Can I hold your hand here, for a while?” 

The emperor didn't say anything for a concerning amount of time. The comfortability was wearing off with every scream and groan that left the pit. Swords clashed on and on. 

Not wanting to upset your husband further, you tried to back up, to take the words out of the air. 

“Im sorry, forgive me-” 

“I suppose.”

Geta’s eyes never strained from the fighting and yours never left his image. But even from the side, you could see a softness that wasn't there before. The way his hand relaxed against yours. Ever so rough upon your oiled and cared for palms. 

That was all that needed to be said. 

You watched on, caressing Geta’s hands every so often in unspoken affection. 

A/N: we love a man that can calm down his wife with barely any effort. something about big scary men being soft with their wife has me in a chokehold and im sorry

[zriasstuff]

Them watching you get ready <3

Slytherin boys x reader fluff headcanons (warning:delulu asf)

the collage isn’t the best, but at least you have all 6 faces now

It’s date-night, but you seem to be taking quite some time to get ready…

Tom Riddle:

Let’s be honest for a second and admit that if you were taking your sweet sweet time, he’d curse at you because everything has to go according to his schedule (i even doubt that he’d do the whole “date-night” thing, but that’s a separate issue)

He’d turn more impatient by the second and barge into your dorm/bathroom without knocking

Tom would rush you so badly and keep telling you to hurry up while rolling his eyes

While you’re doing your makeup he’d pick up each product with disgust and tell you that you look just fine

When you tell him that you need more time, he tells you that there wouldn’t be a date anymore if you didn’t follow him, besides he’d lecture you on your poor time management

Eventually he drags you out with him and dryly compliments you like “see, i told you you look good” (but innerly he enjoyed that you put in effort and wanted to look good for him, even if it took some time)

Mattheo Riddle:

He wouldn’t rush you when you tell him you need more time, instead he’d take advantage of watching you get ready

When you choose your clothes, he’d encourage you to do a little fashion show for him and he would tell you that you looked perfect in every single one

He would tell you to choose a short and tight dress though, we all know why ;)

During make-up he is totally one of those guys who say “it’s all the same shade”, and in reality it’s like maroon and bright red

As a joke he’d also apply some of the products, but wipe them off immediately because he feels too emasculated

When you ask him if you could do make-up on him some day he’d simply reply “sure, but then i would get to do whatever i want with you”

Draco Malfoy:

When you offer him to watch you get ready, since you still aren’t done, he immediately accepts

Draco totally loves seeing you get ready too because during your relationship he has spoiled you so much that half your closet/vanity is basically from him

Since he grew up close to his mother, he has actually spent a lot of time in his childhood going to barbers/salons/boutiques with her

So from that he has gained excellent taste, even helps you with styling your hair, and helps you pick out accessories

He knows how long this stuff can take, so he just takes the time to make you feel beautiful and confident, showering you with compliments and pecks “you look so good in the things i buy you darling”/“you are always so gorgeous and sexy”

Theodore Nott:

He wouldn’t mind that you were not on time, the date started the second he saw you, so you getting ready was just time that you could spend together too

You are afraid it takes away the surprise factor at first, but it’s not a big deal to him

When you start to change into different outfits, he’s always there to help you undress/unzip the dresses, taking the opportunity to smoothly move his hands down your body

That would just eventually turn into a makeout session though, you just couldn’t resist when he was being that touchy and ravishing too

It takes quite some time for you to actually get ready in the end because he always distracts you in the process, but in the end you would both have had a fun time

Blaise Zabini:

He’d be quite chill and sit on your bed when you tell him to wait, just watching you get ready at your vanity

He would maybe be a little bit annoying—asking you every three seconds if you were ready to go, and he would say “you literally look the same as always, what’s the point of all this”

Eventually he liked watching you more and more though, notice the difference, and carefully pay attention to everything you did

He’d learn to appreciate both your natural and “full-glam” beauty and just observe you with interest

As soon as you were done he’d immediately kiss you (ruining your lip-combo sadly) and his lips would be stained, and he’d be smiling, fascinated by your beauty

Lorenzo Berkshire:

When you tell him to wait outside, he’d respect that at first, but would grow impatient eventually

So, he goes up to you and tells you that he would like to be a part of the process

Opposite to Mattheo, he’d actually be down to you putting make-up on his face for fun (he’s fully convinced that he could pull anyone with or without makeup)

To be honest, he didn’t care much about what you put on because you looked hot in his eyes either way, but he knew the more interested he acted the more appreciative you’d be

Looking at you with puppy-eyes at all times is his specialty, and when you’re finally done he looks at you like you’re an angel fallen from heaven

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒 ❞

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!journalist reader

summary: a lil joke thing i wanted to write because homeboy is bringing home the big bucks 🤭

warnings: just read 🫵🏽 this is a crack fic lol

saint’s team radio 🎀: don’t take this all too seriously 😭 hope y’all enjoy plus who know i’ll actually make it into a thing 🧍🏽‍♀️

tags: @alika-4466 @purplelewlew @exotic-iris13 @arshiyuh @mauvecherie-writes @yeea-nah @youre-sooooo-funny @louvrepool @queenshikongo3 @cherry2stems @httpsserene @motheroffae

-

Being an independent journalist in this sport wasn’t easy at all but only within the parameters of any paddock around the world as most journalists rarely agreed with you, being neutral about anything in f1 wasn’t your thing.

Speaking your mind as the race went on was what set you apart from the rest, along with your humour and your honesty towards drivers and team principals. Not to mention you were extremely biased, keeping your liking to three to five drivers but only one occupied your mind every time you think about him.

I think you know who I’m talking about.

Your support for Lewis goes back to 2015, discovering the sport and immediately wanting to put your journalism skills to the test, aiming for the f1 paddock to at least catch a glimpse of the most talked about driver. Quickly building up a blog and several other social media accounts, you got to telling the world your thoughts and feelings for every race and your supporters rooted for you to achieve your goal.

Having the opportunity to attend thee race in 2020 as a guest of F1, you arrived at the Turkish Grand Prix with your head held high and a dress so gorgeous that it sparked rumours between you and the driver you were writing about. Not to mention the hug he gave you when you first met in the Mercedes garage, praising and thanking you for the support over the years. He’s been watching you and your work. That made your heart so warm.

Then he won his 7th world championship, breaking all records and that day, he deemed you his lucky charm.

And since then, it’s been a work wife-work husband friendship between you two. Fans constantly shipping you too, the clips of your shared interviews at the media pen of the intense eye contact and even off-track sightings once in a while such as a quick lunch.

yourusername • 13 mins ago

The atmosphere in Australia was unlike anything you’ve ever seen in your career, the paddock was practically painted red, Ferrari red to be specific. Everyone eager for Lewis to arrive as his first season as a driver for the legendary team.

Deciding to subtly support him and his new team, you rocked maroon everything, not yet ready to fully embrace the extreme bright red. It just might be your new favourite colour, from your hair right down to the tips of your high heeled boots.

Whilst setting your camera equipment up (gracefully given to you by Ferrari themselves), you couldn’t help but reminisce back to the year before of when he told you he was leaving Mercedes, a single facetime call in the nighttime.

“You made me pause the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, this better be good.” You said, placing the popcorn bowl down on your coffee table. Giving him squinted eyes, he just smiled at you.

“Are you alone right now?” He asked and that set aback for a bit. “You tryna do something funny, Lewis? Because you’re in Monaco right now and I’m at my house.” You raised your eyebrow at him, hiding how nervous you were to even suggest that to him but thankfully, he took it as a joke.

“No no, I’ve got some big news and I wanted to tell you before it gets out.” He replied, seeing how you stood up and placed your phone on your kitchen counter to prepare for this. “Okay, I’m ready. What’s up?” You clasped your hands together, not prepared to hear what came out of his mouth next.

“I’m moving to Ferrari next year.”

“You’re lying.” And all he did was smile as he saw your face drop at this news. He shook his head and that woke you to run around your apartment screaming. Running back to your phone, he was still there but just laughing his lungs out.

“Give me the details right now or else I’ll fly there. I’m not playing, Lew.”

A small smile was plastered on your face as you racked through the memories of that night and till that day, you still couldn’t believe it even though it was right in front of you. The media pen became louder and louder as you continued to mic yourself up along with connecting the mic to the camera and you immediately knew who caused the stir.

He already had such an aura surrounding him so much so that you could feel him whenever he entered the room. You were aware he arrived earlier and most likely changed but seeing the official team shirt on him was odd but fitting.

Lewis had a simple routine whenever he got to the media pen: everyone else then you because his time with you could be lengthened and he was so damn grateful that it was a Thursday because it meant even more time just walking around the paddock pretending it’s an interview when really, you guys were just spending time together.

After all the drivers had their interviews with you, laughing as they walked away because of some joke you told or happy that you asked different questions than everyone else. The man of the hour strolled over to your section with a look in his eye that gave you a shiver down your spine.

“Do not give me that look, Lewis. It’s weird seeing you in that shirt.” You said as he leaned against the barricade, maintaining eye contact with you. “I’m just taking in the red on you, it’s your colour.” He smirked at the reaction from you, the slight shock from the tone of his voice.

There was always a tad bit of tension between the two of you, feeling that twinge of a spark whenever he merely touched you. As you worked with over the years, you wanted your crush on him to diminish because that would just be unprofessional but he did not seem to care. At all. Often being spotted at various places together that he claimed were just two friends hanging out but just one look from him could have you in the clouds of days.

“Uh..huh. Wanna get these questions done or you wanna keep staring?” You asked with sass, watching him tilt his head a little and maintaining eye contact. “We can go right ahead, Y/n.” Lewis replied and you knew this was going to be a long interview.

Several questions later with a bunch of tension that you were sure the viewers would catch, you discreetly turned the camera to ask one of your infamous unserious questions that you did with every driver and you were sure this one were to get a laugh out of Lewis.

Holding the little card in front of you, you grinned with your left eye closing slightly more than the other. “It’s one of my favourite parts of any interview, unserious question time.” You said. “How unserious are we speaking here?” He asked with the slightest grin on his face just admiring you do your job.

“Only if you promise to answer it.” You said, holding out your manicured pinkie finger and Lewis hooked his with yours, solidifying the promise. “Okay okay, the whole world was shocked on how much Ferrari wanted you so much so that they literally doubled your salary.” You started.

“It’s now sitting at a hundred million a year. My question to you is who you gonna share it with and will it be me?”

“If you’re being serious, then it can be you.” He smiled and in that moment, your stomach dropped.

“Carl Davidson, I’m not playing around. Are you being for real?” You asked, lowering your voice so that no one could hear a thing.

He leaned in a bit more to whisper his next answer. “As real as you meeting me later on for dinner.” Lewis faced you then winked, walking away with your face still in shock. After standing there for what felt like forever, you felt your phone vibrate with a text from the man himself.

lew <3

you look gorgeous in red btw

-

yourusername

liked by theestallion, f1wags and 43,747 others

yourusername “anything you want, princess” — lewis hamilton.

view comments

user give me your game card

user you’re eating the red wig DOWN

spinzbeatsinc oh for him to buy me a g wagon

yourusername you already have one???

user you gold digging bitch

user no ways 😭

user not you using him for his money

user think about it, what is he gonna do with so much??

fan she got the chance and she took it, i gotta respect it

user i hope this is a hard launch because i’ve been shipping these two for YEARS

user me too!!

lewishamilton just say the word 🫡

yourusername 🤭🤭🤭🤭

saint’s team radio (again) 🎀: hope you all enjoyed! again, this is like a crack fic lol. there’s so many stories that’ll be released soon i’m excited 🥹 okay bye!

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

[hidden-poet]

Animal

Synopsis: After visiting a bathhouse Logan meets you, and the animal within him starts clawing out.

Warnings: not canon, dark!, non-con, a little bit of romantisation of things that should not be romanticized, kidnapping, Dark!logan(jimmy? james?), dom/sub vibes, spanking, female reader who is described quite a bit, rough sex, graphic sex, basically born with little plot, unedited and written in a couple of hours, dead dove to not eat.

AN: Something awoken within me. I never really cared for Wolverine, but suddenly I am binging all the movies. I don't really understand them so this will definitely not make sense to those who follow the fandom.

Word count: 12, 418

Logan walks through the city. People part as he storms through the path. Hearing the sound of his heavy boots as they thud against the concrete. 

If his large frame wasn’t enough to warn off people, his scowl was. He didn’t even know what city he was in. Xavier sends him off to eliminate out of control mutants. Given the urgency, he is often sent without a goodbye, let alone a debrief. 

He knew he was somewhere foreign. All the signs were in a different language with the english translation printed small underneath. 

One of them read ‘bathhouse’ in bright red neon sign. He looks at the dirt caked under his nails. The final battle with the latest mutant took place in the forest. 

He could feel small leaves in his hair, and dried mud clinging to his body. 

A nice, hot, relaxing bath may elevate some of the tension he always carried with him, so he walks up the steps into the large stone building. 

A lady in a robe greets him. The place is dark, only lit by a few strategically placed lamps. The front counter is placed in the entryway to the baths, and is sectioned by a large maroon colored wall that offers the men bathing privacy. 

“How can I help you?” the woman asks.

“I’d like a bath”, he responds. His eyes go to view the bath that beckons him. 

“Communal or private?”.

Logan looks around at the men in towels, lounging by the large pool. An elderly man takes off his towel to reveal nothing underneath, and steps into the steaming water. 

“Private”, Logan answers, “please”.

She gives him a sly smile, asking him to follow her. 

He is brought along the pool where men swam nude, and women who wore thick robes served them drinks, and cigars. 

At the back of the communal bathing area there was a long stretch of red doors that were numbered in large golden letters. He follows her to door seven

The woman knocks on the door once before turning back to logan. 

“Just through this door when you are ready”. With a sly smile she looks him up and down before returning to her hosting station. 

“Ah-yeah, thanks”, he comments. 

Muttering under his breath, he twists the door knob and takes a step inside, wanting nothing more than to wash away his adventure. 

His hand clinches the door knob, his claws begging to come out upon hearing someone on the other side. 

Had someone been following him? Another mutant, buddies with the one he had killed?

He lunges through the door, ready to face anyone willing. It startles him when he sees a young girl. 

Your hair was blown out to give it volume, and styled in an effortlessly curled way. Your dress was short and black. The halter neck tied together behind your long neck, and was cut down to the middle of your chest. The thin material only reached your upper thigh. Your lipstick was a dark red, matching your pointed shoes. You looked ready for a club, not a bath. 

You push yourself back into a chest of draws, surprised at his entrance. 

“shit”, Logan turns from you, training his eyes to the ground. It felt wrong to look at you. “Sorry, i was told to come in here”. 

“You were told correctly”, you state, “I am ready for you”. 

Your voice was low and seductive, making Logan hard under his jeans.

“Ready for me?” Logan questions. He feels his brows furrow, the sweat that he had accumulated started to run down his forehead. 

“This is a bathhouse”,you state, “You got a private room. You get bathed in private rooms”. 

You seemed as confused as he was. 

He looks at you stunned. His cock ached in his jeans to think of you bathing him. But you were young. Young, pretty, and naive. What were you doing here, giving baths to dirty old men like him. He couldn’t have it. Couldn’t be a part of it. 

His other side begged him to have a bath, and enjoy your touch, but he didn’t want to do anything that he would regret. The animal side of him was hard to contain. He was sure you would pull the wrong string, and the restraint he had built would come undone. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to bid you goodbye. All his will power went to turning back to the door. 

“Wait” you call out. He freezes immediately, and looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Is there something wrong with me?” you ask. His heart sunk at your question. He didn’t mean to offend you. 

“Am I not desirable enough for you?”, you continue. 

“God, no” he states, shutting the door firmly behind him as he turns. He didn’t want anyone passing to see you through the door. “No, you’re anything but undesirable”.

You blush but remain in your seductive composure. Your hand waves him forward, and his feet shuffle to your command. 

“Well then stay. If they see you walk out, i’ll get in trouble. Men start walking out of my bathhouse, and they might turf me”, you state. 

“Look, baby, I am just looking for a bath,” you eye the water so he continues to explain, “a bath alone. Without the help of a young woman, no matter how they look”.

“You don’t seem the nervous kind”, you provoke. 

“I ain’t” he defends. 

“How about this, I won’t look”. You spin around and face the wall, covering your eyes with your hand. “You can take a bath without my help, and I won’t get fired. Win, win”. 

He thinks about it. With you facing away, and not touching him, what harm could be done? He would be doing you a favor. 

“You sure you can restrain yourself?” he flirts. 

Your giggle echoes off the wall to his ear. 

“I am sure”.

Logan strips, leaving his clothes on the tiled floor, and entering the marble tub centered in the room. The water is steaming, and works to unknot his mussels. 

He moans as he sinks into the water. 

“Feel good?”, you ask. 

His cock twitches at your words. He struggles to keep his voice even as he answers. 

“Yeah”. 

“I am y/n”, you comment, bringing your hand down to face the red wall. 

“Is that your real name?”, he asks. He shouldn’t care what your real name was, but he did. 

“Yeah”, you respond. He listens for your heart beat as you answer. It never falters so it was the truth, or a lie that had become the truth. Either way it was good enough for him. 

“Logan”, he gives. 

“In town for business or pleasure, Logan?”, you ask. 

Your butt was three inches from the bottom of your dress. It curved around the material. Logan wanted to jump up from the water, and bite into it. 

“Business” he answered absentmindedly. He forces himself to look away and up to the ceiling. 

Your heartbeat was even. You weren’t scared of him. It comforted him to know. 

“What do you do?”. The question irked him. 

“Nothing good”, he spat. 

You let out a breathy laugh as if he had told a bad joke.

“Men who do ‘nothing good’ aren’t afraid of young women in bathhouses”, you jest. 

“Well I suppose I do bad things for a good cause”, he admits. 

Although it never felt like a good cause. Only some of the mutants he killed deserved it. Most of them were only confused and scared. They were too dangerous to be allowed a second chance at reasoning. Like a wild dog, they had to be put down. 

It would have made Logan feel better if he didn’t enjoy the fight. 

“What bad things for a good cause?”. 

Logan slides further into the water, trying to shield himself from your questioning. 

‘Is this a bathhouse or a police station?” he bit. His voice was hard, and carried a commanding tone that made your heart skip. 

He wanted to apologize, but you beat him to it. 

“I am sorry. I am not used to talking to the clients. I overstepped”,  you confess. 

 “Have you worked here long?”. 

He wanted to turn the attention back on you, but he chose the wrong path. The last thing he wanted to hear was you admitting to washing men.

The image of you bathing other old men angered him. His claws dug through the bones in his hand, itching to come to the surface. 

“A year”. It seemed like you were content in your workplace, but Logan fights to keep his claws under his skin. He splashed his hands under the water, worried that you would turn and see him in his mutated state. 

You shuffle slightly, angling yourself so you were always turned to him. You move off the wall, back over to the door. Logan watches you, his body shifting to hide himself if you decide to look. His member was hard under the clear water. He didn’t want you to think he was some sort of pervert. 

“Hey”, he calls, watching you move to pick up his clothes. Your hand shielded your eyes to him in the tub, “What are you doing?”. 

You separate his room key, wallet from his jean pocket and place them next to his shoes before picking up his clothes, and turning your back once more. Moving to the far wall where a washer and dryer were stored under a sink. 

“It’s part of the service. I wash your clothes for you”, you state. 

“Just leave them” he commands, “they are fine”.

You ignore him, throwing the clothes in the machine, and starting the cycle. 

“You’re paying for it”. 

You crouch in your high heels as you dispense the detergent into the washing machine on the floor before rising back up, but you don’t turn. Talking to him through the shared space rather than at him. 

“Do you mind if I sit at the vanity?”, you ask him. 

“No. Sit where you are comfortable”.

Your eyes train at the walls of the room as you slide along to the vanity set in the corner. You stop just before you get to the mirror, and kick off your heels so you could drag the seat with your foot over to you. You sat facing the wall like a child on time-out. 

He notices without your shoes, you were quite small. A small, pretty thing in a house of old men who wouldn’t need to be twice your size to overpower you. It didn’t sit right with logan. 

“So, how did you end up here?” he asks. 

“What this, a bath house or a police station”, you joke. 

He stifles a laugh. He didn’t mind a bit of cheek. 

“Fair enough’’, he relents, “Just tell me if any of these old guys ever caused you any trouble?”. 

Just as he claws retreat, they shoot back again. If your answer was yes, he was going to find out who, and where after his bath. 

But you shake your head no. 

“We have a button that calls for help. As soon as I get a bad feeling I press the button and they are thrown out”. 

You were intuitive like him. He wondered if it was a survival technique you were forced to pick up. He wanted to know why, but knew it was none of his business. 

Instead, he picks up a cloth and runs the cooling water over his skin. He was right, mud stuck to his chest hairs, along with dried blood. 

“You, uh, press that button a lot?” he pries. 

“Enough times to know when I should”. Your voice had lost its seductive tone as it hardened. 

“Maybe you should quit. Do something else”, he suggests. 

He would love for you to do something else. Something outside of harm's way. You were a grown woman who could decide what she wanted. He had no right to tell you what to do, but he wanted you to listen to him.

“Only one of us hates their job”. 

“You like this?”, his voice came out too angry. Your heart skipped another beat as he raised his voice at you. 

“You like touching dirty old men? Help them get off?”, he bites his tongue to the point of blood to stop himself talking to you this way.  

“No one gets off. I bathe them and send them on their way. Most of them are just lonely”.

“Lonely”, Logan scoffs, pushing the water away from him. But you were right. Logan was lonely. A dirty, old, lonely man wanting to taste your young flesh. 

How many other dirty, old, lonely men wanted to do the same? How many times would you be able to get to the button to press for help before it was too late? 

He wanted to protect you. To have his place in protecting you. Something about you drew him in. The animal called for him to throw you over his shoulder, and take you from his place in all his stark naked glory. But you were no one to him. He had only met you by mistake five minutes ago. 

Your heart rate was too fast. He had succeeded in scaring you. If his clothes weren’t washing, he was sure you would have kicked him out. 

He sighs, bringing his hands to the side of the tub. 

“Darl, I am sorry. I just hate to think of a pretty young thing like you here without anyone looking out for you”.

“I look out for me, Logan”, you declare. 

He nods his head, almost in disbelief. He rests the back of his head against the hard marble, causing the water to swish as he moves. 

“There’s shampoo on the caddy. You should wash your hair. I noticed that some of it was stuck together”, you comment. 

He was thrown across the forest floor just last night. He must have taken a harder hit than he realized. 

“I can do it if you want?”, you offer. 

“No. No. You stay right there” he demands. His hands itched to pull you in the bathtub with him. He wanted you to stay as far away as possible. 

As he squirts the small bottle of shampoo into his hands, the washing machine rings out a tune to signal it was done. 

“I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer” you declare. 

He watches as you move again over to the machine, and kneel to transfer the clothes into the dryer.  

Your bare feet make a nice sound against the tiles. Logan notices that your little toes were painted a dark red, and your fingers were perfectly shaped and painted the same color. 

He supposed a woman of your profession, maintenance was important. He pretended for a second that wasn’t the case. That instead, you were his little woman. 

He had come home after a long day of lumberjacking like he used to do, and you were fussing over him. The thought remained only for a second before he shook it off. 

Everyone he loved died. A little thing like you didn’t stand a chance in his life. 

“I hope you like the scent of vanilla”, you remark. 

He grunts in response, dipping under the water to wash the shampoo out of his hair. It felt lighter as a rose from the water. It was due for a good wash. 

He begins with a conditioner while he watches you lean against the counter of the sink instead of returning to your seat. His fingers dug into his scalp, pushing the liquid into his hair. 

“Do you have a girlfriend? Is that why you don’t want me to look?”, you ask. 

“No girlfriend. No wife. No dog”, he washes the soap from his hands, “I honestly didn’t know what I was signing up for”.

“Are you glad you signed up for it?”, your seductive tone returned from its disappearance. 

“The view has been nice”, he returns. 

“If you like my back, you should my front”. 

His hands curled into fists. If anything had been in his hands, it would have been snapped in two. 

“If i see your front, you might not see the light of day again”. 

His eyes shut in rhythm with your heart skipping. 

“Fuck. no. I didn’t mean” he began to justify but had nowhere to go. He had meant what he said, the way he said it. 

“All this talk of protection from dirty, old men. Did you mean you?”.

Your voice didn’t sound scared, but your heart beat faster than it had all night. 

Logan rises from the tub with conditioner still weighing down his hair. 

“Look, how long until my clothes are ready?”.

“Ten minutes”, you answer.  

He couldn’t wait ten minutes. He had to leave now.

“Just give them to me”, he demands. 

“There's still ten minutes”, you complain. 

“Give them to me, now!” his voice rose at you once more. 

You jump as he yelled at you, quickly moving to pull the wet clothes from the machine and throw them backwards towards him. 

They don’t go far enough from you and Logan is forced to get too close for his liking to dress himself. 

He pulls his wet shirt on himself, the long sleeves stick to his skin as he yanks it on. 

“Keep facing forward. Don’t turn around”, he orders. 

“But” you begin. He can see you slow movement to turn around so he gently shoves you in the right direction. 

“Listen to me. Face the wall”. His voice was angry again, commanding you to stay still. 

The jeans didn’t want to go on wet. With his harsh, and quick movements it felt like he was in a fight. He does eventually get them on, only bothering to do up his button and not his zip. 

He doesn’t bother putting on his socks. Keeping them in his hand while he picks up his wallet, shoes, and keys from the floor. 

The jiggling of the keys gives way to his plan of escape. 

“You still have fifteen minutes”, you state not moving from your position on the wall.

He wondered why you cared that he was leaving early. Did you not want him to get away from you? Or where you wondered about his reaction if he found out he was cut short?

“It doesn’t matter”, he barks as he makes a quick bee line to the door. 

He pauses once he reaches it. The water pools at his feet as he turns to look at you once more. 

“I am sorry” he comments. 

He races back down towards the door he came in through. Everybody stares at his dripping state. Some men laugh quietly among themselves. He could still hear your elevated heart beat in room seven. 

“Hey! Hey!” a voice calls behind him. 

In his agitated state he was ready to rip their head off. He turns to do it to see the lady who greeted him. 

“You still pay full price”, she demands. 

“Huh? Yeah”. He steamrolled over her to the counter, pulling out his wallet. 

His focus turns to the hallway expecting you to appear, but from what he could see your door never opened. 

He taps his bank card without looking at the price. Xavier kept him comfortable for his work. 

He leaves without approval, bumping back into the crowd of people as he makes his way back on the path. 

Soaking wet, and barefoot, he makes his way back to his small apartment. 

His claws dig underneath his skin, wanting to come out despite there being no threat. He fails to make it to the bed, laying on the carpet floor instead. 

Your name repeats in his mind. 

—---------------------------

He tries to forget you for the next three days. He was supposed to be back by now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. 

Xavier called him every hour to be sent straight to voicemail. 

Logan walked the city, often finding himself walking along the front of the bathhouse. He never goes in, but listens for your voice, and breathes deep to smell your faint scent.

You didn’t talk much to your clients. A few flirty comments when they first arrived, but then silence as you completed your work. 

You didn’t talk to them like you talked to him, and that had to mean something. 

The worst part was not knowing exactly what you were doing. He loved to hear the beeping of the machine as you pressed the buttons, because at least that meant you weren’t touching them. 

Even in his best efforts he couldn’t manage to walk away. He knows he should. There were plenty of other mutants that needed to be put down. 

He should continue with his life, and you yours. 

He couldn’t keep you. He could barely keep the kids at the mansion alive, and they all had powers to protect themselves. 

He would be throwing you in the line of fire. A fire that he might not be able to protect you from. 

You would grow old too. Unless he could figure out a way to keep you young. Could Xavier know of a way? He was sure that he could protect you from everything but time. He would need some help. A connection to someone who could slow down time in adjacent to him. 

He grunts as he drives his claw into his right thigh. He lets out a painful laugh as he pounds his fist into the brink building he was hiding behind. 

The brick crumbled under his fist. A reminder of what he could do to you without even intending it. He would only need to make a mistake once. 

He was worried about protecting you from others, when he should have been worried about protecting you from him. 

He was no good for you, even if you would be very good for him. He was destined to live out his life alone. A punishment for his ability. 

Maybe a goodbye would help him. If he could leave you with a nice impression instead of an old, dirty man, maybe he could leave. 

He crosses the sea of people to the steps of the building. He could hear you as you said goodbye to your client, and drained the water from the tub. 

He waits by the bottom of the step until the man came down and passed him before entering. 

Was this a place where you made appointments? How long would he have to wait to see you again? He wondered. 

It was a different lady at the counter which alleviated some of Logan's anxiety. 

She greets him in the same manner as the other lady. 

“I was after a private bath with y/n. Would she be available?”.

The woman looks at her computer before smiling up at him. 

“You’re in luck. She just finished up. Follow me”. 

Logan wished he dressed nicer. Put on some cologne, brushed his hair. 

Your scent became stronger the closer he got, it seemed to ease his nerves. 

The women knocks three times on the door, and Logan's hand goes to reach for the knob prematurely. 

“Just a second”, you call out. 

“She won’t be long”, the woman addresses Logan, who drops his hand away. 

With a nod and a smile the woman returns to her desk, and Logan waits by the door for you. He ran over what he was going to say, but when you swung the door open he had forgotten his opening line. 

“I never expected to see you again” you state. 

“Me either”, he responds.

To his surprise you step back from the door to allow him in. He quickly takes the invite, shutting the door behind him. 

You were dressed in another black dress. This one had thick straps and an appropriate neckline but an open back that scooped down as far as possible. 

“I wanted to apologize”, he expresses.

You tested the running water with your hand as you listened to him. 

“You are far from my worst customer”, you revel. 

You don’t look at him as you add bubbles to the bath. 

“Still, what I said” Logan pauses under your stare before continuing, “What i did was uncalled for”. 

You smile a pretty smile at him almost as if you were laughing at him. 

“Well, you’re forgiven. Now did you want me to face the wall again?”, you ask. 

Logan twists on his spot. “I ain’t looking for a bath. Just to apologize”. 

“Have one” you insist. 

You walk over to him, taking his belt into your hands. He catches your wrist to stop you from taking it off. 

“You got me in trouble last time”, you tell him, “You’re not supposed to walk out scared and wet. If you walk out now in less than a minute they’ll wonder what I did”.

“Well I owe you two apologies”, he states.

“If you're looking to apologize, get in the tub”.

He feels you pull out of his hold, and he lets you make distance so you could spin around. 

His self-restraint wasn’t that strong so he rids himself of his clothes and hides under the bubbles in the tub. 

Hearing the water splash, you turn to him. 

With the weight of his adamantium bones the water rises to the top and you quickly go to turn off the tap. 

You kick off your shoes, leaving them at the faucet and walk back up to the top of the tub. 

“I can’t see anything”, you console as you kneel down beside him. 

He reaches his hand out to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“You’re a world of hurt for me, bub”.

“Your world only lasts fifty minutes”, you tease. 

You move out of his touch to go behind him. Your small fingers squeeze his big shoulders. He relaxes under your touch as you work your way along his shoulders to his neck and back. 

“Feels good, bub” he praises. 

“Feels good?” you repeat.

Your hands trail down his chest, reaching for the top of the water. His hands catch yours before they could immerse under. 

“Don’t” he warns. 

“Okay. I am sorry” you apologize, tugging your hands free and back up to his neck, “I’ll stay above water”.

He found it hard to relax again. He felt vulnerable, naked under your touch. It would be better if you too were naked. It would make it less embarrassing when you realized he was hard under the water.

“I’ll put your clothes in the wash” you say. 

He reaches out behind him for you to stop you moving away.

“No. Keep going”, he protests. 

You don’t go to move again. Your fingers continue to massage him until he relaxes once more. 

Only then do you stop to reach for the shampoo bottle in front of him. You squirt it into your hands, and then massage it into his head. 

He falls back against the tub, loving the feeling of your hands twisting in his hair. 

You do it for longer than necessary seeing that he liked it.

Your fingers roll in a circle on the side of his head, causing him to groan at the feeling. 

His claws push up, moving the bones of his hands. It was painful every time but Logan had gotten used to the feeling. He flexes his fingers in an attempt to dissuade them from coming through. 

You must have noticed the grimace on his face as he forces the metal back into his hand because you stop massaging and reach for the cup to rinse his hair. 

You’re careful not to get it into his eyes, smoothing back the hair as the water and soap runs off. He could see why men pay for this. 

He takes your hand not holding the cup and forces it against his cheek as he lays back. With his eyes closed he breathes softly against your skin. 

“Are you okay?” you ask him. 

“I am worried I’ll never be okay again”, he admits. 

“You’re tough. I can see it” you flip your hand so your palm is pressed against his cheek, “You’ll be okay”. 

You drop the cup next to him, and reach for the conditioner. He is grateful that you allow him to rest against your hand as you massage it into his head. 

You try your best to get his whole head but his position made it difficult. 

"You know you don’t have a scar over you”, you mention. 

“Soft living’”, he jokes, although it was only funny to him. 

As you leave the conditioner to soak, you pick up a clean rag and begin to scrub his skin. 

Disappointment fills him when he feels you trying to release your hand from under him. He could have kept it stuck there but chooses to raise his head. 

You lift up his arm and scrub under his armpit, and along his side. Carefully not to scrub any skin under the water. 

You move onto the next and he laughs at you. 

“The full treatment here”. 

You smile back as you continue to work. 

“$300 should get you the full treatment”, you utter. 

“$300? Christ, that’s a year's worth of cigars”, he remarks. 

“You smoke?” you ask him. He feels your hands push him forward so he leans for you to wash his back. 

“Like a chimney” he honestly admits, “You get $300 an hour?”. 

You were done with his back so he leans against the tub again. 

“No” you state as you reach for the cup that had sunken under the water. You stop yourself before your hand goes under. “Would you mind passing me the cup?”. 

“Oh yeah”, he remarks, reaching down into the water and bringing up your cup. 

You take it from him and begin to rinse his hair. 

“No, I make $150 an hour. The house makes half”.

“Still pretty good. Maybe I am in the wrong line of business”, Logan quips playfully. 

“Maybe you are” you jest back, “You never did tell me what you did”.

“I told you. Bad things”, he pulls up out of your hold. He didn’t want to tell you what he did. What he was. 

“Are you always this tense?” you ask him. 

“Yes” was the short, curt reply. 

With a final squeeze of your fingers against his neck, you move down to the bottom of the bath. Slowly you reach for his soapy feet that were propped up against the end of the tub. When he doesn’t object, you take it as permission and begin to massage his feet.

His head makes a heavy thud as it falls back into the marble. It had been a long time since he had ever felt this good.

When he hears you begin to speak, he lifts his head back up to have eye contact with you.

“What made you come back?”, you question. 

He feels you apply more pressure to his foot as you ask. Something about the question made you nervous. 

“You”, he answers honestly, “i didn’t want you to think I was a prick”. 

Your lips curve into a smile at him, and Logan feels his heart twist. 

“I didn’t think you were a prick”, you say. 

“You’d be the first”, he huffs.  

Relief floods him. He wanted to ask if you thought he was a dirty, old man but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. 

No more conversation interrupts the peace. Logan allows himself to relax into the water while you dig your fingers into his flesh. He lets out soft groans to let you know that he appreciated what you were doing. 

All too soon, your strong fingers stop pushing into the soft flesh of his foot. His head shoots back up automatically out of his relaxed composure. 

His wet hair sticks to his forehead, and the steam from the bath had begun to sweat his skin. He looked like a wild animal, while you looked put together as always. 

With your make-up perfectly placed and not a hair out of place. He would love to see you disheveled. A whining mess underneath him as he teased another orgasim from you. But tonight would be the last night he would ever see you. 

You would go on, find a nice man to marry and have children to. Die of old age when your time comes. 

Logan would go his separate way. Keep living well past what he desired. With no purpose, and dying friends. 

You rise from your knees, and he watches you as you retrieve a towel from a warming rack and bring it back over. 

With your body half turned to him, you hold out his towel. 

“Get out and I’ll dry your hair”, you offer. 

He takes the towel, and you walk over to your vanity as he rises from the water and wraps the towel around his waist. 

He follows you, taking a seat when you tell him to. 

You look at him in the mirror as you plug your hairdryer in. Once you began to maneuver the device around his head, your eyes followed but his remained staring at you in the mirror. 

Sitting directly in front of you, he could see the actual size difference. You were half of him if that. 

You said you looked out for you, but how would that be possible? You weren’t anything special. Were you a mutant too? Or just a naive little girl who had never faced any real danger. 

Maybe it would be best if he were to take you. Danger lurks everywhere. He could take you home. Make sure nothing bad ever happened to you. 

The bones in his knuckles separated and the metal began to break skin but as the sound of the hairdryer cut, his claws retracted back in. 

He couldn’t take you. He was old enough to be your great grandfather. What had happened to him that he was thinking these thoughts? Has loneliness finally caught up with him after a century of being alive?

Your fingers snake up through his hair again, itching his scalp and the thoughts of taking you returned. 

“There, all dry” you state. 

The sound of a timer goes off, startling Logan who was expecting something wrong from the sudden noise. 

“That’s our five minute warning” you tell him. 

The forty-five minutes went too quickly. He would never see you again, or at least he had promised himself he would never see you again. 

You gather his clothes for him and throw them over a blind. 

“You can get dressed behind that”.

He nods his head. Moving quickly to cover himself again. 

These thoughts were relentless telling him not to go. She couldn’t stop you from staying, no one could. His conscience told him. But he needed to leave your presence before he did something he couldn’t just apologize for. 

Maybe some distance would help. He had been away from home too long. He just needed to return home and live comfortably for a while. Focus on the kids at school. 

He makes sure his jeans were properly done up, and that his shirt and jacket were the right way before returning from behind the blind. 

You were by the vanity chair, back on your knees with his shoes next to you. 

You smile at him and pat the chair. Telling him without words to come to you. 

He follows your request sitting down in front of you. You came up to his thigh in height. 

“I can do it” he states. 

“Full service” you reply. 

He feels the wood of the chair cracking under his hands so he moves it to the top of his thigh in a tight ball. 

You’re gentle as you place the socks on his feet, followed by his shoes. You even do up the laces for him despite the end timer going off two minutes prior. 

You rise from the floor, taking his hand to lead him to the door. 

“Will I see you again?” you ask him. 

“No” he promises but taking another look at you, he wonders if he can follow through. 

“Well, goodbye then, Logan”, you gently say. 

“Goodbye, y/n” he returns. 

He tears himself away from your door, walking the same quick pace back to the front counter where he throws his card on the desk and pushes his way back into the busy street. 

His instinct told him to go back, he had to fight against it the whole way home. 

—--------------------

He thought distance was the answer, but his heart ached to go get you. No amount of alcohol or pills satisfied it. 

Everyone knew something was wrong. He got sick of everyone asking him what happened on his trip. If he was okay. If he wanted to talk. 

He had gotten more aggressive than usual. Things that he could normally brush off, now end with someone pinned against the wall by their throat. 

Xavier tried his best to get into Logan's head but his resolve would not soften. No one would understand how he felt. No one would justify the measures he was willing to go. 

He booked a flight only a month later. Every day was spent thinking of you until he broke. He was a hero. Saved people daily. What was one life if it meant he was able to save countless others.

He books a room, the closest and cheapest to the bathhouse. He could smell you from here now that he had locked onto your scent. 

The old bed creaked under his weight as he struggled with himself. With his head in his hands, he grumbled to himself. 

He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be thinking these things to himself. It wasn’t too late to turn around. Nothing had been done that couldn’t be undone. 

But then he heard it. Your sweet voice welcoming a man into your door. His feet took off before he could stop them. It was only a short distance of a block to the bathhouse. 

The street was busy no matter the time of day, but much like when he first walked down it people parted to let him through. 

When he grips the door knob it shatters underneath his hand. So he is more gentle when he pushes the door open. 

A new woman greets him cautiously but he ignores her going straight to your room. The woman yells at him as he walks. One brave man tried to stop him and ended up thrown half a meter into the pool. 

No one bothers him after that. He could hear the water move as you washed the man. 

Knowing he will break the door knob, he instead pushes the door open, snapping the lock. 

You gasp hearing the impact, and look at him startled. The position was compromising. You were sitting back on your heels scrubbing the man's back wearing the same halter neck slut dress that you wore when he first met you. 

“Logan?” you question, “What are you doing?”. 

The man rises from the tub, unashamed by his naked state. 

“Get out”, Logan growls. 

“Listen buddy, I paid the full-” the man stops his sentence when the claws emerge from logans hands. 

You shrink back to the floor, using your hand to keep you upright. 

“Get out”, he repeats. 

This time the man scrambles to the door, running past Logan without his clothes. 

You try to follow suit but Logan's long claws block you from your exit. 

You stare at the shiny metal, your face reflecting back at you. 

“You’re coming with me”, Logan states, putting away his claws so he could take you by the arm. 

“Let go of me” you beg, trying to pull your arm from his grip. 

He leads you to the chaos of the bathhouse. Word had spread that a mutant had entered the building and now people ran for cover. 

“Let go. No!”, you scream.

 You pull your arm too harshly in his hold, he could hear the muscles in your arm straining under the pressure. He loosens his grip so not to hurt you, but brings you closer to his chest.  

“Stop it, kid” he demands, “You’re going to hurt yourself”. 

“Stop, logan. Please, just let me go”. Your heart was fast, and your eyes dripped with tears. 

He reaches up to touch your face but a gunshot pierces his body before it lands. An annoyed groan rubbles from his throat, and he pushes you away from the line of fire. 

Another bullet lands in his chest when he turns to see a man in a robe holding a shaking gun. 

He dodges the next shot, stalking forward to the frozen man, he grabs the gun out of his weak hold and sends him to the floor with a headbutt. 

Tossing the gun aside, he turns to see you no longer in your spot. You couldn’t have made it to the door in that short of time, and your scent was still strong in the room. 

He follows it behind the bar to where he saw you squeezed into a tight corner. 

“Hey, bub” he tries his best to use a soft voice, “we gotta go. Come on”. 

He reaches for you, but you push his hands away. 

“Come on” he says more forcefully. He reaches for your waist and not your arm to avoid hurting you. 

You thrash against him, begging him to let you go. 

He allows it until you reach the front door then he extracts a single claw from his hand that crossed your stomach. 

“Walk” he demands. 

He manoovers himself so he was behind you with a hand on your stomach and his claw pressed into your side. 

You allow him to walk you down the steps and through the crowd, back to his apartment. You were too scared to say anything. Some people gave you a strange look as you passed them crying but no one stopped to help. 

“You’re alright. I ain't going to hurt you”, he promises. 

He would never hurt you. As soon as you had managed to make your way through the crowd, Logan retracts his claw completely, instead placing both his strong hands on your hips to keep you moving forward. 

“Almost there. Atta girl, just keep moving”. He encourages. 

The dim lights of his hotel came into view. The vacancy sign buzzed allowing small flashes of light in an otherwise dark street. 

He could see fine given his heightened ability, but knew that your lack of senses must be adding to your anxiety. 

“Alright, this way”, he takes your wrist into his hand, trusting that you would follow him up the metal stairs. 

Your heel snagged on the step. Without Logan's hold you would have been sent flying forward. 

“Sorry” you gasp, trying to let him know that it was an honest stumble and not a deliberate act on your part. 

“Are you hurt?”, he steps down to your level, throwing your arm over his shoulder while he bends down to take off your shoes, “Let's take these off”.

He holds them in his hand, and your waist in the other and continues to lead you up. 

“Come on, we are almost there. Just down the end”. 

You reach the top of the stairs and he leads you to the end of the corridor. Stopping at the door that peeled with paint while he digs in his pockets for his key. 

He opens the door, quickly pushing you inside and shutting it again. 

“Here sit” he suggests. 

With his hands off you, he turns on the bedside lamp so you could see.

You do take a seat on the bed, and Logan stands in front of you. 

“You’re a mutant?” you finally say. 

“Yeah” he admits with a hard tone. 

“Are you going to kill me?”, you whisper. 

“Christ, no”, he kneels down in front of you so he could be in your eyesight, his hands caged around your legs on the mattress. 

“Y/n, I am one of the good guys”, his own words froze him. His eyes cast down to where your dress has risen dangerously high up your thigh. His finger traces up from your knee to your dress hemline. 

“Not that you are going to believe that after I am done with you” he says more to himself than you. 

“What are you going to do?”, you quake. 

He rises himself enough to place a gentle kiss on your lips. 

“Whatever I want”,  he whispers against your lips. 

He pushes you as gently as he can into the mattress. Using his body weight to cement your place under him. 

“Get off”, you complain the second his lips are off you. 

“I can’t” Logan protests. His lips go to your neck, biting down harshly. He intended to leave a mark. A claim of sorts for the world to see. 

He may have bitten down too harshly, as you push against his face with your hands. 

He can hear your heartbeat as it thumps in your chest. It stills him in the crook of your neck. 

He didn’t want to scare you. 

“I am sorry”, he admits softly into your skin. 

He places a soft kiss on the sore he had just created, and reaches to untie the knot of fabric around your neck. 

Your hand reaches up to catch the fabric as it falls, holding it over your breasts. 

He moves on, hooking his fingers around the elastic of your underwear, and pulling them off onto the floor. 

“It’s alright, just breathe”, he concludes. 

You keep your eyes shut, and your breaths manic. 

In an effort to make you more comfortable, he lifts you up by your armpits and places you in the center of the bed. He changes positions to match yours, straddling you on the bed while he moves the pillows under your head, and by your sides. 

You lay there frozen with your eyes squeezed shut, while he removes his clothes on top of you. 

You feel his attention return when his lips press down on yours, his hand gently on the side of your face. 

“Open your eyes, and look at me”, he commands in a low whisper. 

You are met with his face, and bare shoulders peering over you. 

“There she is”, he grins a beautiful smile as he brushes his thumb along your cheek. 

His lips go to yours again before trailing down to your neck, and chest. 

His hands met your on the fabric of your chest, and he tugs it down, bunching the dress around your hips. 

A kiss is placed at the top of your breast activating your fight. 

You tried to push against him but he was too heavy to even shift. 

“Easy” he tells you, “take it easy. It’s alright”.

He comes back up to your face, and begins to stroke your face with his finger again. 

“Settle down”, he breathes. 

“Logan, please just let me go”, you beg. 

“I tried to,” he admits, “but I've never been much of a quiter”. 

He kneads the flesh of your breast in his hand, and grows darker at the thought of not completing what he wanted to do. 

“Now you’re going to relax and let me take care of you, or I'll tie you to the bed”. 

You don’t move again as Logan trails down your body to slide the bunched fabric of your dress down. 

He nestles between your thighs next, keeping a strong grip as he inserts himself into you. 

He groans as you accept him. Despite your protests you were warm, and wet for him.  

He places his hands on stomach feeling the skin that had been hidden from him for so long. 

“Please keep your hands away from me”, you shudder. You curl into yourself as much as you could, scared that the blades would come out and pierce into you.

He takes his hand off your stomach, per your request. 

In an act to show you he had no intention of hurting you, he releases his claws, and drives them into the mattress either side of you. He feels as they push through the fabric to the bed frame. 

 “I would never hurt you” he promises.

He keeps his weight on his hands as he thrusts into you. Your hand remained on your chest until they sprang out to his shoulder in an attempt to control the pace. 

He slows down until he is at a pace where you no longer push on his shoulder. 

As he continues you find yourself building, so you turn away and bury your head into your pillow. 

You hear as his claw is pulled from the mattress, and feel his tight grip as it latches around your chin. He pulls your face back to his direction, resting his forehead on top of yours. 

You feel his quick breaths on your skin, and breathe them in. 

His eyes were closed, but one hand now held your face in place, and the other held your hip down. 

You gasp when you feel yourself cuming around him.  A low growl makes its way to your ear but you were more focused on Logan fucking you through your orgasm. 

Your nails become claws when he doesn’t stop. You make weak sounds, but no words as he thrusts into you. 

“You can take it” he says, somehow knowing what you were trying to say. 

His hold on your chin becomes hurtful as he reaches his end. You yank at his fingers trying to pry them off but your fingers slip from the force you were trying to use and makes no difference to him. 

A loud moan tells you he was done before you felt the warm substance drip from you. 

With a smaller, satisfied groan he opens his eyes to look at you. The same smile appears on his face preceding a deep kiss to your lips. 

He doesn’t remove himself from you but loosens his hand on your chin, and hip. 

You feel his body weight as he rests his head back on your forehead. He was conscious to keep his weight off you, yet the skin he pressed against yours, pinned you to the mattress.

“You alright, princess?” he pants. 

You don’t answer him, and he kisses you in your silence. 

 By the third time you are fucked dumb. You have a glazed look in your eye, and your body is weak against his. He uses you like a toy. Kissing you, and fucking you while you lay there with little energy left. 

His stamina and quick recovery times meant that once was never enough to satisfy him. You would lay quietly next to him for only a few minutes before he was ready to go again. 

You whine as he approaches you again, not ready for yet another round.

He lays on top of you, gently caging your head between his arms as he whispers “I know, I know”. 

He did know. When you began to cry from overstimulation, he felt terrible but couldn’t bring himself to stop. He wasn’t anywhere near his peak, and your pussy clenched so nicely around him.

“Don’t cry”, he begs, “sh, don’t cry”. 

You wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t sure if you could even hear him in your state, but he continued to talk anyway. 

“Sh, its alright. Feel good there?”, he asks as your hips buck against him. 

“Feels good there, hey baby”, he targets the spot that makes your hips buck, and you latch on to his strong shoulders with your nails. 

“Pretty girl like you should always feel good. Can I be the one to always make you feel good?”.

No more fresh tears sprang from your eyes, but the path was still wet, and a large tear balanced on the outer corner of your eye. 

He moves his hands closer, using his thumbs to brush off the water. 

“No more crying, hey bub”.

You turn your head away from him, resting your forehead on his bicep. He turns his attention to applying the right amount of force between your legs. 

He gives you a bigger rest time between the next one. Despite, him roaring to go again. 

You lay pressed against his side, half-asleep. He slung his arm over the top of your pillow, waiting for you to recover. 

Your lipstick was worn off from his ferocious kissing, and your hair had come undone around you. 

You open your eyes to look up at him, and he takes it as a sign that he could continue. 

He takes your chin into his hand to keep it still as he slides down in the bed next to you. 

“No. That’s enough”, you demand, trying to wiggle your head from his hold. 

“Just one more” he promises, “I just need one more”. 

He kisses you as he hooks your leg over his hip. Reaching back to guide himself into your swollen pussy. You fit together like a jigsaw piece, another reason why all of this was meant to be. 

He liked the intimacy of the position, pushing against your lower back to force you closer. He holds his hand there as he thrusts into you, keeping you from wiggling away. 

You rest your head on his chest, and arm over his neck taking what he gives you. 

His pace is gentler than it had been all night. Slow, controlled thrusts that rocked your body rather than shook it. 

His arm under your head kept you level with the large man, but also meant that every moan, and whimper went straight into his ear. 

It was encouraging for him to hear you reluctantly enjoying yourself.  He only wanted to bring you pleasure never pain. 

You groan softly as you cum again, and it triggers his own orgasm. 

When he was done with you for the final time, you collapse into the mattress without Logan's body scaffolding yours. 

He brushes the hair that had fallen over your face away with his large palm, and lays flat on the bed. 

“Come here” he requested, opening his arms for you. 

With eyes closed you shuffle to his chest where he pulls you just over his heart. You fall asleep almost instantly, but Logan remains awake gently stroking your hair. 

He had been called an animal all his life, but tonight was the only time he truly felt like it. 

—-------------------

You woke the next morning to the sound of his voice, 

“Hey bub, hey, come on, we have to get going”. 

You feel him smooth his palm over the side of your face, and you knock it away. It felt like knocking your hand against an immovable metal pole. 

Last night ruined you. You weren’t sure you could rise from the bed if you wanted to. 

“I am not going anywhere with you”, you state. 

He had taken what he wanted. The deal now was to leave you in peace. 

The next sound of his claws unsheathing and digging themselves into the mattress next to you made your eyes sprung open in shock. 

“Get up, now”, he demands. He was eager to get home and get you settled in. 

Xavier would get involved if Logan was absent for too long. A week here and there was nothing unusual but Xavier knew Logan too well to ignore any strange behavior. 

He passes you your dress as you rise, and you quickly place it on, looking for your panties next. Watching you put them back on made Logan want to take them back off but the plane was departing soon. 

The short, black dress was definitely more night time appropriate. You stand trying to cover your chest with your folded arms. 

He takes off his jacket, passing it to you as he speaks. 

“How far is your place from the bathhouse?” he asks. 

“Not far, a block”, you answer. You take the jacket off him and zip it up over your dress. 

It smelt of him, and his cigars. 

“Come on”. He says, taking your arm and tugging you behind him as he left the apartment. 

“I can get there myself”, you fought. 

“Kid, we haven’t got time”. He moves his grip to a harsher one on your upper arm, and half carries you in the direction he wanted you to go in.

Your heels click behind him down the steps. He detours to drop his room key back to reception before continuing on the path back to your work.

He is silent as he backtracks to the bathhouse. The street is much busier during the day. People stare as you pass them looking. 

When the Bathhouse comes into clearing he can feel you pull against him trying to get him to stop. 

He halts of his own accord, peering down at you in the middle of a busy street.

“I need to get my keys and phone from work”.

“I can get through the door. Don’t worry about that”, he shakes you slightly, getting impatient with the lack of direction,  “Which way?”

You point to the left, and take the led back to your house.

The streets thin as you weave your way out of the center of the city, and into the residential block. Everything was old and run down. 

Broken, smashed cars lined the streets, graffiti was sprayed on every covering, people kept to themselves not even looking out the window as you passed. 

He follows you until you stop at a run down apartment block. 

“This is it”, you state. 

“Upstairs”, he orders but you don’t move. 

“Let me go or I'll scream”, you threaten. 

“And I’ll kill anyone that comes. Upstairs”.

 You were yet to learn that Logan had reservations about killing needlessly, especially non-mutants, so you admit defeat and wander down three apartment blocks to your actual home.

The bar was low, but your apartment block was the nicest in the street. No graffiti or broken windows. A nice, clean brick that reached three stories and opened to a nice fourier. 

There was no elevator but there was only one flight of stairs up to your apartment. 

You show him your door labeled 2A, telling him there was no way to get it open unless he took you back to the bathhouse. 

He ignores you, placing his hand on the knob and giving it a gentle push that breaks the lock. 

Your heart rate picks up faster, which worries Logan as it was already quite high. 

He lets go of your arm to allow you to go in first, and shuts the door behind him. 

It was a one bedroom apartment, with a small open kitchen that opened to a small space that had to be chosen to be a living room or a dining area. 

You had chosen a living room with a green couch sat in front of a small rectangular table. 

“You can take what you want. I have some jewelry in the food cupboard”, you state. 

“This isn’t a hold-up”, he grumbles, “Come here”.

He goes to your bedroom, listening to your feet following him. 

He goes to your closet to see your luggage bag stored up top. He takes it down, and begins throwing items into it. 

‘What are you doing?”, you begin to panic seeing him stuff your suitcase with your clothes. 

“Do you have a passport?”

“Why?”

The plane was departing within the hour. He had no time to answer obvious questions. 

“Do you have one?”. He reiterates. 

“No”. Your heart skips a beat as you lie. 

“Go get it”, he demands. 

“I don’t want to”, your voice was quiet and strained. 

He knew he should have taken a softer approach. To be uprooted overnight would be a hard thing for anybody.

Yet still, his claws dig through at your resistance. 

“Go get it”, he said in a lower tone. 

His blades work to persuade you, and you move quickly to your bedside table to retrieve it. 

He zips up your suitcase, holding out his hand for your passport. You pass it to him, taking a step back once it's in his hand. 

Checking it’s valid, he puts it in his back pocket alone with his. 

“Logan, I can keep a secret” you say, “I would never tell anyone about you”. 

“That’s nice, bub. Go change”, he nods to the wardrobe behind him which you take a pair of jeans, and a singlet from. 

You were too quick to the bathroom, so he stops you before you enter. 

“Ah” he tuts. 

He takes a look inside first to check for windows. There was only a small one with a security screen so he allowed you to pass and shut the door on him. 

After a frustrating phone call in which he was misunderstood twice, he manages to order a taxi to the airport, and knocks on the door to let you know it was on its way. 

You open the door a different person. Your makeup was all wiped off, and your hair was pulled back into a ponytail. 

The confident seductive was replaced with this fragile girl-next-door type. He didn’t think it was possible to love you anymore. 

You hand out his jacket to him which he takes but opens it to wrap around your shoulders. 

“Keep it. It looks good on you”.

“Logan-” you begin but he cuts you off. 

“Sh” he dismisses taking your head into his hands, “it’s alright. I know”. 

“But-” you try. 

He sh’s you again, “Don’t think. Just come with me”, he begs. 

Moving his hands from your head to your wrist he takes you back outside the bathroom to where your bag lay waiting by the door. 

You don’t know why but you follow his direction to put your sandals on your feet, and follow him down to the street and into a taxi. 

Your head reels as the car drives. The taxi is silent, only the sound from the radio plays. Logan holds onto your thigh while he looks out of the window. 

You stare at his hands, wondering where the blades went when they were retracted. 

You think about telling the driver but one man was no match for Logan. 

The man pulls into the drop off station, and gets out to get your luggage. 

Logan turns to you in the car, demanding your attention from his eyes alone. 

“Are you going to save us both some time and be a good girl, or do we need to go over what will happen if you draw attention?”. 

You shake your head ‘no’. 

“Good girl, let’s go”. 

Logan goes out the same door you do, instantly taking your hand in his in the busy station. 

He pays the man, and takes your suitcase for you. 

“Where are we going?”, you request. 

Logan joins the back of the line for check-in’s

“New York”, he gives. 

“What's in New york?” you ask him. 

“Home”.  

You flex your hands in his, trying to get it free.

“I am going home with you?”, you implore. 

He nods, not looking at you.

“You said you were one of the good guys”, you remind him. 

“I told you, I am a good guy that does bad things”. 

His fingers clench around yours in a painful hold. Your eyes fill up with fresh tears. You knew Logan wouldn’t hurt you, but he was a stranger, a mutant, who had taken you from your home, and planned to place you in his. 

“Don’t cry. Not here”, he demands. 

He moves his body to shield you from prying eyes, as you try your best to conceal your panic. 

A gentle hand rubs your back as you move up in line. 

The girl at the counter notices your red eyes, and asks if you are okay.

“She’s a nervous flyer” he lies. 

The woman ignores him, asking you the question again. 

The hand you held had blades that came out on command so you nod your head in agreement. 

“I’ll be fine once we are up in the air” you say. 

The woman hands Logan the tickets, and you make your way over to the security screening. 

Logan seemed amazed you had lied for him. 

He kisses your head, thanking you for not causing a scene. 

He lets you go easy when you reach the security point, letting you walk through the metal detector. 

You eye the security and their guns, but you watched Logan get shot at point blank. Would their guns even dint him?

The metal detector beeps when Logan walks through. For a second, you think that you will find out if their guns work on him when a security officer closes in. 

“Easy there, big guy”, Logan takes a slip of paper out of his pocket to show the man, “I have a metal hip”. 

The man takes the pass over to his supervisor.  You wonder if they know something is wrong as they talk, but the manger looks relaxed, and with a wave of his hand the pass is given back to Logan, and you get the go ahead. 

Logan slings his arm over your shoulder past the security who don’t take a second glance.

“You have metal in your hands?” you whisper the question to him. 

“I have adamantium in my entire body” he explains, “It’s a type of metal”. 

You feel amazed at the news. A whole body of metal reinforcing him to be the most dangerous man you had ever met. 

The most dangerous man you had ever met took you over to a cafe stand. Buying you, and himself a roll and coffee. 

You never would have guessed the man you met at the bathhouse harbored such a secret. How many other clients were mutants too, or was he the only one. 

“It’s gettin’ cold”, he says noticing you staring at him. 

You accept his gift, starving after last night. 

The rest of the time until boarding was silent. Only then did the sense of dread kick back in. 

“Please”, you beg. 

“I am sorry. Get on the plane”. His voice was soft, but you could hear no sound of true sympathy from it. 

He keeps you in front of him as the attendant checks the tickets, and you find your seats. 

You were the only two on your row, right at the back of the plane. 

Logan settles into the seat beside you, doing up his seatbelt, and checking yours. 

The cabin crew begin their safety speech. Your eyes were trained out the window, not looking at them. You hoped the plane crashed. 

When the plane began moving at a fast pace, Logan checked your seatbelt again, pulling on it to make sure it was tight across your lap. 

You look at him. He was tense again, and shut his eyes when the plane took off. 

When it stabilized he let out a breath of air, and opened his eyes, falling back into his seat. 

“Afraid of flying?” you ask surprised. 

“If god wanted us to fly, we’d have wings”, he quips. 

“And if god wanted us to have blades in our hands, we would”. 

Logan's hands ball into fists. He was a freak in your eyes.

“One day I’ll explain what happened to me”, he promises. 

“What else can you do? You’re strong, hard, body full of metal”, you start, “and that man. He shot you”. 

“Baby, I can do alot of things”, he dismisses. 

“Like what?” you push. 

“Maybe now is not the time to be discussing this”. He says looking around at other passengers. Most of whom already had their earphones on. 

“What do you want with me?”, you implore. 

“Now’s really not the time to be discussing that” He grits.

“One of the good guys” you remind him. 

“I'll settle for being an okay guy. Stop talking” he growls. 

You turn back to the window away from him the rest of the flight. 

You watch as the clouds below you turn orange, and then black. Logan passes you a food tray from the stewardess and you eat it in silence. 

It must have looked odd to the stewardess. Neither you or Logan played with the screen in front of you. Just sat there with grim expressions on your faces. 

 Lights turn off as the cabin goes to sleep. You were nowhere near ready with the adrenaline pumping through your body. 

Logan takes his blanket from the wrapper and lays it over your shoulder. 

“You should sleep,” he says. 

“Is that how it's going to be from now on? You telling me what to do” , you snap. 

Logan turns away from you, facing to the front. 

“It was just a suggestion”. 

You run your hands over your face wondering what sort of keeper he was going to be. 

“I need to pee” you say. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt to get up out of your way but you couldn’t wait for him. You’re fighting to get past him as he tries to stand. 

He grabs your waist to maneuver you but the touch sends rage through your body. 

You scream in his face. A loud ear piercing scream that turned everyone’s attention on you. 

Logan quickly let go, slumping back into his seat under the stare of other awake passengers. 

You rush to the bathroom, locking the door behind you. 

The tight space allows you to breathe. 

Washing your face with cold water, you decide it is time to return to your seat. 

Logan waits for the sound of a turning lock before he jumps from his seat to catch you as you exited and push you back inside. 

He is quick to lock the door behind him. 

Three, quick, firm smacks are placed on your bottom as he pushes you against the sink. 

It stings when he sits you on the counter, and stands between your legs.

“Are you crazy, bub? Acting like that”, he scolds. 

You try to move him out between your legs, but he pushes your knee down as you move your leg. 

“Don’t you ever misbehave like that again”, he warns. 

“Or what?”. He had already taken everything from you, and you trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t really hurt you. 

His angry stare didn’t scare you, but when his hands reached for the button of your jeans your heart rate spiked. 

“I gotta fuck the stupid out of you?” he spat. 

“Get off” you demand. 

You scream in his face again when his hand continues to unhook the button. 

He is quick to quieten you, clamping a hand over your mouth. Your head hits the mirror from the force.

He secures your hands behind your back with a single hand when you begin to hit him. It caused you more pain than him, it felt as if you were hitting against a brick wall.

The force knocks out his necklace that he had never worn before. A rectangular pendant dangles as he moves. You could see it was inscribed but the writing was too small to make out. 

“Is that how it’s going to be from now on? Me telling you what to do. Yeah. I think fucking so”, he grunts. 

“Now don’t scream” he orders. 

The hand over your mouth is removed as he uses it to tug down your jeans, and then his own. 

You know you should scream, make some sort of noise that would alert the others, but desire pooled with him between your legs. 

Your emotions were too complicated to unpack so you allowed him to take your pants off your legs. 

He throws them to the floor, but keeps your panties in his hands. 

You see why when he brings them to your lips, and forces them in your mouth. He clamps his hand back over to keep you from spitting them out. 

He sighs as he enters you. 

“You know, you don’t need to act stupid to get my attention”, he grunts as he rocks into you. 

Your toes curl feeling him inside of you. He fit so completely that you were building from just clenching around him. 

“Don’t cum. I’ll tell you when”, he says. 

You muffle a protest against his hand, but it was met with no sympathy. 

“Don’t you fucking cum or I’ll put you over my knee for ten more”. 

Your ass still stung from the three he gave you so you delayed yourself the best you could. 

He picks up his pace, slamming into you quickly, and hard. You hear his chain clink as he moves.

“Okay now”, he directs. 

Your thighs shake as you clench around him. 

His hand drops to allow you to regain your breath, bringing your pants from your mouth as he did. 

He pants in unison with you, only he is quicker to regain his resolve. Your head was still reeling while he re-buttons his jeans. 

He shakes his head as if he was trying to snap out of the trance he was in. 

It seemed to have worked as he was gentle when he slid your underpants back on. 

It was as if two people lived inside of him. One was sweet, and gentle, the other impulsive, and violent. 

You weren’t sure which one turned you on the way it did. 

He looks at you with those remorseful eyes. You should hate him but yourself wanting to comfort him. You knock it down to Stockholm and square your shoulders against his. 

“Let me take a look at you”. He turns your face in his hand and smooths back your hair from your face with his other hand. 

He checks to make sure you are okay. You didn’t look to be crying or in any pain. 

“You right, Bub? You going to be good for me from now on?”, he asks.

You take the necklace out of his shirt. He doesn’t move to stop you, letting you read his dog tags. 

‘LOGAN’ in capital letters and Howlett in smaller letters below. A series of numbers trace the bottom. 

You flip it, feeling the indents on the other side, and run your finger over the name. 

“Wolverine” you read, “like the animal?”.

He takes his tags from your hand and tucks them back under his shirt. 

“Yeah, like the animal”.