#absolutely cutting to the chase with that!

[wild-jackalope]

summary :: virgin sex with your sinister boyfriend, Mark!

warning :: rough, virgin sex, p in v woo, fem reader, relationship is def fucked up, 'I can fix him', sex hurting, missionary, not my usual smut so lmk if its any good, smut w/ no plot, fucking u will make me stronger!! - sinister Mark, dub-con (?)

note :: inspired by stuff written by @slutla love that b, go read her stuff

He hadn't knocked—he never really did. You just looked up and saw him. Floating in the centre of your room like it was his.

"Mark?" His name slipped out soft and gasped, a flicker of fear in your throat. The feeling settled in your stomach when the black and yellow registered.

That look on his face—you knew it. The specific knot in his brow, the strained frown. It wasn't tender sincerity, it never was.

I'm about to feel you up like you're my personal doll. The look said.

It had become your role, unspoken but absolute: be there.

Take him in. Soothe the ache in his skull with your soft body. Let him bury everything he didn’t know how to say beneath your bruising skin.

He moved without a word, kneeled at the edge of your bed, and pushed your legs apart. His mouth met yours with intent and a surprising reverence.

You tried to soak it up as much as possible, tasting the crumbs of love through his lips. Kisses like that made it all worth it—to you at least.

It was a needed reminder that Mark loved you.

His tongue swiped across the cavern between your lips, a claim.

Affection had crept in over time. Mark had never known kind love, Nolan was a cruel father who only offered praise when shown incredible power and his Mum had passed at such a young age he likely didn't hold any memories of her cuddles. You knew that well, it being a piercing reminder that kept you tethered to him.

Mark didn't care for casual touches, curt kisses or cuddles at night.

The feeling of you opening your lips to let him in and letting loose a moan which you couldn't hold back was what he preferred.

"Fuckin' missed you," he murmured, his guttural words vibrating onto your lips.

Mark shed the tight fabric of his mask, tossing it across your floor.

He stared down at you with dark eyes shaded by frantic hair, jaw tight and face littered with a light flush alongside red cuts.

"Mark..." you frowned, taking his face in your hands.

He took your wrists, holding them with a pressure that made it hard to move your fingers. "I'm fine."

He hated words. He preferred to hear you sob.

He returned to the feverish exploration of your mouth, releasing you only after guiding your hands to his hair. Clear in what he wanted: your touch.

Your fingers dipped through his messy hair, nails running along his scalp in long, gentle rakes. They trailed down his neck and across his shoulders. A tremble passed.

"God," he grunted, closing the minuscule space between you to have you compressed to the place where he longed for you the most.

Hungry fingers devoured you, sliding under your shirt and chasing the desire to feel your flushed flesh.

Then one had dipped lower, between your legs.

His palm cupped your heat, holding you there and feeding off your startled reaction. This was new territory. You were familiar with the feeling of his hand palming the fat of your breasts, or the squeeze of his hand against your thighs until he left bruises in his wake.

But his middle finger pressing into the indent of your clothed sex was entirely new, and it made you shrink beneath him.

"This your first time?" He asked, no hints of affection lacing his question only something territorial and dog-like.

"Yeah," you nodded once and swallowed thickly.

Your eyes peered down without thinking, catching on the obvious bump over the base of his suit, demanding to be freed of the trapping fabric.

A grin grew across his face, both satisfied and threatening. "Cool."

He let the pressure of his palm sink in further into your heat, his other hand pressed into your ribs and keeping you still against the plush bed.

"You gonna let me?" He asked, too casually.

"Do���do you want to?" the way you considered him was so sickeningly sweet. He puffed an amused exhale.

"I wanna hear you say it."

He didn't care for consent, he wanted devotion.

You nodded, slow and dizzy. "Yes, I want to have sex with you."

His lips fell to yours with a crashing passion again, his tongue already fighting to explore yours.

"Marhk—" his name muffled in your mouth, enunciation taken by his hasty exploration of your spit-soaked cavern. You weren't sure if he was too taken up in the lust of it all, or if he did hear and just didn't care.

You attempted to recline your head back, but Mark only followed you until you were wedged between him and the bed. Then, you took his burly shoulders in your hands and pushed against him.

He stilled, annoyed.

"What."

"I love you." You said, offering a weak but certain smile.

He kissed you harder, like a punishment for your empty words. "I know," he muttered, "that's why you'll take it."

His fingers slid under your pants and underwear, finally dragging along your bare slit. The first direct touch made you jerk, a helpless cry punched out of your throat.

"That's right," he exhaled, a breathy chuckle in his chest, "I wanna feel how much you love me."

He teased you for a moment longer—circling, dripping, spreading—until he decided it wasn't torturous enough. His fingers hooked around your bottoms, yanking them down your thighs in one strong pull.

You barely had time to breathe before he was stripping himself too, dragging his tight suit down to his waist, the shade of his cape no longer shielding your body. You closed your legs, unwilling to bear the naked humiliation.

But it didn't matter, because Mark pried your legs open with casual strength, like your legs were made up of nothing but thin bone.

Between the open space of your legs, you caught a glimpse of him—already hard, already glossy with pre.

He coated his tip in your slick and your body jolted in reaction. Which only had Mark forcing you further into the bed in an attempt to keep you still.

Then—without a breath of warning—he pushed inside.

He'd only glided against your insides halfway before you constricted at the sudden, alien pressure.

"Mark!"

But he continued, slowly, surely, concealing his thickness inside you. “Shit, that’s too much for you?” He asked, pressing his thumb to your clit.

It was. He could feel it in the violent tremble of your insides, and the way blood soared through your veins with how quickly your heart pumped. Your body was fighting him, but you weren't going to stop him.

You forced down the ball building up your throat with a swallow. "No, I'm okay," you assured.

His thumb began moving against your clit, drawing slow, deliberate circles. The only sign of softness.

"Don't lie to me," he muttered, "does it hurt?"

"Y-Yes."

The admission, the way you look up at him with something fragile in your eyes jolted his dick, and it throbbed against your constrictive insides.

It caressed something broken in him, something that made him press deeper into you. He leaned over you like a shadow and kissed you again, muffling your gasp as he started to move.

The first thrust felt like agony, his length forcing itself inside you and slowly sliding out before stuffing you again. Each rut of his hips jolted your body, but his hand kept you firm against the mattress.

You cried out, every blow to your insides shooting a stinging pain across your abdomen that followed with a quick aftertaste of pleasure.

His lips crushed yours, devouring every gasp and whimper. He kissed with teeth, with tongue, with the kind of force that sent your head spinning. His tongue grazed against your lower lip, before he sucked on the tender skin, leaving a bite sharp enough to leak hot blood, which he smoothed over with a slow, filthy lick.

You couldn't even try to keep up with him.

No one else could take him, not Cecil, not the guardians, not even his father, but you could—like this. Flushed and abused below him.

You could take the bruises, the nasty words, because you loved him. You loved him. It satisfied something deep and cruel inside him.

"Fuuuck." His head dipped to your shoulder, his lips still sweet with your metallic blood. "Let me go faster," he groaned, the words quavering against your shoulder.

"Okay," you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation.

"Yeah? Can I?" He asked—but it wasn't really a question, just a sweetly dressed demand to hear you say you wanted him to wreck you.

Each thrust that drilled into you after was a broken reminder that you were his, a reassurance that your body would remember him long after he'd pulled out and disappeared into the sky.

The previous pace had teetered near too much and now, with the quick smacks of skin and the way Mark's tip surged against your nerves had reached an overstimulating point, the pain and pleasure forced you too quickly over the waves of your climax.

Mark felt it—the full body shake and the throbbing tightness of your insides. The way you clenched around him in rhythmic waves.

Your nails clawed his shoulders, leaving desperate, white lines. Your eyes welled with shining tears and they escaped you in burning streams.

Mark skipped a thrust, only for a heartbeat to let you overwhelm his senses. Though he'd never say it aloud, Mark thought you looked beautiful.

When he threw his hips into you again, your next orgasm followed quick and hot behind your first.

This time, the sucking of your inside threw him over the edge, too.

You felt a new warmth pool inside you, sucked in by the twitching of Mark's dick. He groaned through clenched teeth, milked of his climax far too soon.

He pushed into you as deep as he could go, one final time, forcing his cum to dribble out of your stuffed sex. It had been tinted a light pink, mixed with specks of your blood.

You could hardly feel the tension that first strained your insides, just a numbing buzz left in the wake of Mark's quick thrusts.

He didn't speak, but his hand, rough and warm lifted you from its bruising entrapment of your body. You gasped, a space in your lungs that you hadn't known was stolen by the pressure filled again.

"Breathe," he muttered.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing.

He only stared at you, eyes dark and feral. As if daring you to say you loved him.

You took his cheek with a shaky breath and pressed a weak kiss to his lips, raw and filled with sincerity. It was confession enough.

[snailpebbles]

a day to live

Natalie Scatorccio x fem! reader

summary: Natalie just lost you, her girlfriend, and has to cope somehow! Looney toons type escape from you.

tags: angst then angst then hurt/comfort, some fluff, angst, ow I'm sorry, fucked up sisters, nat loves you sm, conversion camp mentions, religious issues

a/n: read pt.1 first - a night to remember

wc: 2.5k

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

Nat is pissed. Well, at first she was left in that gravel crying her heart out before getting up to chase the car down, but hey...details. Now it's been a month at this fuckass school with these fuckass people in this fuckass town and her girlfriend, the love of her life, is still gone. Shipped off to some damnable, frankly unchristian, camp that believes love in any capacity is false.

Total bullshit.

What's even more bullshit is that your parents act like you never existed! Smiles all around, parties and cookouts, and attending church like they didn't just damn their own kin. So yes, she is pissed and yes, she is crying in the locker room.

"Nat..?" Jackie's apprehensive voice reaches her muted ears and a light touch on her shoulder draws her out. She means well, Nat knows this, but the only touch she wants is yours. That's why she jerks back like she's been shot. Jackie nods acceptingly and creates some space, silently shooing the other worried girls out.

"Practice is starting, okay? You know you can just stay in here if you can't-" Nat cuts her off, inhaling sharply with a forced grin.

"I'm fine Jackie." She mutters shoving past her and regretting it after seeing the frown on her captains face. There's no time for apologies though, not when her anger is mounting and the only out she sees is to play rough. That's probably why Coach Ben sits her out after one play. Now she's pissed and antsy.

A car rolls up, one that sends bolts down her back and blood rushing to her head. The same car that you were shoved into; that took you away from her. Laura Lee steps out, already stammering an apology for being late as her parents drive off without so much as a glance at Nat.

Time becomes a blur and her ears ring, her sight and memory dipping out until suddenly she's looming over a crying Laura Lee. Her fist throbs where it's tightly balled and Laura Lee's bloody nose stains the turf a satisfying red - the thrumming in her ears quiet. Taissa and Shauna grab her elbows but all she can do is grin, feeling like some righteous figure - you'd be proud, she knows it. Even if its your sister she left on the floor to be comforted by Misty and Jackie.

She blinks and now she's in the counselors office, one sympathetic look going to Laura Lee and disdain to her. It's funny in her eyes.

"Natalie," Oh here we go "why did you punch Laura Lee?" Ms. Drews voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Nat's fist clenches and she glances at your sister. At least the girl has the decency to look oh so apologetic and like absolute shit. Your sisters eyes are sunken in and look red, the eyebags a deep purple and her skin pale. The pitiful sight doesn't change Nat's heart though, not when she's sure you're being put through so much worse.

"I guess I'm just jealous that she's a natural blonde." Nat drawls, slouching in the plush chair like it's her office. Her heart gives a twist when she remembers that you would've loved seeing her sit like this, claiming it's "hot shit". Ms. Drews sighs tiredly, well acquainted with Nat's bullshit.

"It's my fault Ms. Drews." Laura Lee whispers, her voice wavering and scratchy from old tears. "I was uhm, I was being mean." Nat snorts - she can't help it. Laura Lee? Mean? The world must have ended then. When she starts to laugh, she stops. No, Laura Lee was mean; you're gone because of her big fucking mouth.

The chair screeches back before Nat can think and she's storming out, ignoring the calls from Ms. Drew to return. It's all bullshit, every last bit. Tears sting her eyes are she pushes into the empty locker room to change, your picture staring back at her from within her locker. You look so pretty; the Sun highlighting every aspect of you that she loves so dearly. The tears fall and her eyeliner goes with them, leaving black streaks down her face that she decidedly ignores as she walks home.

It's an hour later when she collapses into her bed, pressing her nose into a blanket you'd left there a long time ago. It had lost it's smell a few days back but Natalie went to the store and spent all of her allowance to buy your perfume. It's like a new vice for her; smelling your perfume whenever she can until her nose burns alongside her throat. The alcohol tastes like utter shit but she drowns in it anyways, just as she believes she will for the rest of her life.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

You're in deep shit. It was maybe two weeks into that fuckass camp that you decided to make a break for it, pulling some looney toons type shit to get out. Maybe those sleepless nights of praying for anyone to love you, for Him to love you, paid off. Your throat hurts from being forced to vomit and your memory blurs with honestly disgusting videos - yeah, you need to forget.

The back of some random pick up truck isn't the most comfortable but the driver is kind. She let you hitch a ride after walking for who knows how long so really you can't complain. Does it smell like farm animals? Yes. Is the smell of sheep butt kinda growing on you? No comment. The only comfort you can find is thinking of Nat. How her lips felt on yours and the way her voice carried to your ears. Tears fall - at the same time as hers, unknowingly to you - at the sickness stirring in your stomach. It was in your belief that one week wouldn't be enough to fuck you up, but alas.

None of that matters anyways because you're here; minus the two hour walk into town that awaits you. The Sun has yet to rise but the kind driver gives you a jacket to wear over whatever the fuck the dress you have on is. White cotton down to your ankles and wrists - all that conservative bullshit. It isn't fully white anymore. Some sprinting through the woods and hiding in a fucking lake will do that to someone.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

Natalie is disoriented, the loud knocking at her trailer door leaving her hungover brain reeling. She stumbles her way to the front and rips the door open, prepared to curse out whoever it is.

"Nat?" It's a soft voice, an oh so tired and wounded voice. The same voice she played in her dreams and sobbed over every night. The same she'd hear "I love you" from. She sobers up so fucking fast it's almost ridiculous. One minute you're outside and the next you're inside, her shaking hands gripping your biceps so tight it might bruise.

"What the fuck- how the fuck-" The tears spill again and her voice is rough, catching and tripping over itself until her heart teeters away from stopping. "Angel." She breathes it out like a prayer and you're gone, sobbing into her neck like she does to your hair. The smell, the dirt, the ugly crying - none of it matters. Not when you're in her arms and blubbering sweet everything's. Nat cups your cheeks and wipes your tears, worried eyes checking you over for any blood or bruise. Your knuckles are busted just like hers. She kisses them and you do the same.

"I missed you." You whisper, using the sleeves of your dress to wipe her tears and eyeliner away. She laughs wetly and nods, leaning her head into your hand.

"I missed you too. Fuck, are you okay?" She asks and you nod, any cut or scrape from your mad escape fleeing your mind. All that matters is her. The smell of cigarettes, alcohol, cheap perfume, and her shampoo. You could wrap yourself up in it and die happily right now.

"Do you want a shower?" Nat then leads you into the cramped bathroom after your whispered yes, the overhead light buzzing when she flicks the switch. It's the first time you've seen yourself in awhile, having been in and out of rest stops with nothing on your mind but home. She turns the water on and undoes the buttons down the back of your dress, rough fingers so gentle on your blessed skin. It's reverent, the way she eyes you. No sign of lust but only love.

The water is hot, washing away false sins as she climbs in with you. There's bile building in your throat and she holds you hair back when you vomit into the toilet, crying apologies as she pets your now wet hair.

"Thought it wouldn't work." You sniffle and her heart breaks, fear and anger tracing up her spine. Nat knows you love her, she can feel it in your hands and the way your lips map her skin all over again. It still doesn't change the fact that you're sick and it will take time to reverse what they did. All in the name of someone who never would have allowed those places to exist.

"It's okay Angel, it's okay. You're okay, we're okay." Nat whispers, pulling you into her arms before washing you off until you're reborn. The light buzzes and the water grows cold but you don't drift away, not like she fears. Vomit is flushed again but Nat only rubs your back and comforts you, no sign of impatience.

Her bed and clothes are warm as you cuddle into one another, hair and tears wetting her pillow. She doesn't ask and you're so grateful, throat still stinging.

"I love you." You both say it at the same time and giggle, noses bumping one another with how close you are. Her arm is tight around your waist and you cradle her cheek, face feeling warm under her intense watch. She's memorizing you, drinking you in as if you're holy water in a hellish place.

You make the first move to kiss her, having to breathe through the sick feeling you get; twisting in your stomach and aching in your heart. Something whispers no but He whispers yes, and then the gap is gone.

Natalie is sure you're her salvation. Your lips are warm against hers, it's all so warm. The door is locked and outside is silent. No crunch of gravel or the squealing of tires. It's just you and her in a self-made heaven, basking in love.

Laura Lee and the rest can wait for tomorrow. Nat's mom is out on some bender and she'll keep you safe - the grip on your waist confirms it. Kisses trail across your cheek and jaw, bleached hair tickling your clean skin until you're giggling with her. Hearts sync up once more and it stays peaceful, the future not looming but glowing instead.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

It's two weeks later and finally that fucking tomorrow. A lot of legal bullshit is going down but for now, you're living with your aunt who you were taught was a piece of shit - she's actually just a he. Your uncle, as you've now learned, stayed in Wisayok on the other side of town purely to loom over your parents with the threat of exposing them to the church. He knew they'd sent you off and had been fighting tooth and nail to get you into his care for a month now.

All is fine and dandy; Nat and you laze about your new, nicer, home and relearn each other. You throw up a lot less now and your uncle, Tim, pays for therapy to help really get past it all. You don't plan on ever saying what really happened in those small buildings so Nat doesn't pry, instead she kisses away the late night tears and holds your hair out of your face when it's all too much.

What isn't cool is having to go back to school. The same school your sister attends. You're a nervous wreck as you step off the bus, Nat keeping ahold of you.

"Breathe, Angel." She whispers and you listen, staying by her side throughout the morning and totally not flinching whenever a flash of blonde hair goes off in your peripherals. Luck cannot hold out forever though, and even has terrible timing.

It is entirely impossible to prove what exactly the two of you were doing behind the bleachers, but the mussed hair and marks on both of your necks may give some evidence. The giggles and little stolen kisses come to an abrupt halt at the sight of your sister. She's tearing up and your heart aches in two different directions.

"Oh fuck off Laura Lee." Natalie groans, arm going across your shoulders in what may look possessive but is actually meant to ground you. Laura Lee sniffles and gives you an extremely apologetic stare, but you aren't having it.

"I told you what would happen." You mutter, staring her down without an ounce of sympathy. She shakes her head but seems unable to even mumble an apology, the tears clogging her throat. That damn bear is in her hand and she holds it out to you, shaking hands matching your own. You can see the faint scar on her pointer finger from where you'd accidentally slammed the door on it. Her necklace was a gift from you and her cardigan was knitted to match your own, growing dusty in a closet that isn't yours anymore. The bear is knocked to the ground by your hand, newly scarred across the knuckles from a ruler Laura Lee will never meet.

"Please-" Her voice breaks and Nat laces her hand in yours, thumb rubbing across the scarred knuckles and head tilting to knock against yours. She's all around you and Laura Lee is drifting away, button eyes watching the two sisters from the gym floor.

"We're not sisters. Not anymore." Your voice breaks just like hers did, and you step away again - just like that night. Nat is there, anchoring you all the way until you're in some bathroom.

"Angel, hey-" She cradles your jaw and kisses your forehead, wiping away the faint lipstick mark. "You're good." She murmurs and you nod, blinking away tears with a slow exhale.

"I'm good. We're good." You repeat, dropping your forehead to her shoulder. "It's all good." Fingers guide your head up and your lips meet hers - warm, safe, familiar. No bile rises and your heart doesn't ache; it sings.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

tag list: @theprismyyy @moonyxstars @kabekusa @ilovemuhl10

[lunarsworld]

pleasure doing business with you

pairing: business man!clark kent x reader warnings: smut under the cut, unprotected p in v, cursing, exhibitionism (slight), office nasty a/n: lowkey buns but trust i’ll be back full force soon

you rocked back and forth on your feet as the elevator went up, up, up. you swiftly shook all your nerves out of your body as you went upstairs to join some meeting your assistant scheduled. only issue was? you fucked your boss, aka clark kent, last week and haven’t seen him since. or well… about to see him now.

you step off the elevator against the cold marble, earning loud clacks underneath as you approach the large door. its presence somewhat loomed on you, taunting you. you sigh before stepping foot in the room, avoiding all eye contact as you walk to your assigned chair. however, somebody is sitting there already with a look of disdain on their face. you look up towards the head of the table to find an open seat next to clark. you huff as you rush over to your seat, feeling how clarks eyes never drop from any part of you. as you sit down, he leans a bit closer, “feeling alright?” you roll your eyes and begin to open your folders. “i’m feeling just fine mr.kent, thank you though.” you say with a smile, brushing him to the side.

clark smirks at you, recognizing your demeanor flipping as he turns through his pages. the meeting starts normal, talking about the next big steps with random things that you tuned out. you stare at the wall across from you before you feel a creeping hand on your thigh. it startles you, making you jump, until you realize it’s clark. you look at him with panicked eyes, unsure of what to do. his fingertips slowly inch closer to your inner thigh, gripping and playing with your warm flesh. you buck your hips up accidentally and immediately fix your posture again, trying to avoid any sight of the interactions from underneath the table. clark slowly dips his fingers underneath your skirt and into your panties, running rough fingers quickly onto your core. you try your best not to make any noises, but its even harder for clark. all he wants to do is praise you, remind you how absolutely soaked he gets you, remind you who you belong with.

the attention swiftly gets thrown back to him though as he pulls his fingers out of your aching cunt. he closes up the meeting for everyone, dismissing them back to their desks. “not you” he says, calling you out like something he owned. once the door slams for the last time, he sighs. you step closer, “yes sir?” and just like that you broke clark kent.

he swiftly spun you around and tugged up your skirt. he stops for almost a second to admire you in your red lace thong, pressing light kisses on your neck while he pressed his raging hard-on against your ass. you sigh at his lips on your skin before a loud ripping noise is present. you look to the floor and your brand new thong is there, in half. you whine at him with a pout, “but sir those were new!” he quickly aligns himself to your dripping hole, the feeling of not being inside you becoming too much to bear. “ill buy you a million,” he groans as he slides into your warm pussy. the way he rams into you, well it’s almost as though he’s going inhumanely. your moans are stuttered and loud as he brings his fingers to your front, rubbing your clit, while his other hand played with your tits. “fuck! mr. kent!” you moan, tears welling up in your eyes at his sheer size stretching your hole. “so fucking tight for me, holy shit. pussy was made for me.” he groans. you throw your ass back on him, chasing your high as you continued to clench around him.

your orgasm hits you like a truck, moaning loud profanities and gasps. clark feels himself grow closer and rushes to pull out when you sink yourself back down on him. “please mr. kent fill me up. wanna be full of you.” you moan as the pleasure becomes too much, his pace still rapid on your clit. and just like you dont need to tell him twice he lets out whimpers. “such a fucking good girl for me, honey. gna make you mine.” he groans, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. after he comes, he stays buried in your pussy, thrusting every once in a while making sure you were full to the brim. “i should probably go, i have an appointment soon.” you say shyly, pulling back down your skirt and grabbing your things. clark doesn’t try to stop you though. although he wants to, wants to keep you there forever, he knows it’ll happen again next week. and again. and again. it also helps him feel better to know you’re walking around crooked with his cum in you. you turn back towards him with a wink before leaving, “thank you, mr. kent.”

and he’s rock hard again.

[gothamite-rambler]

Stephanie: Hey Cass, I heard a story about how you became the leader of the League of Assassins and killed a lot of people.

Cass (eyes downcast, slowly putting her phone down): You cut right to the chase with that.

Stephanie: Yeah, but don’t worry I’m not judging. We all have dark pasts. I just want to hear about it cause I'm curious. What started it? How did you get your wake-up call? What happened in between or afterwards.

Cass: You’ve heard of Slade Wilson, right?

Stephanie: That goof? Yeah. Did he attack you during all of this?

Cass (starting the story): I wanted a father figure, and Bruce was missing…

One depressing and sad story of brainwashing her best friend and (maybe) future girlfriend later Stephanie stormed down the halls, searching for some special people, knowing immediately where they’d be: the Batcave.

Cass chased after her, pleading for her to calm down.

Cass: Just take a second to breathe! Please—

But Stephanie had already tuned her out, stomping down the stairs to the Batcave, striding past Jason, Tim, Damian, Kate, and Bruce until she found Dick.

Stephanie: HEY, NIGHTWING!

At first, Dick turned around, a smile brightening his face at the sight of her, but that smile vanished in an instant when she delivered a stinging slap to his cheek.

Dick (eyes wide, shocked): OW!

Stephanie: You… You! Penis! You absolute penis! How dare you mistreat Cass while she was going through all that? I knew you were too nice; something had to be buried, and YOU… penis!

Dick (cupping his sore cheek): Stop calling me a penis!

Jason (doubled over laughing): I feel bad for laughing, but this is priceless.

Bruce: I shouldn’t be laughing either, but at least it wasn’t me. What’s happening here?

Cass (hurriedly explaining as she fidgeted her hands): Steph wanted to know about the time I went insane like Jason and became the leader of the assassins. I mentioned my issues with Dick, but that was forgivable. She—

Stephanie: Is pissed at this eejit!

Damian (surprised): Did you just call him an idiot with an Irish inflection? You are mad.

Dick (taking accountability): I… she… this is so old! I admitted I was a jerk back then, but I'm not anymore.

Huffing angrily, Stephanie lowered her hand as Dick instinctively took a step back.

Stephanie: You know what? Dick, I get that you didn’t want her to kill her deadbeat dad or Slade. We don’t kill, well, except Jason, but I’m starting to understand him more!

Jason nodded, continuing to read.

Stephanie: But how you treated Cass during most of her redemption journey... such a penis move!

Dick: I wasn’t… she killed… And Barbara snapped at her sometimes! Why the hell won’t you slap her?

Barbara (having silently watched the spectacle): I apologized and she likes me more. And I taught her how to read and write more so there.

Dick: I apologized too!

Stephanie: After Alfred stepped in! You—

Dick: Don’t call me a penis. Alfred helped out and is usually the voice of reason, I'm obviously going to agree with him.

Cass walked over, stepping between them and lightly pushing Stephanie away with a warm smile.

Cass: I admire you defending me, but Dick and I have made amends — mostly. We replaced it with sibling bickering, and I’m not completely innocent. I did throw him out a window, which was wrong… even if I still think he deserved it a tiny bit.

Dick (dryly): That’s the closest you’re going to admit it was wrong?

Cass: Yep.

Dick: I’ll take it.

Stephanie sighed, stepping away from Dick and thinking silently.

Stephanie: Jason, can Rose stab her father for Cass?

Bruce: Excuse me for interjecting, but do you mean to kill or just maim?

Kate (chuckling): That’s legitimately a good question.

Stephanie: I want so badly for her to kill him or for you to kill him. But respecting my code and Cass’s wishes, can she just stab him to hurt him?

Jason pulled out his phone and texted Rose.

Jason: She might actually have a better method. I’ll get back to you on that.

Stephanie: It’s a start… right?

Cass: He won’t die? It’s not me plunging the knife, but I’d rather not have phantom blood on my hands.

Stephanie (placing a hand on Cass’s shoulder): I can make sure he lives afterward. Bruce, if you try to stop this, I'm sending my ma after you with a heel in her hand.

Bruce: Just make sure he lives. That’s all I ask.

Stephanie: Got you, B-Man. You can fire me again if I go against my future girlfriend’s rule.

Kate laughed more and walked upstairs to excuse herself, with Bruce following her for a drink after that show.

Dick: Right, cool. Not sure how I feel about this—

Stephanie (pointing at the man): Dick, I’m not too happy with you, so your opinion means diddly squat!

Barbara (laughing, but also reasoning with Stephanie): Steph, you have to understand that we were all going through hell back then. You were there, and Dick could be a bit of a… penis.

Stephanie: I get that, and now that I’ve delivered the righteous slap to him, I’m cool with him. Unless he angers her again, then I’m kicking him in the penis while wearing a pointed heel.

Dick groaned as he rummaged for ice in the fridge underneath Bruce’s fridge. Jason could be heard laughing at the insult, joined by Damian's snickers.

Tim mostly remained silent, deciding it was wiser to stay neutral and embrace his role as Switzerland rather than take a side.

Tim: Oh wow. Um, I'm going to step in front of him.

Tim walked up in front of Dick, positioning himself as a buffer. Dick appreciated the gesture, grateful for the support in the heat of the moment.

Damian: That’s very funny to think about.

Stephanie (to Tim and Damian): As for you two… Tim, Cass actually had a lot of nice things and wild adventures to say about you. You’re cool. Damian… eh, not anything scandalous.

Damian (satisfied): Alright, that’s great to hear.

Tim: Cass, thank you.

Cass: It was just me being honest and venting. I tried to make it unbiased.

Dick: Didn’t work! She slapped me! Ow, by the way!

Stephanie (indifferent): Sorry or whatever.

Cass: I’m sorry as well. When I spoke of our feuding, it wasn’t to paint you as a villain. I got my payback when I replaced your human shampoo with dog flea and tick shampoo.

Stephanie (surprised): You what?

Barbara (chuckling): That’s why your hair smelled like oatmeal for a month.

Dick: Jokes on her... that was great for my hair! And yes, that is a flex for me! Cass, I forgive you. Stephanie, I choose to forgive you for now. To make it up to you both, I’ll take us all out for dinner.

Stephanie: You should probably have that wallet with you, then, cause we’re going to Chills, and I’m bringing my ma.

Dick: Of course you are; I’m going to rest for the next hour. Barbara…

Dick lightly slapped Barbara on the back of the head and then ran off. Barbara laughed, relieving any tension.

[bunny-1111]

Reading you like an open book -

TheoNottxreader fic

Word count: 900 words

Description: Theo can't handle it when you choose books over him, and when he tries to do something about it, he faces an unpredictable ending

Warnings: None, just pure fluff <3 unread and unedited

Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, my loves <3

...

Reading should be good for you, you thought, it is good for you, it strengthens the mind, widens your imagination. Theodore thought otherwise. There you were on your day off, sunken deep into the couch, reading, instead of spending your precious time with your devoted boyfriend.

"Enough of that, come to bed" Theo lazily mutters, standing in front of your place on the couch, his face wild for your attention.

Who would've thought Theo would have to fight for his girl, his competition, glued pages of paper.

You blink up with tired eyes all you could manage was to shake your head in defiance.

"It's almost three a.m., love. Get up," he insisted, dropping to a crouch in front of you, his hands finding your knees as he pleaded gently, voice rough with exhaustion. He looked so boyish, begging for something as simple as your presence.

"One more chapter and I'll meet you in bed" you yawn, the book slipping slightly in your grip

"No," Theo almost laughed, shaking your legs a little to jolt you awake. "I can’t sleep without you next to me, dork. You know that."

Theodore is met with no reply, stubborn as ever, he watched your eyes return to your page, he let out his own frustrated grunt

"You're sleep schudule is fucked, you have two seconds to close the book before I do it myself" he continued

This made your ears prick. He wouldn't dare; he's never understood how much you love reading, and his complaining was getting more frustrating by the day.

You turned another page defiantly, the rustle sounding louder than it should have.

"That's it" he mutters before his hands take possession your novel, it all happened so quickly, you exhuasten halted as you sprung up, practically climbing onto him to retrieve what's yours.

"Don't put up a fight," Theo beamed, absolutely delighted, catching you easily as you wriggled in his arms. This, he thought, was much better than you reading.

"Theodore, stop!" you laughed breathlessly, half playful, half furious, to be fair it was funny, until.

Until the book dropped, and your bookmark with it.

You gasped, jumping from his hold, staring at the disaster laid out on the ground.

"My bookmark you just lost my page, Teddy?!" you exclaimed as you picked your heart off the floor

"Oh shit, sorry darling, just... place it back" he gently apologies

"No! Theo if I do that I might accidentally read ahead, everything ruined, you idiot! Argh" your fingers ran through your head, a mix of stress and tiredness.

"I-" he started

No," you cut him off sharply, jabbing your finger against his chest with every word.

"The last sentence I read was 'I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love.' "You declared with such seriousness. "And now you, Theodore, are going to read until you find it. Once you do, and only then, may I continue reading."

Without sparing him a glance, you spun on your heel and stormed towards the bedroom.

"Hold on, Hold on" you heard behind you as Theo chases rapidly.

"No debate, Theo, happy reading" you tease as you dive under the bed covers

Theodore is still rushing to understand what his gotten himself into

"Sweetheart, look at this thing I'm not going to make it through, I'll be bored to death honey" you complained, holding his new copy of pride and Prejudice up

"Happy reading baby" you say pecking a kiss to his cheek.

You didn’t think he’d actually read it. Maybe flick through a few pages, maybe even quickly skim the first chapter at best.

Four days passed and you had found Theo in an unusual spot, your spot, on the couch, your reading spot of the couch, peering over you saw his face focused, his lips slightly parted, mouthing the words he was reading almost inauidably.

Leaning over so that your face sat on his shoulder, you looked between the pages and your boyfriend.

"Is this real?" you giggle

"Shh" Theo scolded, waving a hand in the air without looking up, eyes darting across the page.

Glaring over to focus on what he was up to, you notice the page at the top

"Teddy? That’s passed my bookmark” your eyes widening

"Wait. I thought you didn't know what page you were up to" he says finally looking up at you

"Yeah, I knew, just wanted to see if you'd actually read" you smile

"You evil little minx" he chuckled "you've passed me?" you questioned

“I was just making sure, double checking, yeah?” He insisted on rapidly shutting the page

“You’re so cute, read on. Just don’t spoil it for me”, you smile your hands finding their way into his hair

“I wouldn’t dare” he says, picking the book back up

“Not in front of me! I can’t see the pages I haven’t read!”

“Sorry” he says, shutting the book once again, his lips meeting yours, the novel still in his hands

"Teddy" you softly breathe into his kiss

"Yes, lovely girl" he replies just as softly as you had

"Put the book down" you suggest

"Right" he mutters, abandoning the novel as his hands cup your face.

...

Author's note: so happy to be writing again <3

Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, my loves

loveeeeee B xxx

[moxiepower2]

I think we should give Duke it a bit more leeway for his actions and general attitude in Ch 121. It was a tense situation where he had to think VERY QUICKLY. Yes, it was wrong for him to throw Pluto out as bait without warning. Yes, he should’ve treated Eulalie with more courtesy/respect instead acting like she’s incompetent/a child and assuming that she’s probably going to fuck up. But to be fair, Duke had all of what maybe 2-3 MINUTES?? to come up with a plan before the Stag found them. Also, the hounds were already in the room when he was telling Eulalie her part of the plan which is why he ran out of time to explain Pluto’s part (to be honest, I still think he could have tried to give Pluto at least a brief heads-up though, instead of the “do you trust me?” bit)

And let’s not forget they all saw Will get impaled by said Stag that’s chasing them MINUTES ago and it was only YESTERDAY that Duke was chained up inside a wall slowly suffocating (and of course, they had to run into MONTY of all people earlier). It’s pretty understandable that in Season 2 he’s stressed the hell out, paranoid, and irritable. And while paranoia and occasionally being a jerk are definitely part of Duke’s overall character, WE ARE NOT seeing a Normal Duke here. This is Duke at his absolute WORST. This is a Duke that had already reached his limit YESTERDAY and now has to worry about dying AGAIN and on top of possibly losing his friends. This is a Duke in full survival “let’s just get the fuck to the arboretum NOW” mode and all the normal niceties and charm have gone to the wayside

It’s also important to note that while Duke DEFINITELY put Pluto and Eulalie at risk with his rushed plan, he still arguably took the biggest one himself by calling out to the Stag, PURPOSELY luring it with his own blood, and taking the brunt of all the chandelier glass flying everywhere. Considering all the back-and-forth they all had about the Wild Hunt tracking by smell before Duke had his “lightbulb moment”, I’m pretty sure he already planned on cutting himself in front of the Stag BEFORE he asked Eulalie to be bait

[walkingnearfoxes]

Your Animal (Edward Rutledge x Reader)

Rutledge takes you on vacation and has abandonment issues. That’s it that’s the plot. Warnings for smut, mentions of violence, gross men at clubs, and sleeping with the leader of a terrorist organization.

When Rutledge first mentions Cabo, you assume he’s joking. You’re in his latest safehouse and wrapping a shallow stab wound near his wrist. He refuses to explain the injury’s origins. You’re sure he would be able to dress it perfectly fine himself, but as he has told you on more than one occasion, he prefers your more delicate hands to his own. 

“One of the finest resort cities in the world,” He tells you about Cabo with a playful brow wiggle. “Wanna come along?”

You don’t have time to answer before your brother cuts in. “Absolutely not.”

Rutledge scoffs and waves his uninjured hand dismissively. “Ignore him. It’s perfectly safe.”

You shake your head as you finish taping over his bandage. “Don’t think that’s in my budget.”

“All expenses paid, of course.” His free hand moves to settle over yours, his long fingers tapping gently against your knuckles. “You’d be doing me a favor. I’ll be bored out of my bloody mind.”

You arch a brow, but don’t move your hand away. “Bored in one of the ‘finest resorts in the world’?” You mock with a poor imitation of his accent.

Rutledge shrugs with a grin that’s gotten you into trouble countless times. “Never really liked beaches. You are always entertaining.”

You don’t have more time to banter when your brother diverts the conversation back to the logistics of their team’s latest “mission.” Their ability to speak in code right in front of you is as impressive as it is irritating. It makes you wonder about the conversations behind closed doors, whether your brother wants you closer or farther away from his leader. It doesn’t seem to matter, regardless; Rutledge likes you, and so you stay.

The next time you’re alone with the corporal, Rutledge is sneaking into your room at two in the morning. He isn’t afraid of your brother’s reaction to this affair, but it would be an inconvenience; your brother is an integral part of the team and, more importantly, Rutledge trusts him. You also have a sneaking suspicion that Rutledge enjoys the normalcy of coming to find you. For a moment, he isn’t a man with trauma that leaves him shaking at the sound of a firework. He’s just a boy chasing after the girl he fancies.

And fancy you he does. The clock has just ticked past three in the morning when he has a hand clamped over your mouth and his head buried between your legs. He’s been down there for ages, but moves his tongue with the lazy slide of a man who has all the time in the world. Rutledge is nothing if not patient; he knows exactly how to kiss your clit or curl his fingers to make you come, but he’s intent on teasing you until you squirm. He pushes his tongue inside of you slowly, and when you squeal against his palm, he decides to repeat the motion over and over again. It’s a blissful torture that sets your body on fire, and it’s only his hand over your lips that keeps you from waking your brother - and perhaps the entire safehouse.

When your eyes are starting to roll back, Rutledge finally takes pity on you. He replaces his tongue with three fingers and fucks you with a pace that would have you screaming if your voice had such power left. He sucks down on your clit with precision, growls against your cunt, and you fly over the edge. Your hips arch up at your orgasm and he allows it, simply following your motions to keep the pleasure sustained as long as he can. When you flop back onto the bed fully sated, he smirks against you and slowly pulls out his fingers. 

“Christ, sweetheart,” Rutledge purrs. He sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them before gently removing his hand from your mouth. “Making me work to keep you quiet, eh?”

You give a lazy mutter of nonsense in reply, which just makes him laugh. He busies himself with kissing his way back up your body and gives a playful bite to your ribcage. Then, he speaks, “Come to Cabo.”

You had nearly forgotten that earlier conversation. You lift your head to look at him as he continues his slow crawl up your body. Your hands gently curl through his hair, and his eyes close fondly at the touch. He would never admit how starved for gentle touch he is.

“Is it really safe?” You ask quietly. 

His eyes are still closed as he replies. “It’s a resort city, ‘course it is. Just don’t go wandering in the jungle without me.” 

You give his hair a little tug. “I mean…with everything you do.”

He slowly creaks his eyes open, trapping you under that gorgeous gaze. If your brother is careful about leaving you in the dark, Rutledge keeps you blindfolded. He wants you within arm’s reach so he can push away if need be. You aren’t naive; you understand enough to know that his plans are dangerous - not only to him or your family, but to the world at large. Every tiny piece of information you’re able to gather makes that more evident. But damn him, he’s a spark. He can take any battlefield and carve it into a portrait that will lead you to a better world. He is merciless, but he is pragmatic, and you fear you fell under his spell long ago.

“I’m a security specialist for a reason,” Rutledge reminds you in a murmur against your skin. “You’ll be safe. It’ll be a fun little vacation. I promise.”

You hesitate, and he dares to widen his eyes like a kicked puppy. You chuckle softly. “Fine. I’ll come.”

He grins to bare his teeth and settles over you, brushing his lips across yours. “Damn right you will. Again, and again, and again.”

~-~

Rutledge was not exaggerating about all expenses paid. From the moment you land in the city - after a first-class plane ticket, of course - you are treated like royalty. A secure vehicle brings you to the most expensive resort in the city. You drive to the most luxurious suite, which you will of course share with Rutledge. The suite’s balcony has a jacuzzi that overlooks the Pacific’s turquoise waters. Rutledge promises you there will be time to partake in that particular luxury, but not yet. Your bags barely touch the room before he’s whisking you to a private club on the other side of Cabo. The club is nothing like the dark, swampy basements you recall in college. It is entirely outside under a series of air-conditioned tents that lead down to a private beach. You’re sure that if you sniff hard enough, you’ll smell gold in the air.

Rutledge feels the need to assure you that it’s a quick stop to see some old friends, but it’s obviously more than that. He keeps one guard with you, and you notice several other familiar faces dotting the wealthy scene. If there’s anything you learned quickly in your connection to Rutledge, it was that he had very many friends in very many important places.

Rutledge sets a drink next to you after a short excursion to the nearest bar. It’s a flute of liquids that spiral between reds, oranges, and yellows. There’s even some glitter floating at the bottom. You blink, lowering yourself closer to the table to examine it better. “The hell is this?”

He chuckles. “Waterloo sunset, apparently. Give it a shot.”

You take a tentative sip. “Hm…it’s like fruit punch mixed with tequila.”

Another carefree laugh. “Is that a good thing?”

Your smile is sly as you take another sip. “I’m not mad about it.”

Rutledge cups the back of your head to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Bond with Milton a moment, love. Got a few faces I need to chat up.”

Milton, your guard for the night, sits across the table. He’s a redhead built like a tank. You know he has a twin brother who is somewhere amongst the crowd. They’re both more than a little rough around the edges, but they’re amongst the few that Rutledge is comfortable leaving to watch over you. You would typically be with your brother, but Rutledge conveniently asked him to stay back from this trip.

You’re about halfway through your waterloo sunset when you notice Milton glancing at the bar. It’s hard to tell if something has caught his attention or if he’s just bored, but you offer a smile regardless. “You can move around, you know.”

He gives you a look from the corner of his eye. “Trying to get me in trouble?” He asks, his French accent thick.

“I can survive a few minutes without getting assassinated,” You assure him. It’s hard to feel like you’re in any danger when half the people in this club are tipsy middle-aged men in white suits. “Go on. Get a beer or something.”

Milton hesitates, his fingers drumming on the table. Finally, he sighs and gets up. “I’m grabbing a pint. Do not move.”

You give him a salute, and giggle at the eye roll it earns you. As he makes his way over to the nearest bar, you scan over the crowd. Rutledge is invisible when he wants to be, so you’re not surprised that you can’t spot him. You look back at your drink and find yourself with company. Middle-Aged Man in White Suit #45 is sitting across from you with a grin that immediately sets off warning bells.

“Now what’s a gorgeous thing like you doing all alone?” He asks in a combination of accent and drunken slur.

You sober your gaze and push your drink carefully away from you. “I’m not alone.”

“Sure look alone to me,” He leans in close enough you can smell cigar smoke on his breath. “You looking for someone to take care of you?”

You have not journeyed this far without knowing how to fight. You measure the man up, and while you see he’s no physical threat to your capability, you don’t know who he is. He may be someone influential whom you shouldn’t punch in the nose. Before you can decide the appropriate course of action, a hand lightly cups the back of your neck. You immediately know it’s Rutledge.

“Sorry for the wait, darling,” He growls. You don’t need to turn around to know his striking blue gaze is levelling your visitor; the drunken man looks moments away from shitting himself. Rutledge lightly squeezes the back of your neck. “C’mon. We’re leaving.”

You don’t wait. You give the stranger a glare of your own before turning to follow Rutledge. He keeps his hand on the back of your neck, a gentle guide through the crowd that keeps him close to you. A glance up at him as he moves to walk beside you gives you enough of an insight into his mood. Every muscle in his body looks clenched. He only pauses on his way out the door to speak with Milton. The guard is holding a pint in his hand, and you’ve never seen his face look so pale. Rutledge claps his free hand onto the man’s taller shoulder. “Brother…I love ya,” He murmurs. “But if you ever leave her like that again, I’ll take your eye out.”

With that, he leads you to your awaiting vehicle and is silent.

Rutledge says little on the ride back to the hotel. He gives the driver directions, but he barely looks at you. You’d be more concerned about him being angry with you if he weren’t insistent on keeping physical contact. His hand stays on your knee for the whole ride. Even when you get to the hotel, he keeps a hand on your hip or your shoulder as you walk to your suite. Finally, when you’re both securely in the room and he knows for sure that you’re both alone, he lets go. After a long moment of silence where you’re not sure whether to move closer to him or give him his space, he decides for you. “Go try out that hot tub.”

You hesitate. “What about you?”

He offers a half smile. “Be right behind ya.” When you continue to wait, he nods to the door. “Go on.”

You oblige. You don’t bother with a swimsuit, not when this room is high enough up where the only one who could see you has already mapped out every inch of your body. Even without looking at Rutledge, even without turning around, you can feel the way his eyes crawl over you. You ignore the shiver it gives you and make your way to the hot tub. The controls to it are fortunately easy to navigate, and you can step into the warm waters quickly. You can feel the instant soothing to your muscles and sigh in bliss. Your gaze moves to the balcony view. Sunset is beginning to shift into dark blue shades over the waters. The waves are calm tonight, and maybe they always are in a paradise like this; you could get used to it.

Approaching footsteps bring you back, and you turn to find Rutledge joining you. He’s fully naked, and you take your time appreciating the sight. His muscles are lithe on a body decorated in scars. You both joke about the age difference between the two of you, but no one can guess his real age. You know how quickly and how accurately the man can move; he may have left the open battlefield, but he’s still a soldier.

He settles across from you with his tattooed arms resting against the side. The tub is big enough that you’re both able to lie down on your backs, but you can feel his knees nudging against yours. His gaze moves to look out at the view. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” You murmur, your voice tentative. “More importantly, are you okay? Was that asshole someone important?”

Rutledge shakes his head. “No. Just a prick,” He murmurs. “But he could have been…”

His voice drifts off, and his hand clenches against the tub. You speak tentatively. “I’m fine. Nothing happened.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. “I know. But something could have.” He slowly holds out his right forearm, his palm up. “You see this tattoo?”

It’s a silly question. The tattoo takes up most of his arm. It’s a skull with two arrows shooting through an open mouth. In learning not to ask about his scars, you also refrain from asking about his tattoos. You nod your head slowly.

“In Afghanistan, I lost my two best mates in a single explosion,” Rutledge says softly. It’s the most detail he’s ever given you about his time in war. “One minute there, laughing with me…gone the next in a pile of rubble.”

You reach out to him without a second thought. Your fingers gently trace the line of the right arrow up to the teeth of the skull. “I’m so sorry.”

“This tattoo’s for them. Cliche as shit, but I’m no artist,” His eyes have moved down to follow your finger’s movements. Based on the way his eyes soften, the tracing soothes him. “It’s funny how we’re damn near ordered to love our brothers, but no one tells you what to do when you lose them.”

Rutledge shifts to meet your eyes. The frustration from earlier is gone, replaced with a gentleness, or a fear, you have never seen from him before. “I can’t lose you, sweetheart. I…I can’t.”

You turn your wrist to gently hold onto his forearm. “You won’t. I’m right here, Eddie.”

He blinks in clear surprise. Then, his lips slowly curl into a boyish smile. “Eddie?”

You flush. Up until now, you’ve only ever called him by his last name. “Is that okay?”

He chuckles softly as he steadily becomes at ease. “Yeah. I just haven’t heard that in a long time,” He lifts his arms out. “C’mere.”

You go to him. You settle between his legs, and he’s quick to sit up so you straddle his thighs. The moment you’re comfortable, his lips are on yours. He kisses you gently, savoring the way it feels to share this private moment with you. His fingers curl gently through your hair and keep you close to him. It’s so easy to get lost in these kisses. You aren’t sure when they begin to be less of an exploration of you and more of a need, his teeth gently nibbling at your bottom lip. He shifts his hips up, and you feel the familiar press of his hard cock against your hip. You can’t help but smile as you pull away from his mouth enough to speak. “Hello there.”

“Can’t walk around naked and expect anything less, love,” Rutledge murmurs as his hands tighten on your hips. “But I can be good if you’re not inclined.”

You answer by slowly moving yourself up and over his cock. His lips gently part, and he massages his hands along your sides. You sink yourself onto him slowly, and his eyes fall shut in bliss. Rutledge is lost in you, leaving you to decide the pace. You ride him slowly with your hands on his shoulders. It’s a leisurely pace at first, but it has him moaning breathlessly. He buries his face against the side of your neck and suddenly thrusts up hard. You gasp and take the cue, grinding down on him now. It pushes his hips perfectly against your clit so with each met thrust, you feel another roll of heat. Water is sloshing over the sides of the tub, and his hands are holding your hips tight enough to bruise, but you don’t care. If anything, it just makes you chase after the pleasure faster.

“You’re perfect,” He groans against your skin, his lips placing sloppy kisses and bites along your neck. “Fuckin’ perfect. I can feel that little cunt clenching, love. Go on ahead. Take it from me.”

He’s always a bit of a rambler when he’s close, but you enjoy listening to him. His voice always seems to be what finally pushes you over, and this time isn’t any different. You sigh breathlessly as an orgasm finds you, your nails digging into his shoulders. He must have been waiting for you because he follows right after with a loud moan of your name. His stuttering hips work you both through it the best he can until you both finally still against one another. When you’re able to gather yourself, you instinctively move to get off of him, only for his grip on your hips to tighten. 

“Stay a bit,” He murmurs against your neck, his softening cock still inside of you.

You smile and brush a hand through his hair. He purrs quietly against your skin. “Guess we have time,” You murmur.

Rutledge kisses over a bruise he’s left behind on your neck. “All the time in the world.”

[panerasbox]

—WRONG WAY, RIGHT GIRL; 11 Days To Go…

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x Reader.

Genre: fluff.

Word count: 1,162.

summary: get ready for the Abbott Elementary Thunderbowl!

a/n: this oneshot came to me while watching an episode of friends 🤷‍♀️

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you knew about football, it was that the ball was supposed to go… somewhere.

Where? No clue.

Why? Even less clue.

But you had a girlfriend now. A girlfriend who looked absurdly good in a zip-up hoodie and jeans, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, giving you these sideways smiles like she was two seconds from tackling you — and maybe not just on the field.

Honestly? You were ready to perish out here.

Melissa slid her arm around your waist like she was briefing you for a heist.

“It’s simple. Get the ball to the end zone. Our end zone, not theirs. If you see Ava yelling at you, ignore it. If you see Gregory coming at you, run.”

You nodded.

You understood exactly none of that.

“End zone,” you repeated. “Right. Where… exactly… is that?”

Melissa blinked.

Then she leaned in and kissed your forehead, gentle and exasperated, like she’d just adopted the world’s cutest lost cause.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, patting your cheek.

Across the blacktop, Ava blew a whistle she definitely bought at Party City.

“LET’S GOOOO, TURKEYS!” she hollered. “THIS IS THE ABBOTT ELEMENTARY THUNDERBOWL!”

Janine was bouncing like this was the NFL Draft. Gregory was sketching plays in the dirt. Jacob was giving a TED Talk about teamwork.

You turned to Melissa, heart thudding harder than it had any right to.

“Just tell me one thing. When in doubt… tackle Ava?”

Melissa gave you a wicked little grin.

“Babe, you can tackle whoever you want.” (is that how that works? lmao 🤷‍♀️)

Oh, you were doomed.

But you were so in love.

Ava threw the football into the air like a bride tossing a bouquet. No one had any idea what to do. Gregory lunged. Jacob shrieked. Janine yelled “SYNERGY!” and ran the wrong way.

Somehow — against all odds, physics, and logic — the ball landed right in your arms.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Even you weren’t sure how it happened.

Then Melissa’s voice cut through the chaos, urgent and hoarse:

“RUN, BABE! THAT WAY!”

You panicked. You ran. You ran the wrong way.

“NO! OTHER WAY!” Melissa gasped, laughing so hard she was doubling over.

You spun around and tore off across the grass like a dog chasing a squirrel.

Ava was chasing you. Janine was chasing Ava. Jacob was chasing Janine. It was absolute war.

Melissa the competitive:

“LEFT! NO, YOUR OTHER LEFT!”

You crashed directly into Gregory, who grunted like he’d been hit by a bus.

The ball flew out of your hands and bounced gently into Barbara’s, who, without missing a beat, placed it firmly on the ground like she was washing her hands of this entire mess.

Everyone froze.

Everyone stared.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, grinning like a fool, and jogged toward Melissa, arms wide.

“Did I do it?” you panted.

Melissa caught you around the waist, still wheezing with laughter.

“You did something, hon,” she said, kissing the side of your head. “You definitely did something.”

You beamed.

You might not know a damn thing about football,

But you knew you were winning where it mattered most.

Someone, probably Jacob, declared it halftime, mostly because everyone was out of breath and Barbara threatened to “pray for deliverance” if they didn’t stop.

You collapsed onto the grass, gulping down air like you’d just survived the Hunger Games.

A shadow fell over you.

Melissa.

One hand on her hip, the other offering you a water bottle, smirk in full effect.

“Here,” she said. “You earned it, hotshot.”

You grabbed the bottle and chugged like your life depended on it. Melissa crouched down beside you, steadying it with one hand.

“You know you ran about a hundred yards the wrong way, right?”

“I was doing a strategic misdirect,” you said proudly.

Melissa gave you a look — the I’m deciding if I’m gonna kiss you or body-slam you look.

She leaned in, her nose brushing yours, voice low and rough:

“Such a princess,” she murmured. “Lucky you’re so damn cute.”

Before you could even blink, she kissed you.

Quick. Sweet. Dizzying.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours for a beat longer, like she couldn’t quite let you go.

“You’re my MVP, you know that?” she whispered. “Even if you don’t know a damn thing about sports.”

You tried to come up with something cool to say but only managed a breathless:

“You’re my MVP too.”

Judging by the way Melissa’s eyes softened, it was exactly what she wanted to hear.

“YO, GET A ROOM!” Ava hollered from across the field.

“OR GET BACK IN THE GAME!”

Melissa rolled her eyes but didn’t move.

“You ready to get back out there, superstar?”

“Ready to lose so bad they name the game after me,” you said brightly.

Melissa chuckled and helped you up, her fingers lingering a little too long on yours.

And honestly? Even if you tanked the entire second half —

You’d still be winning.

The second half started with Ava yelling, “THIS IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!” even though no one had any idea what “the marbles” were.

You were ready.

You had water. You had a plan (“run and hope”). You had Melissa watching you with that look again. the you’re the only thing that matters here look.

Ava tossed the ball back in with a dramatic flourish.

Instant chaos.

You bolted forward — full commitment, zero clue.

Somehow you ended up wide open, arms outstretched, eyes locked on Melissa like she was your end zone, your goal post, your whole game.

The ball — again, somehow — landed right in your arms.

You blinked down at it, stunned.

“GO, BABY, GO!” Melissa shouted, beaming like you’d just won the Super Bowl.

You ran, sneakers slapping the pavement—

—and WHAM!

You were body-slammed straight into the grass.

For a second you thought you’d been tackled by a linebacker.

Then you opened your eyes.

Melissa was grinning down at you, hands braced on either side of your head.

“Gotcha,” she said smugly.

“You—you tackled me?” you gasped, dazed.

“Told you,” she said, voice playful and low, “you can tackle whoever you want. Figured it was only fair.”

You stared up at her, ridiculous, breathless, so in love, and then grabbed the front of her hoodie and yanked her down into a kiss.

“FIVE-YARD PENALTY FOR BEING GAY ON THE FIELD!” Ava roared.

“NO, NEGATIVE FIVE YARDS — BLESS THEM!” Jacob corrected.

Melissa kissed you like she’d been planning this all day.

When she finally pulled back, she brushed your hair off your forehead and smirked:

“You’re still terrible at football, babe.”

“Yeah,” you panted, grinning. “But I’m amazing at dating you.”

Melissa laughed — that rough, real laugh you loved, and pulled you to your feet.

The game went on.

You tackled the wrong people. Melissa tackled you. Barbara quietly started praying again.

And somehow, it was the best game you ever played.

[rotting-ink]

A little jealousy snippet of sasha and mc for a piece of gum and 7 dabloons🤕

Using GN pronouns with Sasha for this one!

You arrived, arm in arm with Dasha, into the ballroom, feeling a bit better now, able to lean on them. You were all too aware of their body gently against yours, their warmth. It felt good after your cold day. You glanced around the room, seeing who had already arrived. The twins were already there, absolutely mauling a poor innocent with lewd questions, looking night identical with their matching clothes. Stas was hiding some bottles of wine in his jacket, but gave you a conspiratorial wink before slipping away, no doubt to his back to his own court. Sasha was... Of, course, with their usual entourage, rapt with attention as your eldest sibling lounged, sipping from a glass of something clear.

You looked away quickly, instead giving Dasha a quick smile.

"I'm alright now. You can-"

"You're going to need something to drink. Quite warm, isn't it?" Dasha murmured, their voice low, conspiratorial, needlessly so. You glanced at them to reply but their face was so close, your breath left you completely. Their black eyes seemed to be laughing at you.

You could sense your Aide taking a step forward, about to break up your closeness when-

"What's this then?" A figure stood in front of you two, voice tight. It was Sasha, with... With their terrible smile on. The one you saw before he'd wrestle Stas down into a headlock, or roughly grabbing Alba's wrist to twist it this way and that, until the skin was red and sore.

"Oh, your Highness-" Dash started before being cut off.

"Oh, little doll. Get us a drink, hm?" Sasha didn't take their eyes off Dasha. "

"Ah- Oh. Umh. What would you like?" You tried to get their attention.

"Glass of Starka, if you don't mind. My own vintage, Aksana's own tastes like shit."

"And you, Dasha-"

"Oh no. Aleksenko isn't joining us. Now, hop along before I have to chase you around the gardens with my father's sabre again."

"Sasha! I was eight!"

"And, from what I remember, you had stolen my sweets. Hop. Along. Make like a rabbit or I'll hunt you like one."

You spared a glance to Dasha, who just gave you an indulgent smile and inclined their head as a bow.

[sunni-stuff]

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Reader who gets pregnant off of a one night stand with some soldier during armed forces day, showing your appreciation for his service a little too well.

You had a support system, friends who joked about you having way too much fun, hence your predicament, others already offering to buy things for the baby and your parents who couldn't be happier to meet their grandchild.

But what about the father?

Well, it's not exactly like you could track him down. Fuck, you didn't even know the man's name, only how he made you feel, his filthy words strumming in your ear, big hands tight around your waist, hips slamming away in a desperate chase.

Let's forget how you leg-locked him.

When your daughter was born, everything changed, and time slowed down. She was a quiet baby, barely crying or having any outbursts like a normal child would but outspoken in her own little way. That chunky thing came out of the womb with a glare. Brown eyes staring down anyone and everyone but you.

That's something she definitely got from her father. You vividly remember how his umber eyes watching you from across the bar. He was like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. A perfect soldier.

So, you named your daughter Adira in memory of his strength. That's one thing he could have.

Adira loved to be by your side. Her chubby cheeks pressed into the nook of your neck, holding you close with strength of a thousand babies. Your clingy little thing was a koala, always by her mommy's side, never straying far no matter how curious she got. When she learned to walk, her favorite thing became to hug your leg, especially while in stores. She hated people, wearing a tiny scowl whenever customers passed by tucking herself closer to you.

Maybe it was a good thing her father wasn't around. Having to compete for her first words would've been a bloodbath.

You spent two years in bliss. The fact that you were a single mother an afterthought to raising what you considered a blessing.

With Adira's second Christmas coming up, you wanted to do something special. She loved trains and found them absolutely amusing, often mimicking the honk as she ran around your apartment. Thankfully, there was a train ride for kids around the park during this time of year.

Here, you stood in line, bundled up to the nines. Big poofy coat, warm gloves, and fuzzy boots. As the crowd moved, Adira clung close, arms wrapped around your leg, glowering at any passerby with an annoyed look on her rosy cheeks.

That one was new. Maybe something else she got from her father.

The two of you took steps in tow, keeping Adira close and comfortable as the train came into view. Her expression shifted, excitement palpable. "Twain!" She squealed, jumping up and down.

Before you could respond to Adira's childlike joy, a man bumped into you by accident, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He turns to look at you, blue eyes meeting yours, but you were too focused on the weird ass Mohawk on his head.

People wore still those?

"Sorry bout that lass." The man starts to apologize, a Scottish accent lacing his voice.

That breaks your stare, laughing awkwardly to mask your wandering gaze. "Oh no, it's fine. You should be careful. you might slip on ice."

He nods, giving you a kind smile. The Scottish man starts to leave, but the look your kid was giving him sent shivers down his spine.

Little Adira was giving him a fierce stare down from behind your leg before ultimately cutting her eyes at him as if he were merely a nuisance.

"Next in line! Mctavish!"

The man doesn't stay after that. You assume that it was him they were calling with the way he hurried off. Hope he doesn't fall, seemed like a nice guy.

Soap can't help but do a double take when be gets to the front. The little rascal was wearing his Lieutenants face, hawk eyeing anyone who dared got to close. It was like looking in a mirror.

He nudged Gaz, making a gesture to look back without making it obvious. "See the lass and her bairn in line?"

Gaz gives him a raised brow, looking back for a second before turning around. "There's a lot of kids with their mother's, Johnny."

Soap glances back, double checking to make sure you were still in line. “The lass with the wee one—she’s got the same wicked look as Lt. You cannae miss her.”

Gaz rolls his eyes but humors Soap by looking once more, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on a little girl already mean-mugging him from a distance. He swiftly turns around, blinking in surprise, trying to comprehend what he saw. "Uh..."

Soap only nods in agreement. That was Ghost's face, on a kid no less. He wastes no time, elbowing Roach and getting him to look back as well, leaving the other Sergeant in the same shock as Gaz. "That is not a face a kid should have."

"Agreed." Gaz added, shuddering at the thought.

"Where's the cap?" Soap asks, the train ride no longer feeling like fun now that he’s discovered the jackpot.

"Market place with Lt. for cigs," Gaz knowingly remarked, remembering that Price had run out on their way here.

"Well, let's go show them a Christmas miracle," Soap shot up from his seat all too eagerly.

The sergeants just got their Christmas present.

[makismei]

❝ YOU A SUPERMAN? OR… A MINUTE MAN?

♡ fem!reader x various

featuring…. gojo satoru, nanami kento & fushiguro toji

cw: 18+, minors dni, squirting, overstim, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, anal play (nanami)

synopsis: who’s pounding till the sun rises and who’s clocking out after one round?!

notes from mei! tbh the title doesn’t really make sense… i listened to mcnasty(?) by jay park when it came out a while back and that lyric really resounded in my soul

GOJO ♡ a quick shot. but his dick stays hard. pretty superman-esque if you ask me.

“you idiot—fuuuck, stop moving your hips!” the sound of both of your cum sloshing together rings in your ears. you’re pushing at his tummy, quivering legs haphazardly thrown over his shoulders and tears bubbling in your lash line.

it feels so full inside of you. you’ve both been going at it for god knows how long; his release smeared on your lower tummy and inner thighs.

satoru moves your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours as he starts to press weight into each thrust.

“ahh, mmaahhh!” head shaking back and forth on the pillow, “‘m gonna cum! i can’t—satoru, m’ gonna die!”

he’s practically whining, ignoring your pleas with sweat beading down his temple as he plows you relentlessly. “baby, i can’t hold out.”

his head’s thrown back, feeling his dick twitch whenever he kisses your cervix just right, eyes rolling back into his skull.

“y’feel so good baby, why do you feel so good?” he pants, not realizing he’s filling you up with hot ropes of cum. he’s still thrusting and you swear if he keeps this up your bottom half is going to be numb.

still absolutely rock hard inside of you, he turns you on your side, one leg still on his shoulder while he grinds against that one spot that renders you speechless.

“let me have one more, baby.” he whines, legs shaking, “‘m still so hard f’you.”

NANAMI ♡ depends. he’s good at holding himself off, but he also enjoys stuffing you with multiple loads of his cum.

he’s groaning, eyes lidded as he watches you align his cock with your leaky slit. globs of his cum seep from your pussy, soiling his faintly coloured pubic hairs. someway, somehow, you managed to flip your previous positions and he’s the one laying on the mattress instead of you.

“my love,” he breathes, his large hand; callused from his work but still so gentle, caresses your hip, “i’m not going anywhere.”

it’s as if you’re in a rush, scrambling like he’s going to disappear.

you whine, legs quivering when his tip swipes against your entrance. “please, nami, i want you to cum again… it feels s’good.”

he smiles, his other hand reaching out to hold your face, thumb gently stroking against your cheek. “so needy today… have i been neglecting you?”

leaning down, you bury your face into his neck, grinding your soaked pussy onto his hardening cock. you hum shyly, distracting yourself by leaving wet kisses on his neck and shoulder.

he hums, your shyness making him all smug and sappy. “so that’s what it is, huh?”

you feel him harden, before he’s lifting you and dropping you down on his cock. you tense, squealing into his shoulder. languidly, he’s making you fuck down onto him, his own hips jolting up to meet you halfway.

sneakily, a hand makes it’s way down to your ass. he swats playfully before gathering slick at the point where you’re both connected. surprised, your eyes widen when you feel his finger start playing with your rim. it’s gentle, soft massaging as he’s jackhammering into you.

with your legs shaking, he doesn’t bother trying to move your hips, simply doing the work for you.

you’re gushing, liquid drooling from your pusey before you force yourself off of him, practically screaming as you squirt all over his lap. nanami groans, pulling you back down onto him to chase his release.

“oh my god—oh, fuuucckk!!” nails digging into his skin, your eyes roll back from the onslaught of pleasure. “‘s shoo gooood!”

he chuckles in your ear, but it gets cut off with a moan, flooding your cunt with his seed. kissing your tear-soaked cheeks, he smiles against your skin. “still feeling neglected, baby?”

TOJI ♡ one round and he’s hooonkkk mimimi… but he’s fucks nawwstyyy. like. he fucks you so good one round has you nearly passed out and quivering—drool and tears all over the pillow and your squirt leaving a niceee puddle right underneath you.

“that’s right, doll.” he whistles lowly, watching your legs tense, knees lifting themselves off the bed as he continues to bury his fingers into your cunt, his pupils practically dilating as he continuously prods against your sweet spot.

it’s wet and sticky between your legs, pussy glistening under the cheap glow of your bedside night light.

you’re damn near in a downward dog, face smushed into the mattress as your squirt soaks the bed. toji doesn’t let up, toying with your clit as he grins, cock twitching in his boxers.

when you slump face first into the bed, you’re practically drooling as you know what’s coming next. sturdy, thickset fingers knead the globes of your ass, before you feel his heavy cock sneaking it’s way into your slit.

“look at you,” he jeers, leaky tip pressing into your cunt. “being such a sweetheart after i made you squirt a few times.”

he buries himself to the hilt and you think you’re going cross-eyed. “yeah,” he croons, hips finding rhythm and bouncing on the fat of your ass, “you just wanna cum, ain’t that right?”

“yeesshh!” you cry. this position allows him too much control. you’re flat on your stomach, barely holding yourself up from your elbows. toji bares his weight on you, practically humping you and you know, he’s about to cum.

his tip kisses your g-spot repeatedly, scarred lips leaving wet kisses on your shoulder. “‘m gonna cum, baby,” he breathes, “you’ll take it, won’t’cha?”

you nod, eyes teary, “mmhm!”

you feel his lips against your skin, grinning. “cum with me baby, c’mon. you got it.”

as if his words have magic, he thrusts a couple more times before he feels you squeeze, and he’s a goner. groaning, he has a feeling you’re squirting again while he’s shooting rope after rope inside of you. he’s dizzy, practically blacking out after he pulls out, wiping you down with his shirt that he’s mistaken for a towel.

he slumps beside you, with his eyes closed, he slings a hefty arm over your waist. you adjust as he pulls you closer, lips brushing against your scapula.

he’s snoring before you know it.

panel is from i’ve become the target of his affection ^.^

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[ctrlkenma]

AND I'MMA MAKE HER TAPOUT! ☆

✦ f!reader, post timeskip, kenma is quite the horny fella, suggestive, explicit content.

KOZUME KENMA has insane stamina.

And he doesn't seem like it. Truly, he doesn't. After all, (and not to be stereotypical), but what could you expect of a twenty-two year old who's leisure time was spent playing 'vintage' video games and streaming it for thousands to see?

You definitely didn’t expect that right after those streams ended, he’d have you bent over his gaming desk, just inches away from a small Genshin Impact figurine. You turn around, your cheeks flushing a sweet, saccharine hue of scarlet as he cups your ass from behind, his hands firm and possessive.

The air is thick with tension, sexually charged, rather, as you feel his body heat radiating against you. Every breath you take is heavy with anticipation, and the way he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, sends a shiver down your spine. You can sense his desire, raw and palpable, and it makes your heart race. You’re completely at his mercy, craving every moment as he prepares to take you right there, the thrill of being so exposed only heightening the intensity between you.

No, Kenma is not just another boyfriend of yours you've had sex with. Kenma is an absolute fucking beast - and by the time you're on your third round, covered in his opalescent seed and dripping with perspiration (you're not sure who's it is), that very fact is made abundantly clear to you.

Kenma also isn’t shy about what he wants. He’d rather have you sitting on his face, completely lost in the taste of you. As he laps at your clit, he gets more and more pussy-drunk, his moans vibrating against the slick that covers his fave deliciously. Your muffled compliments only serve to fuel the desire within him, and he’s all in, ready to make you feel every bit of pleasure he can give. It’s raw, intense, and he’s determined to have you begging for more.

You're not exactly sure why he has such superhuman capabilities when it comes to sex. Perhaps, years of pulling all-nighters has finally translated into something good - that being the rather annoying ability to never get tired whilst he pounds his pretty, flushed tip into you, getting the angle just right, hitting you right where you want him.

No, actually. He hits it right where you need him. Because sex with Kenma has translated from something that started off with a few kisses into a ritual you're quite certain you can't live without.

You’d lose yourself in the heat of three rounds—four if the mood struck just right. Kenma would pause, a playful glint in his eyes as he reached for a bottle of strawberry-flavored lubricant from his side-table. With a teasing squirt, he coated your stomach, the slick, sweet substance glistening against your skin.

His fingers danced over you, massaging the lubricant in with a tantalizing pressure that sent electric shivers through your body. Each stroke was a delicious tease, trailing dangerously low, igniting a primal hunger within you. The air thickened with the scent of strawberries and coitus, as his touch turned your skin into a playground of pleasure, leaving you breathless and craving more.

The bottle spits its last, the slick gone, but you don’t stop - not until your body’s shaking, breath stuttering, chasing that high like it's the only thing that’s ever truly undone you. You’re soaked in heat, legs weak, stars bursting behind your eyes. And just when you're about to tapout, that voice cuts through - deep, filthy, smug - dragging out the words that ruin you - but make you crave it all over again.

"Just one more round, baby?"

[loveanddeepyearning]

The Lads Boys' Favorite Positions

A look into my thoughts on how each LI likes to get freaky with you 😝 3.4k words. ~ 600 words per LI (got a little carried away on some). Afab reader, 18+ MDNI, Sexually mature content under the cut. Filthy, but loving <3

Xavier: 

Doggy, Face Sitting 

Man loves backshots, we know. This way he can stare at your gorgeous back while he holds you down and absolutely rails you. He's very dominant and needs you beneath him, this position satisfies that urge to pin you down and claim you in the primal way he desires. Oh and not just in the bed, he's shoving you against windows, on the couch, pretty much anywhere he can take you. Xavier is possessive and if there is a miniscule chance someone might see, he's taking it (and you) with the curtains open.

I will add, the guy is a munch heh. He's dropping down like a man possessed, with your ass still in the air and your legs shaking, just for a taste. Then laying down so he can pull you onto his face and devour you. Once he starts he won't leave you alone until you're begging him to stop.

Wet sounds of his cock driving deep into your folds echo throughout the entire apartment, your desperate moans muffled by the throw pillows on the sofa. Xavier’s large, calloused hands hold your hips in a deep and punishing arch, yanking you back to meet each harsh thrust. The way he so easily cages your smaller form beneath him rips a groan from low in his throat, your complete submission spurring him to practically pound you into the cushions. In this position he drinks in the sight of your bare form, gorgeous back on full display and pretty pussy taking his cock so well, he loses himself in how wet you are, how perfect it feels to show you who owns that cunt of yours. “You like that, baby?” Wanton moans of his name and the addictive way your pussy clenches around his swollen and sensitive cock has him angling your pelvis to take him deeper. Walls fluttering and squeezing so perfectly, you fall apart with a cry, milking his dick as he finally cums deep inside your folds.

With a whine you attempt to squeeze your thighs shut, it’s all too much as overstimulation washes over your center in waves and you squirm against Xavier’s bruising grip on your hips. “No, no, no. Don’t run away, angel.” Growling, he practically chases you, holding you steady as he repeatedly stuffs you full of his sensitive length. Finally satiated after fucking his release further into your pulsing entrance, he slowly pulls back, eyes fixated on the way his pearly white essence drips from your gaping cunt. Your soft cries and whimpers of his name fade away as he gawks at the mixture of fluids pooling by your pretty little clit, the urge to taste cutting through every logical thought. Hands flying to the pillows, you hold on for dear life as slender fingers spread through your swollen and abused folds, aiding the cum dripping down your thighs. Crying out, you can’t help but rock your hips back when you feel his tongue circle your tender clit, heady moans of your name vibrating against your swollen pussy. 

“Xavi, I can’t take any more.” Tears pool in your eyes, pleasure slowly overtaking the sensitivity as he lays beneath your grinding hips. Pressing your center to his lips, he groans at the taste, lapping at your dripping entrance like a starved man. 

Sucking and nipping at your clit, he uses his tongue to claim the last of the cum he stuffed inside your intoxicating walls, moaning at the sweetness of your combined releases. “One more, angel. Right now I need you to cum on my tongue.”      

Zayne: 

Spooning, Missionary 

He likes the classics. Missionary is simple and intimate but provides great eye contact. In this position he has a wonderful view of you beneath him, and he will worship you like the goddess you are. Plus I will die on the hill that he is the best with his fingers (surgeon) and this allows him access to between your thighs. The man loves to kiss, and this way he can lay on (in) you with his fingers in your hair and kiss you until you're both gasping for breath.

Spooning also allows for him to pull on your hair to guide your lips to his, (and easy access for fingers lolol). Plus he's a shy boy and sometimes he can't do eye contact. With your back to his chest, he would whisper soft praises in his raspy morning voice, all but whimpering in your ear. And he's so strong, you don't have to worry about a thing, he's positioning you with ease, his muscles aren't just for show.

Warm, steady fingers hook in the hem of your panties, large palms slowly running down the length of your thighs as he frees your aching cunt. Grasping a leg in his strong hold, he gently spreads you, hooking your calf over his hip to keep you exposed to his ministrations. You can’t help the way your back arches into his chest, soft moans escaping your lips as you squirm on your side, his fingertips ghosting over your entrance to assess the wetness of your needy center. Middle finger sliding up the length of your slit, he rubs at your inner walls as you whimper and whine beautifully for him, hips grinding back into his erect morning wood. 

“Zayne, please.” 

A raspy chuckle tickles your ear and soft lips pepper kisses to your exposed neck, fingers gathering your slick to rub circles on your swollen clit. “Patience, My Love. Let me take care of you.” You love the lewd praises and promises he whispers in your ear, a striking contrast to his usually cold and aloof demeanor. Sliding that middle finger into your tight cunt, he groans at the way you practically milk his digit, almost unwilling to let him go once he presses past your heavenly entrance. “So fucking tight. I don’t want to hurt you, so let me stretch this pretty pussy open for you.” 

Grinding your hips into his palm, you lose yourself in his touch, years of schooling and occupational training have honed his skills with those fingers, and you melt into his steady hands as he works you open with care. “Brilliant. Gorgeous. Powerful.” Gentle praises hum against the shell of your ear, whispered against the quiet morning air as if he was afraid to shatter the intimate atmosphere. With a gasp, you squirm and his index finger easily joins his middle, your cunt practically dripping as you greedily suck him in. “Just a little more, baby. You can take another, right?”

God, you are so needy, your clit practically throbbing with the rapid pound of your heart, and you squirm in his hold, needing him to give in and finally fuck you. “Yes, yes. Please Zayne, I need you so bad.” Practically sobbing at this point, you cry out as his ring finger joins the others, your pussy clenching tightly at the intrusion. Chuckling quietly, he nips at your ear, his ego swelling with each needy whine and beg for him to put it in, his cock pulsing against the soft fabric of his boxers.

He knew you were close from the way you squeezed him, hips practically riding his fingers as you chased that high, so drunk on the pleasure your eyelids flutter shut. Tangling the fingers of his other hand in your hair, he turns your head to connect your lips in a passionate, claiming kiss. “Mmmh Zayne, I’m gonna-” 

Approaching the high you so desperately crave, his soaked fingers slip from your cunt, soothing your momentary whines while freeing his swollen cock to sheathe himself in your sensitive walls. The sudden intrusion has you gripping the sheets and writhing, a dizzying orgasm erupting as his thick girth rubs you so right, it has you seeing stars. Whining, you grind back against him, so lost in the feel of him filling you so perfectly, you almost miss the hitch in his breath, the needy whimpers as his hips set a desperate pace. Overstimulation quickly takes over, your spent body writhing in his hold as he continues to pound your abused pussy, praises falling from his lips as he begs you to let him fuck you a little longer. As the sensitivity gives way to pleasure, you lose yourself in his cries of your name and the way he pumps you full of his hot cum, praising his “good girl” for just how well you take him every single time.    

Rafayel:

Reverse cowgirl, In front of a mirror 

Listen: he likes to watch and make you watch when you get freaky. He is an artist, and watching the way your bodies connect and the lewd way they move together really drives him crazy. Sitting on the floor with your back against his chest, he would bounce you on his lap while forcing you to look, his fingers holding your chin, whispering absolutely filthy praises in your ear.

You're his one and only muse, and the only one he'd whimper and moan so shamelessly for, his composure slipping after watching you for so long. His ears are bright red and his cheeks are such a pretty pink, Raf always flushes so beautifully for you. (Also, fingering you in front of a mirror AHHHHH). I also will say that he is a mermaid and his stroke game must be god tier (hehe).  

Vulgar squelches echo in the bedroom, your thighs struggling to keep a steady pace after what feels like hours of desperate grinding. “Eyes forward, baby girl.” A gentle, yet firm pressure on your jaw brings your eyes back to the obscene reflection of your swollen and sensitive cunt squeezing his cock so deliciously. Wetness slips from your poor hole, a mixture of your arousal, and who knew how many rounds of cum he had so generously filled you with. Greedy digits slide through the slick, his fingers brushing through your folds to thoroughly lubricate your thrumming clit. 

“See how deep I am?” As if transfixed, you watch his cock slide deeper, your pussy stretching to accommodate the length. Oh. You watch the way he fills your pulsing walls, splitting you open with the meeting of your hips before slowly sliding out and thrusting until he fills you once more. 

With your back to his chest, his free hand pinches your nipple to coax out those pretty whimpers he desperately craves, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the sensitive nub in soothing circles. Eyes flickering up, your body runs hot, flushing under the heat of his gaze as he watches the way you clench around him, walls squeezing him so tight with oversensitivity. 

“Feels so good, Raf.” Moaning, you bounce down on his cock, noting the deep flush dusting his cheeks and ears that appeared when he lost himself in the pleasure like this. 

“Hng, you take my cock so well, cutie. Keep bouncing on it, just like that.” Guiding your hips, his lips ghost over your neck, nose teasing the hammering pulse point before his teeth nip at your jaw. Digging your knees into the pillows he provided for comfort, you mustered the last of your strength to take him deeper, grinding his cock against your walls in all the right spots. “O-Oh, please don’t stop.” 

Riding him faster, he twitches inside of you, his moans growing breathy and higher in pitch as he nips at your earlobe. “Please let me cum inside. Fuck, cutie, I need to cum in your pretty pussy again. Please, hnng.” 

Reaching behind your head, you tug on his violet locks, bringing his pussy drunk gaze to meet your own in the full-length mirror. Irises dark, he devours you with a predatory hunger, his pupils blown wide with lust. He’s gorgeous, all fucked out and desperate like this, and he’s all yours. “Need you to cum in me Raf, please baby.” 

With a whiny moan, his large palms grasp your hips, slamming into you until he chants your name like a prayer, holding you tight as he cums so hard he’s shaking against your back. Rubbing your clit just right, he works you through the throes of pleasure, ensuring you watch as he licks up your release from his dripping fingers. 

Sylus: 

Cowgirl, Mating Press 

He craves eye contact and the intimacy that comes with it, so his favorite positions are ones where he can stare into your eyes. Sylus is nothing, if not a lover boy, and he needs to watch every flicker of emotion in your eyes as he takes you to cloud nine. Cowgirl lets you control your own pleasure, which he loves, there's just something about watching you use him and take care of him that gets him off.

Ofc mating press is just intimate and deep. Plus he loves that he is so biG and can easily manhandle you into the position. Sylus is also a biter and this way he has easy access to your neck, chest, anywhere really. He's holding your legs over his shoulders with one hand, whimpering praises of how good you feel and how perfect you are as he stares deep into your eyes. He's so pathetically in love. 

Throwing your head back, your eyes slip closed from the sheer pleasure, his cock repeatedly bullying that spot that has you seeing stars. Moaning out his name, you arch your back and he slides deeper, the head of his cock poking at your cervix with each thrust and your nails dig into his shoulders for purchase. Gentle fingers cradle your face before slipping to the back of your head to direct your gaze to his own. “Look at me, Sweetie. I need to see your eyes.” 

Something warm and longing pools in his red stare, raking over your quivering form to capture your gaze. Gripping your thighs, he slowly, yet purposefully folds your much smaller form, resting your legs over his shoulder to somehow slide even deeper into your welcoming cunt. Capturing your lips in a searing kiss, he pulls back to brush the messy strands of hair from your eyes, his forehead pressing to your temple to watch the flecks of color swirl in your eyes as he slowly thrusts deep inside your fluttering walls. “S-Sylus.” You try to throw your head back again and close your eyes, but he holds firm, caging you under his rippling muscles to keep your cockdrunk gaze on his own. 

“Fuck, baby. You're taking me so well. So perfect.” Looking down briefly, his breath catches as he watches how easily he slides into your dripping folds, his length glistening with your juices each time he pulls back to prepare for the next thrust. Fingers meeting your throbbing clit, he rubs in tight, firm circles and you cry out in utter ecstasy, eyes clouding with overwhelming love and desire. Losing himself in the rush of passion, he quickly dips his head to your neck, teeth sinking into the dampened skin at the curve of your shoulder, the soft flesh beneath your ear, anywhere his greedy canines find purchase.

With each heave of your chest and flicker of emotion in your gaze, he holds your legs firm over his shoulder and drives further into your soaked cunt, his release approaching faster than anticipated. No matter how hard he tries to hold himself back, to worship your perfect body and give you the pleasure you deserve, your pretty pussy clenches just right and he finds himself nearing a mind- numbing release. A low groan falls from his lips, pressing closer to push himself deeper, his eyes so full of love that you can’t help but blush. “Just like that, kitten. Cum for me, pretty girl.” With a final circle of his fingers, you fall apart on his cock, squeezing him so right, he follows suit. Thrusting each spurt of his warm and claiming cum into your perfect center, he lustfully watches the way your eyes darken with release, eyelashes fluttering in a struggle to keep your eyes open, to keep them trained on him just the way he likes it. Endless praises fall from his honeyed tongue, after all, how could they not when you’re always so perfect for him?

Caleb: 

Full Nelson, Against the wall or counter, Headlock

Essentially he loves any position that allows him to utilize his strength on you. That way he can pin you down (maybe in a headlock...heh) and ravage you while moaning nasty little things into your ear. Those gorgeous biceps are so pretty and solid when they flex, picking you up to support you against the counter or wall. And even if they weren't capable of pinning you against every surface in the house, his evol has you covered. 

Anywhere he takes you, he's almost forcing you to make eye contact, whimpering and groaning kinda pathetically. If you were to tease him and withhold your touch, he might even cry, whining and begging for you like he's desperate (he is). He can't help it, he's fantasized about your touch for over a decade, and the real thing is better than anything he's ever dreamed of (king of yearning). 

Fingers digging into his shoulders, your breasts press against his solid chest, back arching further with each plap of his hips against your own. A warm palm cradles the back of your neck, protecting your head from each harsh thrust against the living room wall. Digging your back into the cool sheetrock, you rut against his solid cock, imitating the motion of his hips to draw him even deeper inside you. Brow furrowing with a needy whine, he watches the way you swallow his entire length each time, sucking him so far into the intimate massage of your dripping walls, he isn’t sure he can last much longer. 

Caleb is a vision like this, his honeyed skin so smooth to the touch, every muscle defined and rippling in the soft light that kissed his beautiful features. What you love the most, however, are the gorgeous biceps caging you between the solid lines of his body and the harsh wall of his apartment in Skyhaven, so thick and firm, and wrapped completely around your burning form. Fuck, you needed this. 

“Tell me you love it when I fuck you like this.” Violet irises capture your own, pupils wide with love and lust, his grip on the back of your head tightening to prevent your gaze from wandering. 

Tugging on the dark brown locks at the nape of his neck, you moan loudly at a particularly deep thrust. Having known him so long, you deduct the hidden meaning from his lustful words, his desperation for reassurance that you need him just as badly as he needs you. “Caleb,” Whimpering his name, you grip at his arms and unconsciously dig your nails into the muscular flesh, “love this, love you. Your cock feels so good, mmph.” 

Squealing, your hands wind around his neck as he carries you to the couch, continuing to bounce you on his dick with each step. Supporting you with his arms alone, he drives deep into your pussy, a large hand holding your ass while the other wraps around your waist to hold you secure. Greedily nipping at your lips, he seats himself on the cushions, effortlessly manhandling you into a position that promises to further stretch your pretty pussy on his large cock. With your back against his front, he forces your knees to your chest, holding your thighs to your breasts with a large hand as he sheathes himself once again in your abused and swollen walls. Setting a bruising pace against your poor cervix, his fingers wind up your body, a pretty bicep caging you against his heaving chest in a headlock. The way he bounces you on his lap, so pliant against his large form makes you clench uncontrollably, the forearm against your throat forcing your gaze to his own. Desperate whimpers and whines fill your ears, his thrusts growing harsher and more erratic as he nears his release, those eyes watching every single reaction, praising you lewdly as he feels you near your own end. “Cum with me, pip-squeak. Need you to cum on my cock.” 

With a shuddering gasp, you fall apart, hard, milking his cock while he bites his lip against a pathetic moan and cums inside you. Throwing your head back, you can’t stop your eyelids from slipping closed, too blissed out for the intimate eye contact he often begged you for. A harsh slap to your clit makes you yelp his name, eyes shooting open to catch his darkening gaze, eyebrow twitching with annoyance that you withheld your gorgeous gaze as you came. “That’s better. I’ll just have to make you cum again.”       

thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are very appreciated!!

[sp0o0kylights]

Sometimes I think of a Steve Harrington that is absolutely exhausted by all the horror and bullshit and trying to keep the kids alive through said horror and bullshit, who watches Eddie rock up to him at the beginning of S4 with a dead eyed, flat stare.

"Steeeeve Harrington." Eddie taunts and peacocks and twirls around him, and all Steve wanted was for a couple months to process the trauma, maybe feel safe enough to start thinking about the future instead of stuck in a never ending anxiety loop of what might happen to Dumbass Near-Deatherson, should Steve go to college or move out of Hawkins (bc all the bad nicknames in the world won't erase the fact that Dustin's family, now. They're all family. And when they need help, they go to Steve.) and now he's suffering the unjust ordeal of being haunted by the high school drug dealer.

"His highness has come down from his castle!" Munson will crow, making a show out of Steve picking up the kids like this is a great battle of wits, a scoreboard between them and not like Steve is half dead on his feet, head aching, dreams full of too many teeth. "Quickly hide behind me, he'll try to cut off your heads!"

"Wouldn't he just cut yours off too?" Lucas asked, though the tone was slightly timid, Sinclair unsure if his joke would be well recieved.

(Steve doesn't care if the kid outright insults him. He still recalls the junkyard, the fight with Billy, the blood staining the kid's headband. Lucas lived, therefore, he can be a shit if wants.)

"Mine? Oh, the King wouldn't dare." Munson tosses his head, full of cartoon energy, too big for his body and grin both. "Many have tried you see, but no one had ever succeeded!"

Steve, equally, does not give a single shit that Eddie Munson has decided to play these games with him--until he realizes he's maybe been a little too exhausted and depressed and morose around the kids.

Watches them getting worried over him, whispering urgently and making dramatic gestures and talking to Robin and suddenly, playing a little tug of war over them the way Munson seems to want feels like a good idea. A way to hide all the rough edges, a way to be fine so they can be fine.

"How about you guys skip the dork brigade tonight," Steve taunts back the next time they're all together, standing like the man he used to be, wearing a dead personality. "And we go do something actually fun instead?"

Eddie laughs, lights up, is all too happy to match him tit for tat, and it's so easy to fake this kind of interaction, rolling his eyes and snapping his gum. Steve could match this energy in his sleep, and never once does Munson catch on that Steve's not doing this for him.

That he's not even looking at him half the time, eyes askew, locked on the kids. Seeing them relax as he banters, seeing Dustin glow as he returns to his favorite position, being the center of attention.

So long as they think he's okay, Steve will be okay. If that means putting up with Munson, then so be it.

Its not like he'll catch on.

Eddie doesnt.

(Or rather, he does--but Its months and several deaths later, when they're in the RV, chasing what feels like literal demons, does it dawn on Eddie what Steve is doing.

Has been doing, the whole time.

Steve, sassy, ridiculous, jock- brained Steve makes the mistake of doing it again, using the same trick he had on the kids to convince them he was fine on Eddie. To further convince Eddie that they were fine as a group.

That they'll survive, they'll figure it out, they'll make it.

Loudly bantering with dead eyes, smiling with a mouth robotically locked in. Jokes on jokes on jokes and all of them making the kids take their minds off VecnaHenryOne to screech ineffectively at their babysitter. Winks tossed to the girls, who both roll their eyed at him. A sly look given to Eddie, to include him.

Its then, that Eddie decides to cement his life with Steve's. Because this loyal bastard of a paladin is too good hearted to die, too protective to not try it anyway. The idiot is cutting himself to ribbons to tie them all together and Eddie can't undo the damage but he can grab all the pieces he can, loop them together.

He can make those dead eyes light up again.

And he does.

This time when things are over Steve finds himself unable to pull those little tricks of his. Every time he slides the mask over his face Eddie rips it right back off again.

They fight, a lot, until they start kissing instead and for a while that also, somehow, feels like fighting but Eddie's real good at this. The emotional part, not so much the kissing, but he knows how to draw Steve out. How to break down walls, and annoying his real personality out.

The kissing was just an odd little side benefit.

A thing they don't talk about.

There's a benefit to it, one he doesn't look very hard into, until strangely, one day, Eddie wakes with Steve's head pillowed on his shoulder and comes to the abrupt conclusion that he's screwed.

Or so he thinks--until bright, loving eyes blink awake, and turn on him, and Eddie realizes just how long it's been since they looked dead.

He wonders, vaguely, how long it'll take for Steve to catch on, that this just got serious.

Will laugh at himself when he learns that Steve already knew.

Guess that's what he gets for finally paying attention.)