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not-neverland06 · 1 month

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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.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

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

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

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lymtw · 3 months

Text

It's three in the morning and the sound of your phone vibrating against the bed wakes you from your peaceful slumber. You lazily reach for the blinding light next to you, instantly knowing who's on the other end when you see the blue diamond emoji.

"Hello..."

You were very much asleep, the raspiness in your voice making it that much more evident.

"Hey, sorry to wake you. Are you okay to talk for a bit?"

Satoru sounds like he's wide awake.

"Don't worry about it. What's up?"

You roll onto your side, your phone between your ear and your pillow. If you close your eyes for more than three seconds, you'll fall asleep again.

There's a slight pause between your response and his. Maybe the signal is bad or he didn't hear you.

"Is everything alright, Satoru?"

"I can't sleep."

He responds quickly this time. His tone didn't change. He didn't sound like he was in distress or too worried about the fact.

"Oh. Uh... have you tried drinking some chamomile tea? I personally don't like it, but when I need to rest, I suck it up and force myself to drink a cup."

He chuckles on the line. You always do what is best for you, even if it's not something you particularly enjoy.

"I think i'm just missing you a lot. Can I come over?"

It was strange to think he hadn't tried a tea remedy for his inability to sleep, but who were you to tell him that? Sleep deprivation does things to people.

"Right now? It's a little late, don't you think?"

You blink slowly, trying to adjust your blurry vision in the dark.

"I promise I won't fall asleep behind the wheel. I really want to see you. Please say yes."

You shut your eyes tightly and open them, your vision clearing up a little. When have you ever said 'no' to him? He always manages to change your mind when you do.

You sigh.

"Okay. You have the spare key to my apartment. I'm going back to sleep."

"I'll be there in like fifteen minutes. Love you, bye!"

You can hear the joy in his tone. He was genuinely so uncomfortable being alone with himself, that he had to wake you up so late at night to invade your space.

–

You knocked out again, once you hung up the phone. You were in such deep sleep that you didn't even notice when Satoru got to your apartment, or when he entered your room.

You did feel the bed weigh down when he laid down next to you, and your nose couldn't ignore his sweet, sweet scent.

"Baby," he whispered. "I'm here."

"Okay, now go to sleep," you mumble, your eyes still closed.

"Come here." He effortlessly turns you over and pulls you close, lifting your leg over his hip. His hand went up to your face, caressing your delicate, peaceful features before scattering kisses all over it, making sure to elongate the duration of the ones he leaves on your lips.

"Baby," he coos. "Come on, kiss me back."

He's like a dog—constantly begging for your attention. The thought makes you crack a smile, one Satoru does not miss.

"I know you're awake." He smiles, putting your leg back in place, before rolling over until he's on top you.

"Fucking hell, 'toru," you break, cracking up at how he had no remorse after crushing your body.

"There's my pretty baby. I'm so glad you're awake now."

"It's your fault," you grumble.

"If wanting to love you is a crime, then throw me in the slammer and toss the key." His nose dove into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. "You're just so pretty, and you're all mine."

His affection was starting to evolve into more than lovey dovey kisses. His lips stung every time they met your delicate neck. His hands were roaming beneath your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He loved the way your breathing quickened. It had him chasing more of the reactions associated with the hummed melodies.

"You are mine, right?" He knows the answer, but hearing you say it from time to time always makes him happy. His icy blue eyes can read your response before you even form it. He loves flustering you with eye contact tied with touches that burned with desire. To top it all off, he loves teasing you to see the way you scramble your response. "It's okay if you're not." He smirks, catching the way your eyes widened the slightest bit. "That's subject to change, isn't it?" He eggs on.

"I'm yours, Satoru. I belong to you," you say, making it crystal clear to him. "All yours." With this, he wouldn't doubt it again until the next time he wasn't with you.

"Yeah? You know, I would've done anything to hear those words from you." He leans down to kiss you, a spike of arousal hitting him when you bit his lip and sucked on it.

"Oh... you can't do that. I will put a baby in you." He has never said anything so seriously.

"I dare you to put a baby in me," you say, teasingly. You know he won't do it. He's not ready to share you yet.

"Keep acting like that and I will."

His lips ghost the column of your neck, trailing down your chest and lower to your abdomen. Your oversized gown of a t-shirt was the only thing standing between your body and his eyes. He pulled it up and off with a little help from you, tossing it aside after.

You were a little nervous about what was running through Satoru's head. He was devouring you with just his eyes and already you felt so flustered.

"God, don't ogle me like that, 'toru." You put your hands over your breasts—a makeshift bra to cover what he was staring at.

"Let me see you, baby," he pries, gently. He puts his hands on yours, not pulling them away as to not make you do anything you don't want to do. You end up moving your hands on your own, but turn away, unable to hold his gaze when he's watching you that way.

He cups your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, instantly making them pebble. He could feel the way you tried to press your thighs together, your relief disturbed by his body wedged between your legs. You tried your hardest to remain composed, but his fingers wouldn't let up. His eyes were glued to your face, watching intently until you let out a shaky breath.

"Mhm..." he hummed, grinning at your bashful attempt to stay quiet. "I know this is driving you crazy."

"Shut... up."

"If it isn't, why can I feel you rubbing up against my stomach."

You stop and your cunt throbs at the suddenness of it.

"Just let it out and we can move on. Let me hear that pretty little ah-"

"Fuck," you whimper, interrupting his instructive moan. Your back arches slightly off the mattress, your hands flying to grip his wrists, tightly.

"Good girl," he praises, his fingers letting off your tortured peaks. Little butterfly kisses are placed between your breasts, trailing down to your stomach, where he spends so much time eliciting giggles from you.

His fingers hook around the elastic band of your shorts and panties, pulling them both down in one swoop.

"I didn't know kissing turned you on so much," he says, eyeing the glossy remnants left in your underwear.

"'toru..." you whine, feeling somewhat embarrassed about the amount of arousal you feel at the simplest touches from him.

"What? I'm not complaining one bit. It's cute."

He slides two fingers between your folds, easily collecting your sweetness. You jolt at the sudden contact, looking at him with doe eyes.

"Oh, baby. I don't deprive you of my touch that much, do I?"

You shake your head as he continues to collect your nectar, his fingers dipping in slightly to fully coat his fingertips.

"My sensitive princess." He smiles, softly. "How many times do you wanna cum?"

He never asks you this, always just giving you everything he can give or what you can take. You go for a small number, not wanting to seem excessively needy.

"Maybe two times? Please?" Your voice sounds meek. Like you're asking him for the impossible.

Satoru just chuckles. "How 'bout we triple that number?"

–

"S-Satoru—fuck— just like that, like that!" Your head pushes back against the pillow, your hands beside your head, scrunching up the sheets.

This was the fourth orgasm. There was cum spotted over your inner thighs and sweat layered over both your bodies. He had driven you to insanity like he planned.

"More, baby?" He grunts, thrusting with his continuous pace.

"Please," you cry out, fresh tears welling in your eyes again.

Satoru loved watching the tears stream down your face because he got to lean down and kiss them away. He takes the opportunity to praise you— to tell you how good you're being for him.

Your back arched and you braced yourself for the intensity of your next orgasm. Satoru swallowed your moans, kissing you fervently through his own rush. His breathing stuttered when he felt your nails clawing at his back, and once again his cum spurted into you. His breathing was heavy through the nose due to his insistence of kissing you until he you patted him for air.

"Fuck," you muttered. You let out an out of breath laugh, your chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to even out your breathing.

"That's five, baby." He exhales sharply, leaning back and running a hand through his dampened locks. You look at him with twinkling eyes, a smirk being thrown in your direction from your admiration.

"Come here," you say, outstretching your arms towards him. Satoru immediately fills the vacancy, sighing when you rake your nails against the nape of his neck. "Want you to take your time with this last one."

He takes that as a green light to start up again. He guides his cock into you again, savoring the hum that leaves you when he stuffs you again and begins his slow rhythm.

"'toru?" Your voice sounded sultry to his ears.

"Hm?"

"This won't happen again. I hope you know that." You're trying your hardest not laugh or make any sounds that take from the meaning of what you're saying.

He had to raise his head to meet your gaze. Something in the way he looked at you made you believe that this would definitely happen again.

"I hope it does. I love having you under me."

"It's inconvenient. It's so late, 'toru. Why can't we fuck when i'm not trying to sleep? Like in the daytime, or earlier in the night?"

His lips trace your jawline, and you just know he's going for your neck. Satoru lives for pointing out the marks he left on you, the day after.

"Simple," he hums. "I want you to myself." His hips continue to rock into you at the same languid pace. "At night, nobody is gonna take you from me. You won't be distracted and I get all your attention to myself." He kisses your neck. "You're all mine at night. Nobody expects you to be awake."

You gasp when he hits a spot that aches deliciously.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," he murmurs into your neck. You can feel the way his back ripples as he instinctively picks up the pace. He was overwhelming, thrusting deeper and deeper like he was trying to consume you. What was supposed to be a slow drive towards your final orgasm of the night, turned into him unapologetically using his stamina to lure everything he could out of you. He was almost too much with the way his mouth was ruthless towards your neck and the bruising grip he kept on your hips. You were rendered the smallest thing for him.

"Satoru," you moaned, mindlessly grabbing onto his shoulder blades.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." He kisses you, tenderly, heavily contrasting the savage speed of thrusts.

You whimpered into the lip lock. Your heels dug into the mattress and your toes curled from the intensity of the pleasure you felt. Your breathing became heavier but Satoru refused to unlink his lips from yours. He couldn't when the sounds you made tasted like heaven on his tongue. His own sounds mingled with yours, a harmony that let you know that you weren't the only one feeling good. He was rutting into you, a telltale sign that he was about to cum.

"Mmm..." he hums, before unlatching his lips from yours. He panted as he watched you unravel beneath him, the smallest pinch between your brows as you gushed on him again. The way your walls spasmed around him had him following right after, another load painting your walls.

He grinned at you devilishly, the expression followed by a bright and sunny, airy chuckle. He pulls out of you, and looks down to watch your combined fluids slowly ooze out of you.

"Damn, you really tried putting a baby in me." You sigh, heavily, immediately regaining his attention. "Why do we fuck like this every time?" You rub your eyes, your sleepiness coming back around.

"I'll get one in there someday." He rubs his palm over your stomach. "And also, it's always like that because I love the face you make when you cum and you love the process of giving me that sight." His eye conveyed a seductiveness to their expression that kept you in check.

Your face goes red, warm to the touch. "Shut up." You sit up and playfully shove him.

"I get to cover you in semipermanent kisses, too." His hand comes up to the side of your neck and his fingers trace the red smudges that will darken over time. You roll your eyes, yet still put your hand over his, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

"We should shower. It's almost five in the morning." You ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way he's obviously trying to suppress a boyish grin.

"Carry me, please?"

Satoru chuckles, knowing exactly why you want him to carry you.

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ciaoteamo · 6 months

Text

Milk and Water (Pt. I)

pairings: doppelgänger!Milkman x fem!Reader

summary: One of the newest residents’ very first doppelgänger comes in, trying to sway you into to letting them in. Will you..?

pt.II

art credit (twt: loafuu_chii)

warning: 18+ content

“…what’s the story behind your um… ears(?)” You ask the doppelgänger before you. It was a clone of one of your favorite neighbors actually, her name was Maria.

A woman around your age that you became really close friends with over the few months of you working here.

“@&! !$?&” The doppelgänger let out a series of sounds.

“right, so give me one second” You press the bright red button next to the window and the steel blinds shut with a blaring alarm sound.

You call D.D.D. and they clean up their mess per usual. You once again, you were just thankful you didn’t have to work on that side of the glass.

You check your wrist watch, and happily sigh at the fact that you only had one more hour left to work.

“ mmm, someone’s eager to go home i see” A familiar voice speaks up.

“oh, Mr. Francis” You give the man a polite grin. He gave you a sly one in return. You knew it wasn’t him off the bat. Francis was usually shy towards you, making you want to tease him into blushing whenever you saw him.

Well, you suppose you could kill two birds with one stone. Flirt with the doppelgänger of your crush, and have some entertainment.

“how are you pretty girl” He asks, sliding an I.D. and sheet through the slot.

You examine the documents and identification and beam a smile up at him.

“the date on the I.D. is a little expired hun” You declare. He lets out a small chuckle and leans a little toward the glass.

“mmm, been busy with the milk business, love. must’ve slipped my mind to renew it” He replied. His eyes were low but he still held his sly grin. You leaned back in your chair, with a bored look on your face.

“you’re not like my Francis” You huff and tilt your head with a disappointed look.

His grin faltered and he stepped closer. His breathing had quickened a bit and he took off his hat. “who knows, i could be better” He suggests.

Now that his confidence had depleted a little, you were growing bored of him. You checked the time again and you had 45 minutes left.

“well i’ve gotta get you moving now. it was nice to see such a handsome face though, so thank you” You beam and reach for the button

“you don’t want to do this, trust me” He states with a warning tone. This wasn’t unusual, getting threats after realizing they’re doppelgängers, but being that this one was this aware… they must be evolving.

“and why would i trust you?” You ask out of curiosity.

“i mean look at me” He smirks, one arm leaned against the top of the window. His irises turned from their chocolate brown and into an empty pure white.

“hm” You nod and press the button.

“(Y/N)!” He roared with what you assume was his fist banging the glass.

You call D.D.D. and wait for them to clean their mess, again.

The steel blind begins to lift and you sit back in your seat, checking your watch again but noticed the new pink lighting that shone in.

You furrow your eyebrows and look up in horror as you see blood streaks on the window in thick, and dripping amounts. You jump out of your chair and put your back against the wall.

About 5 D.D.D. workers were piled up, bloody and battered in the corner of the room, and there the doppelgänger was.

Staring at you.

His eyes were low, his shirt was torn, revealing his pecs and the start of his abdomen. He was panting with his (surprisingly still) neat hair and an almost psychotic expression.

“oh no…” He starts with a laugh, still breathing heavily.

“what did you do..?” You cover your mouth with your hand.

“it’s what you did. you got me all riled up.”

He looks down for a brief moment and you swear you hear a zip. He holds his tie and the end of his tattered shirt in his mouth and looks up at you with knitted eyebrows.

His breath fogging up the window as he asks you. Looking like a poor starving puppy. “will you let me in now…? I need your help…” He slightly groaned.

“…what. the. fuck.”

#milkman #milkman x reader #francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #ciaoteamo #x reader #imagine #smut #fem dom reader #thats not my neighbor #milkman smut #milk the man

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crystalsoul16 · 1 year

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listen, I don't really go here much anymore, but seeing people still misunderstand and slander Yoosung in the year 2023 hurts my heart and I won't hesitate to jump into the ring for him (ง'̀-'́)ง

#K rambles #listen that man is my hunsband #and i will not tolerate y'all devolving him to “just like Rika”#or a child #bitch he puts his life in danger and loses sight in an eye to protect you without even SEEING YOU #HE IS HALF BLIND WHEN HE FINALLY SEES YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME #and I'd argue his route was one of the deeper and more stressful ones #honestly deserved to be one of the two big routes imo with how it played out #but nah. cousin issues are all he is.#cuz grieving over a family member he was super close to and looked up to doesn't make sense #PLUS HE WAS SMART ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY SEE HOW SUS V WAS BEING #WHEN NO ONE ELSE QUESTIONED HIM “cuz V wouldn't lie to us right?”#AND HE WAS FUCKING RIGHT #I need to stop cuz I will go on all night about this #but seriously #not gonna stand for this slander #bitches want a puppy dog boyfriend until one shows up i guess

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ch-4-eri · 1 month

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Slut — Abby Anderson.

Best friend!Abby X fem!Reader.

I need help, perhaps. Smut under the cut.

You and your best friend Abby were having a girls night of some sort, she often came by because her dorm is packed and she’d say it’s uncomfortable or whatever.

Accepting any excuse she had you’d allow her to stay over, sharing the bed with her almost every night.

You liked having her around, she was fun and your friendship was the most invasive one there is, at least in your own opinion, you both knew too much about each other.

But would never judge the other.

Especially with Abby being on top of you as you got so needy one night, her fingers pumping in and out of you, your moans echoing in the bedroom, you’d begged her to relieve the tension between your legs.

It’s always when you’re ovulating, it gets bad enough you’re humping every pillow, your fingers, but nothing was ever enough.

And as Abby came over that night, desperate for a place to sleep where it’s comfortable, you were too busy in your own head to just let this one go, her hands were perfect, you couldn’t stop looking at them as you were finally honest about your feelings, desperately wanting something to feed the hunger inside of you.

Abby fucking loved it, she’s always thought you were beautiful, sure she’s straight but it wouldn’t hurt to help a best friend out.

Her fingers deliciously massaged your g spot as you were seeing stars, your mouth hung open as moans escaped your throat without you trying to help it, it’s Abby after all. “Oh sweetheart..” Abby chuckled, allowing you to ride her fingers out, circling your needy hole with her thick fingers, your legs spread against your mattress.

Abby dragged multiple orgasms out of you that night, she refused to stop unless you wanted her to, she went all the way with your time of need, knowing you were too damn shy to go out on a date and get a guy to rearrange your guts, but allowing your girl best friend to do so.

You didn’t get enough, you still wanted so much more and Abby could never be able to say no to you, her mouth was enveloping your cunt as she ate you out, riding her face as her nose hit that one spot that had you screaming and cumming down on her tongue.

Still was not enough, Abby was surprised you could take so much. She always assumed you’d get tired from one go, but oh boy was she wrong.

You’d ride her thigh, her hands on your hips guiding you through the fifth orgasm for the night, your crying and whining was like music to her ears, surely best friends wouldn’t act this way but your friendship was else. And Abby is way too busy shoving her knee into your cunt as you rode her out once again to think about it, your moans were louder than ever.

“Jesus, bunny.. you fucking slut.” Abby mocked you, laughing into your neck breathlessly as your hips rolled once again to fuck into her thigh.

She grabbed the back of your neck to look into your eyes. “Can’t get enough huh? Makes me wish I had a dick so I can go all the way.” She mumbled, kissing the side of your neck as it turned you into a puddle of cum. “Abby..” you moaned, your cunt dragging up and down her toned thigh.

“Sit on my face huh?” Abby suggested, the thought of her tongue inside of you again was blinding and you nodded eagerly. “Yes please, oh god please.” You whined, your whimpers were turning her on so bad, she came twice just by pleasuring you.

Abby lied down on your bed, quickly crawling to sit on her face, the feeling of her nose was too good, you were a shuddering mess, finally feeling that sensitivity that would get you to stop and take a breath, but one last time, you needed this, needed her.

Her tongue was working wonders on your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your moans more strained, closing your thighs in on her head. “Fuck.. Abby..” you cried, rolling your hips to ride her face. “Fuck uh..” you moaned again as Abby flicked her tongue against your clit and it made you grab her hair and ride her face harder. Soft uh uh uh uh’s echoing in the bedroom.

Gushing all you had down Abby’s face, your cum dripping down her cheeks and her nose, as soon as you pulled away from her face Abby just laughed, mostly surprised her best friend was that much of a freak.

She knew certain stuff about you, but never like this, and getting proof? Abby was ecstatic, she’s never going to live this one down.

You finally caught your breath and looked at her next to you, she was wiping her face with her hands, licking what’s left off her lips. “Stop laughing.” You warned, closing your legs as the amount of friction was catching up in no time.

“My goodness you’re a freak!” Abby laughed some more, copying the way you were moaning as you smacked her arm. “Stop!”

“Who fucking knew! Bunny, I never imagined you’re that loud.” Abby laughed some more, standing up, fixing her trousers, she was definitely affected by this but oh how she loves teasing you, now she has a better reason.

You sat up on your elbow and huffed. “I was pent up okay?” You said defensively. “For a year?” Abby jokes, letting out another hearty laugh.

“Oh fuck you.” You say and smack her with a pillow, her face a little shiny from your cum, the reality of what just happened was making you a bit shy but again it was Abby, so much history and stuff worse than cumming on her face occurring.

She helped you clean up as you both laughed at what just happened, your friendship is indeed else.

#abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n

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shotmrmiller · 7 months

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retired pornstar ghost has always been a talker. his voice is deep— a low rumble like distant thunder. always gets anyone that's under him going.

his voice to his own ears sounds plain, like any other man, really; he doesn't see the appeal. but what he does find appealing are the noises that come from you, his cute co-star when he talks to you, lips dripping with honey.

ghost loves when you clamp down on his cock, squeezing him like a vice when his wicked words sink into your ears. "tight bloody cunt would drive any man wild, love. how lucky i am that it's me getting to fuck you."

"look at you under me," he stills the bucking of your hips with one hand, skin dimpling where his fingers dig into you, "at my mercy, taking my desire."

"doing so well," he coos.

ghost lets out a sharp exhale through his teeth when your walls begin to flutter around him. "so quick to come, and i haven't even touched," he moves his hand down to your mons, thumb finding your swollen pearl, "here."

the circles he draws there are tight, precise, destructive. he brutally wrenches your orgasm from you, and in your blinding ecstasy, you dig your nails into the side of his proportionately wider waist.

his hips undulate as he fucks you through it while still fucking talking.

"kitty's got claws, doesn't she? i love a little—" but the words that were on his tongue crumbled into ash. you'd dragged your nails on his skin in mild annoyance, because how dare he sound so untaxed even though you're still twitching from the aftershocks under him—

the silence spoke volumes; he'd even stopped moving. you did it again, and this time he had whimpered— a pathetic little noise that came from the back of his throat.

delicious.

you wonder. this time, your nails score red lines down the front of his chest, grazing a little too close to his nipple and he groaned. loud.

delectable, like thick, molten chocolate.

now it's your turn to do the talking. "the mighty ghost, rendered speechless. have i performed a miracle?"

peering down at you, his eyes hold a deeper shade than usual. you continue to claw at him, this time targeting his unmistakably sensitive nipple. the sight of his eyes rolling back in sheer bliss ignites a fire within you.

"my, oh my," the smug grin on your face perfectly matches your tone. "tell me what you need, ghost. you need me to mark you up? want to see me on you come morning?"

his growl is animalistic, a shiver licks up your spine. he quickly bends you in half, feet dangling helplessly on his brawny shoulders.

"bite."

it's easy to follow his edict when he hits so deeply in this angle that the pain and pleasure blur into one overwhelming sensation. your teeth sink into the thick meat of his barrel chest, and he abruptly stills, a guttural snarl escaping his lips.

he doesn't speak a word until after; when his seed drips from your glistening slit and sweat-slick skin begins to cool down.

"fuckin' hell, love."

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #ghost call of duty

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hihomeghere · 7 months

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Fakin' it | Arthur Morgan/Reader

Word Count : 3k Summary : After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? Warnings/Tags : Enemies to lovers <3, unprotected piv sex, guns, cursing, reader has female gentailia, fingering, one bed, fake marriage

Of course the job that went bad had to be with Arthur. Why Dutch had put you two together was beyond you. Everyone around the gang knew that it was volatile anytime you two were together. But, you were cunning, quick minded in a pinch. Arthur was strong, easily able to take down a man twice his size, not that someone of that caliber came along often. To put it simply, you were the brains, he was the brawn. As much as you hated to admit, you made a good team on jobs. This time however, a simple robbery had turned into dozens of O’driscolls around every corner. You two had barely made it into a hotel unscathed.

“One room.” Arthur said, setting down some coins on the table top as you watched the door. Your hand resting against your gun in your dress pocket.

“Name?” The man asked with a smile.

“Callahan.” Arthur said looking back at you. “Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.” He said, turning back to the clerk. You heard footsteps outside of the hotel, you turned quickly grabbing Arthur’s arm.

“Sweetheart.” You cooed, internally cringing as you called him by that name. You looked at him with wide eyes, “Come on.” You said with a nervous smile.

“We’re newlyweds, a bit excited if you can’t tell.” He chuckled, turning back to the clerk, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Of course.” The clerk said with a knowing smile, you wanted to barf as Arthur squeezed your waist. “Up the stairs to the left.” He said, handing Arthur a key.

“Much appreciated.” Arthur said his hand on the small of your back as you two climbed the stairs. As soon as you turned the corner you nearly ran to the door, Arthur slid the key in the lock and turned it, ushering you inside. As soon as the door was closed behind you, he was locking it just as fast.

Once you got in the room you moved away from Arthur’s side, letting out a sigh as you looked around the room. One bed, of course, you two were acting as a couple.

“Mr. and Mrs. Callahan, really?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to look at Arthur.

“Less eyes on us if we’re a couple, not cause I wanna play house with you.” He said with a grunt, barely raising his head to look at you. He walked over to the bed, moving to take his boots off.

“Less eyes.” You scoffed, looking around the room, walking over to the window. You pulled the blinds back, peeking out to the streets below.

“The hell you think you're doing?” Arthur hissed, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Looking.” You said glaring up at him. “Is that a crime?”

“Do you want to give away our position?” He growled, his eyes dark.

“I think it’s pretty damn clear we’re in one of these shops, now we have to wait it out until they’re gone.” You said pulling away your arm from his grasp. He let out a deep breath, his jaw clenched as he looked away from you.

“How many are out there?” He asked, holding his hat as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know, maybe a dozen?” You said crossing your arms.

“Dutch said to keep a low profile,” He muttered to himself, “We can’t go out there guns blazing.” He said, setting his hat down on the bedside table.

“That’s obvious.” You said, shaking your head. He scoffed, looking up at you.

“Are you trying to piss me off, or is that just one of your special talents?” Arthur said glaring at you.

“Oh I have lots of talents.” You say, stepping closer a scowl on your face.

“If only one of them was keeping your mouth shut.” He growled.

“God, what is your problem?” You huff looking away from him.

“My problem?” He scoffs getting up from the bed. “You’re my problem." He said, his chest almost touching yours as you looked up at him.

“Feelings mutual.” You huff, glaring up at him. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as you walked away from him.

“We’re gonna have to wait it out.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The hell are we gonna do?” You asked throwing your hands up.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna take advantage of this bed.” He said laying back down on the bed, placing his hat over his face. You bit your cheek looking at him as he crossed his legs. He did have a point, the bed looked a whole lot softer than your cot back at camp. You mulled it over for a second before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You unlaced your boots, laying back on the bed. Your eyes quickly drew heavy, the adrenaline of the chase finally wearing off.

The sun was setting when you woke up, the light slowly disappearing behind the horizon. The room was quiet except for Arthur’s breathing. You sat up in bed, looking over at him. His hat had fallen off his face when he rolled over sometime during his sleep. He looked so peaceful when he slept, it was like seeing a completely different side of him. It’s at this moment you really appreciate how beautiful Arthur truly is. The bridge of his nose is high, broken one too many times. His plump lips parted slightly, like two petals. His sandy brown hair falling over his forehead.

You wanted to reach out and move it out of his face, but thought better of it. You didn’t want to disturb him and it wasn’t often that you saw him without a furrowed brow.

Just as you were laying back down you heard heavy footsteps up the stairs. By your guess, four, maybe five men. You sit up quietly, feeling your heart pound against your rib cage. Arthur sprang up in bed as soon as they kicked open the first door. They must have turned right when they went up the stairs. The yell of shock sounded farther down the hall. He turned to you, his eyes wide. He reached for his gun belt on the floor but you stopped him. Your brain was running through all the situations. Four or five men, sure you and Arthur could take them, but that’s not exactly a low profile.

Against your better judgment you picked the solution with the least amount of bloodshed. You swung your leg over Arthur’s waist.

“The hell are you doing-“ Arthur hissed before you covered his mouth with your hand. Your fingers started working on the buttons of your blouse as you rolled your hips forward. Arthur looked up at you with a wide eyed expression, his bright eyes frantically moving between his gun belt on the floor and the door. His stubble lightly scratched your palm as you held your hand over his mouth, his plump lips almost kissing your palm.

You forced a high pitched moan as you moved your hips faster on the bed, the bedframe hitting the wall. Creating the illusion you two were having sex.

The gears slowly started to turn in Arthur’s mind, his hands gripping your hips as he propelled you faster. The bedframe was now rocking against the wall, as you pulled your arms out of your blouse, leaving your chest bare. Your nipples hardened from the cold air as goosebumps sprung up on your skin. Arthur’s eyes were closed as he turned his head, forcing a low groan. Although you knew his groans were fake, the way his body reacted to your touch was more than real. You kept up with your moans, trying to put on a good enough show.

The door was soon forced open, as two O’Driscolls entered the room with their guns raised. You scream, Arthur is quick to pull your chest down to his. You were pressed tight against him, his warm hands keeping you flush against him, all of him. His work shirt rubs against your nipples in such a fucking delicious way, it doesn’t help tbe adrenaline coursing through your veins. You can’t see anything, your head buried into Arthur’s neck, his stubble now rubbing against your cheek.

“Get the hell out of here!” Arthur yells, hidden by your upper half.

One of them clears their throat before exiting the room, closing the door behind them. You hold your breath waiting for their footsteps to retreat down the hallway. You let out a sigh of relief as they meet back up with the other men, walking down the stairs.

Hesitantly Arthur moves his hands off your back, you sit up covering your breasts with your arms. Arthur, however, was staring up towards the ceiling. His jaw clenched as he avoided looking at you.

You moved off of his waist, grabbing your blouse before slipping your arms through the sleeves. You buttoned it up, swallowing thickly as Arthur cleared his throat.

“Now uh-“ Arthur said letting out a sigh, “I want you to know that I didn’t see nothin’.” The bed whines slightly as he stands up.

“I know you felt something.” You said, shaking your head as you blush from head to toe.

“Now-“ Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair as you turned to face him, his eyes flicking around the room before settling at your feet as he held up his hand. “We can just pretend this never happened, it was a matter of life and death.”

“I understand that.” You looked at him, fully looked at him. His gaze was low, his chest rising and falling quickly, his cheeks flushed. God, he looks wrecked.

Your eyes trailed over his body as he stood there, his hand on his hip as he popped his knee out. Your eyes moved down further, almost popping out of your head as you see how painfully hard he is pressed against his pants.

“Are you-“ The words fall out of your mouth before you can think to stop them.

“Jesus.” Arthur sighed looking down, his hand rubbing his eyebrows.

“You are.” A nervous chuckle leaves your mouth as your eyes trailed up and down his body. You felt heat begin to spread between your thighs as he met your eyes. Your heart is still pounding against your rib cage from the encounter with the O’Driscolls.

“I’m-“ He started throwing his hands up, “I’m sorry, alright but you can’t expect me- I’m only a man.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Nothing to be ashamed-“ He cut you off, shaking his head, “There is plenty to be ashamed of, I shouldn’t be getting so… so worked up over you.” He said motioning to you. You couldn’t help that you were also getting worked up, you subtly rubbed your thighs together. Trying to get any friction where you needed it most. Heat bloomed in your stomach as the tension in the room only got worse. He furrowed his brows, studying you.

“Wait,” He chuckled, shaking his head, “You feel it too.” He said, crossing his arms.

You scoffed, looking off to the side. “You wish.” You said, hating the slight tremor in your voice. Arthur strode across the room, stopping in front of you. He reached towards you, tilting your chin so you would have to look at him.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He said softly, his other arm encircling your waist pulling you flush against him. You stayed silent, looking up into his blue eyes. Slowly a smirk worked its way onto his face, “That’s what I thought.” He chuckled, cupping your cheek. He leaned forward brushing his nose against yours. Giving you the option to pull away if you wanted, his eyes softening as he looked into yours. You took the plunge, capturing his lips against your own as you threaded your fingers through his hair.

A groan rumbled through his chest as his hand tightened around your waist. You felt dizzy as his lips moved against yours, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth allowing his access as he pressed into you deeper. He rubbed himself against you, his hips pressed against your lower belly.

You pulled away, breathing hard as you looked up at him. His face was flushed, his mouth parted slightly as his chest rose and fell rapidly. You unbuttoned your blouse for the second time, just as feverishly as the first time, but now for a completely different reason. Arthur followed your lead, pushing his own suspenders down, his skillful fingers unbuttoning his own shirt. His eyes returned to your body as he ripped his shirt off of his shoulders, settling onto your breasts. He stared down at you, an almost predatory expression on his face. He closed the distance between you, his hand wrapping around your waist as the other kneaded your breast. You let out a soft gasp, which quickly turned to a moan as he ran his thumb over your perk nipple.

“Arthur.” He stared down at you, his eyes darkening as he watched you shiver against him. He flipped you around, his hand pressing you down onto the bed. His other hand flipped your skirts up, before pulling down your underclothes. He let out a soft groan as his eyes connected with your almost dripping pussy.

“This all for me?” He cooed, swiping his finger through your folds. You gasped, nodding as your hands gripped the quilt.

“Yes.” You breathed, “Yes all for you.”

“Good girl.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he sunk a finger into your heat. You gasped as he slowly started pumping his finger inside of you. He leaned over you, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Yeah you like that don’t you?” He said nibbling on your earlobe. Your breath hitched in your throat as he added another finger, scissoring them inside your walls.

“Fuck Arthur.” You melwed, pressing your forehead against the slightly scratchy quilt underneath you. “I need you.” You huffed, your walls clenching around his fingers.

“I’m gettin’ there.” He chuckled, pulling his finger out of you, you sighed at the loss. You could hear the rustling of clothing behind you, the distinctive metal on metal as you pulled off his belt. His warm calloused hands ran up your backside, gently spreading you before the head of his cock met your entrance.

Jesus Christ he was big.

He spit into his palm, pulling away as he spread his spit over the head of his cock.

“What the hell is taking so long?” You asked impatiently, turning your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, a wicked grin on his face as he forcefully shoved his cock through your folds. It was like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs as you were propelled forward onto the bed. His hands pulled your hips back and speared you onto his dick.

“Arthur!” You yelped, your fingers gripping the quilt as he thrust his pelvis flush to yours.

“Christ woman.” He groaned, laying his forehead against your bare back. You moan as he pulls his hips back before thrusting back into you. “You sound even better when you ain’t faking it.” You can feel the chuckle rumble through his chest more than you can hear it as he speaks.

“Arthur, Jesus." You pant, almost drooling over the way his cock hits that spot inside you over and over again.

“Mmm.” He moans, tight lipped as he tilts his head back. You push back against him, meeting every one of his thrusts “Yeah, atta girl.” His praise only spurred you on, your thighs shaking as you pushed your ass against his pelvis. “You close?” He whispered, his warm hand moving down your thigh between your legs. His thumb circling your clit was enough to send you over the edge. You were grateful your upper half was supported by the plush bed as your legs gave out under you. A high pitched moan worked its way out of your chest as you all but collapsed on the bed. Your walls fluttered around him, milking his cock.

“Shit.” He panted his breath fanning on your back as his forearms caged you in, his hips stuttering as he released his seed inside you. He groaned, resting his forehead against your back as he collapsed on you. His sweaty chest sticking against your back. He pulled out of you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He whispered.

“S’okay.” You said breathing hard, his cum seeping down your thighs. He kissed down your spine, his hand lovingly squeezing your hips.

He grabbed a towel from the dresser, cleaning your thighs off.

“Who would have thought you’d known about aftercare.” You chuckle softly, your heart rate slowly coming back to normal.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me sweetheart.” He huffs, a small smirk on his face as he tucked himself back into his pants. He reached down, pulling your bloomers back up over your hips.

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled, grabbing your blouse as he grabbed his shirt off the floor.

“Yeah, Mrs. Callahan.” He smirked walking towards you, buttoning his shirt as he stood in front of you. You rolled your eyes, buttoning your blouse. He wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.” He said, his hand trailing down your jaw.

“Alright, fine. Mr. Callahan.” You huffed, a blush covering your cheeks as you rested your hands against his broad chest.

“Next time,” He tightened his grip on your hips, his lips against your ear, “You’re riding me.”

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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months

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light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers.

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door.

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this.

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door.

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up.

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it.

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety.

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement.

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care.

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves.

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone.

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you.

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are.

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh.

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex?

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours.

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly.

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it.

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now.

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it.

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt.

"Goodnight," he whispers back.

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that.

------------------------------

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache.

But you’re just friends.

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away.

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep.

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt.

Friends.

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer.

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips.

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away.

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words.

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing.

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words.

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you.

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment.

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again.

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses.

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck.

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there.

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later.

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you.

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you.

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum.

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs.

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans.

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want.

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close.

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course.

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty.

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway.

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently.

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt.

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about.

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further.

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway.

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know.

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words.

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you.

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation.

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way.

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut.

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating.

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation.

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes.

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet.

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb.

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing.

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter.

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck.

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you.

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

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loving-barnes · 2 months

Text

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

A/N: A new smutty one-shot. I tried. I don't think it's good. But let me know what you think.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Avenger female reader

Warning: smut

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 4200+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

Tony Stark had invited Charles Xavier and his X-men to an annual gala he held in New York. There were many reasons for that. The Avengers and X-men worked together during difficult missions and unexpected alien threats. Also, he wanted to prove to regular citizens and high-profile politicians that mutants were not the enemy. This was the perfect opportunity for both groups to strengthen their bonds and work relationships.

That’s how Logan had found himself, in a fancy all-black tux, standing at the bar with a drink in his hand. His glare could kill anyone who rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t fond of these gatherings, and yet here he was. His eyes were searching for any threat, ready to fight anyone who would seem too suspicious to him.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know,” Hank chuckled when he approached Logan at the bar. “Nobody forced you to come here.”

Logan rolled his eyes and sipped on his whisky. “I know how important these things are,” he growled. “Charles wanted me to be here, so I’m here.”

“Uh-huh,” Hank rolled his eyes. He ordered a drink. When the bartender had given him the drink with shaking hands, he had to chuckle. Some people were spooked by his blue fur and beasty look. “Isn’t it because you are waiting for a certain someone?”

Logan sighed, defeated. Hank knew damn well that his friend had built some connection with a certain female Avenger. There was no denying he was waiting for her. “You really wanna go there, furball?” He tried to avoid the question.

“Oh, come on, Logan. Everyone can see how you are smitten with that woman,” he chuckled. “It’s kinda nice.”

“I am not smitten,” he denied. Fuck, but even Charles constantly made comments and teased him about it. “By the way, shut your mouth, McCoy. I don’t want to hear shit from you. You’ve been eyeing that reporter from News 1.”

That made Hank roar with laughter. He sipped his drink and turned to the crowd, watching people mingle around, talk and drink. “I’m not denying that. She’s pretty, we like to talk about science. You, on the other hand, keep denying everything. But we are not blind.”

Logan wanted to throw the drink at Hank. He would, if they’d be back in the mansion. He opened his mouth to snap back at him. But the energy shifted to the grand stairs. Logan’s eyes travelled there, wanting to know what the fuss was about.

Yelena Belova and Y/N Y/L/N walked down the stairs with linked arms. Both looked beautiful in their evening gowns and perfect hair. Yelena had a green satin dress. Y/N chose a sparkling black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, with a slit on her left thigh.

Oh, if he could, Logan would drool like a dog. It was one thing when she wore that damn tight suit during missions, but this made him hard instantly. Fuck. Maybe this was the day he would have a heart attack. And she’d be the cause of it.

His blood started to boil when many men gave her attention. Once the women left the stairs, they were surrounded by testosterone. Yelena was a pretty lady, too. He had to admit that. Y/N was something different. She felt like a dream, a secret naughty fantasy that he wanted to come to life.

“Close your mouth or you’ll swallow a fly,” Hank said.

Logan drank the rest of the whisky in one go, eyes never leaving Y/N’s figure on the main floor. Hell, even her teammates danced around her. Where did this jealousy come from?

He thought about the day they met. It was an accidental mission, where the Avengers were also present. While Charles and Captain Amerika talked after the finished mission, Logan’s eyes were focused on the woman who caught his attention.

Their first interaction was amusing. Y/N tried to save his ass when a group of soldiers surrounded him. Logan was on the ground, guns pointed at every piece of his body when she came out of nowhere, shooting down the soldiers, snapping their necks with bare hands. Her kicks were strong, her punches were deadly.

Once the threat was eliminated, she turned and looked down at Logan. “Are you done napping?” she asked him with a grin.

He huffed. “I had it under control,” he huffed. He got up on his legs, the adamantium claws had already retracted back to his skin. Y/N watched it happen like a hawk but didn’t comment on it.

“Of course. You almost got killed by ten men. Yeah, you had it under control.”

“I can’t die, princess,” he squinted at her. “It wouldn’t be the first time a firing squad would try to kill me. In the end, it would always just tickle.”

Y/N tilted her head. A smile played on her lips. “Well, if you are done bragging, let’s move. There is still more to come and I would like to be in bed with a book in my hand by ten.”

That was just their first interaction. And with that, something bloomed between them. Friendship? Or was it something more? Every mission became exciting. He couldn’t keep the dumb smile on his face once he saw her in the field.

Logan ordered another whisky. A grin spread on his lips when he thought back to their first meeting. He learnt her name later. First, it was just her last name. Rogers barked orders when he said it. Her first name came at a different time when they all shared the same coms for better communication.

“She’s coming here,” Hank warned him, which brought Logan back to reality.

With every step, he could notice more details about her. The material of the dress, how deep her cleavage was, how her breasts popped out, the red lips, the earrings, the fact that she was like a fucking angel. All she needed was wings. And, she was coming to him alone. Fucking finally.

“Wolverine,” she purred his name. “I can’t believe you are here. Who put a gun to your head and forced you to attend this magical evening?” There was a teasing smile on her lips.

Don’t look at her tits, he thought. Don’t look at the tits that want to spill out of that dress. Fuck!

“I heard there was an open bar,” he said. “So I decided to come and drink Stark’s liquor.”

She licked her lips, suppressing her chuckle. “No other reason?” I raised a brow. “See your friends, swoon ladies or play pool with the boys?”

See me?

He kicked in the rest of the drink and put the glass on the bar. His eyes noticed the crowd gathering in the middle of the hall. A slow music started to play, inviting everyone to dance. Logan’s hand reached forward. It was now or never. “Or I came here to dance with ya, princess.”

One second and her hand slipped into his. “Oh, so you dance, you say? Lead the way.”

Logan proudly walked her into the crowd of dancing people. One hand rested on her lower back, other held her right hand. He knew what he was doing. After all, this was the first dance of his life. Y/N was impressed by that. They started to dance to the string music.

He sniffed her sweet perfume, the shampoo she used. That woman would be the death of him, Logan was sure of it. They kept dancing, not talking. His eyes were on her, locked in a gaze. He had been close to her before but not like this. She was like a magnet, pulling him closer to her. Her lips inviting, her touch soft.

The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to spill out what was going through his mind. “You look beautiful tonight,” he admitted. “Fuck, you look beautiful every time I see ya.”

She chuckled. “Even in my suit during a fight?” she raised a brow.

“Hell yes,” he nodded eagerly. “Princess, when you walk to the field in that suit, fighting fearlessly, I have trouble focusing. Once you did a trick with your thighs, choking an enemy with them, I almost lost it there.”

Y/N’s hand left his. She brushed it up his arm and rested it on his shoulder. “Oh, so that’s the effect I have on you, eh?” she teased the Canadian. “Care to say more?”

Logan’s hand joined the other on her lower back. He pressed her closer to his body. The height difference was evident between them. Even with her high heels, she was shorter than him. “Fishing for compliments?”

“From you? Yes,” she smiled.

He moved closer to her, leaning. In his mind, he was ready to press his lips against her. He needed to kiss her like he needed to breathe. This was his chance to taste her.

A third hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, Logan,” they heard someone say their names. The moment was ruined. He wasn’t able to kiss her like he wanted. On the other hand, he wanted to slash anyone who interrupted them.

With a growl, he pushed away, eyes finding Captain Rogers, accompanied by Hank. “What?” he asked them grumpily. He didn’t care it was rude. They ruined something special.

“We need you in the conference room,” said Steve. “We have a situation.”

Y/N sighed, stepping away from Logan’s hold. “What’s going on?” she switched to a work mode. She gave Hank a polite smile to acknowledge his presence.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted us about Trash industries,” said Steve. “Come, we’ll show you.”

“Charles?” Logan’s eyes shifted to Hank.

“Already with Stark,” he said.

All four of them walked together from the grand hall. Yelena and Sam joined them on the stairs. The blonde woman was yapping about being taken away from a cute woman and a fine drink.

“I just fucking got here. Already some shit is happening,” she kept cursing under her nose.

Logan kept close to Y/N. He missed her body being so close to his. He hoped they'd be able to continue. The conversation was intriguing. He remained by her side while walking through the hallway and to the upper levels of the compound.

Her fingers brushed against his hand. It wasn’t an accident. No. Her fingers purposefully stroked the top of his hand. Instantly, his fingers moved. His pinkie hooked around hers for a second. It was a mutual sign.

The group entered the conference room, meeting the rest of the Avengers and Charles. One by one they took a seat except Logan. He stayed on his feet, a step away from Y/N’s seat. A hologram appeared in the middle of the table.

“We got a new location on Trask Industries, but this time, these fuckers had decided to work with some Hydra scums,” Tony started to talk, showing footage they managed to get from satellites. ��Or so it appears. we are not quite sure.”

“The public wouldn’t like that,” Charles commented. “They try to present themselves as a serious robotic corporation. Why would they jeopardise their public status if they start working with a public enemy?”

“That is trying to hunt down mutants and annihilate them,” Y/N commented. “Don’t want to imagine what’s going on behind closed doors. It can’t be nice.”

“Is it really Hydra?” Natasha asked.

“It appears,” Steve chimed in. “Or something adjacent.”

“So what? We’re just gonna sit here and wait for more details?” Logan scoffed. “The longer we wait, the more work they get done. I say to strike and kill them all.”

Y/N licked her lower lip and grinned under her nose.

“We need a strategy, Logan,” said Charles.

“Not everyone can get sliced and heal with a snap of fingers,” Tony added sarcastically. “Chill, wolvie. Besides, we’ve sent Vision to have a look at the place. He’s a droid, a powerful one made out of vibranium.”

Y/N turned her head to Tony. “That doesn’t mean he’s indestructible in this world,” she frowned. “New weapons are being developed every day to destroy mutants, to stop the Avengers. I hope Wanda went with him. They are stronger together.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course, she’s with him. Do you think I’d be able to stop her? I’m not crazy.”

“Trask Industries are still working on the damn sentinel program,” Hank stepped into the conversation. “With Hydra’s help, who knows what they’ll be able to create together. The thought alone is scary.”

Tony ended the hologram. Steve took the word. “I know we are supposed to be here at the gala, but I suggest a good night's sleep and be ready. If you’d like, we have spare rooms in here for you. You can stay here for the night if we need to leave.”

When Steve said that, Y/N gently turned her head to the side, wondering what Logan would say to that.

“I’ll gladly accept the offer,” Hank smiled. “At least I’d get to talk to Bruce for a little while and have a look at his labs. I’ll also alert the others at school.”

“Howlett?” Tony raised a brow.

Logan’s eyes moved from Y/N’s exposed shoulders to Hank and then to Tony. “Sure, why not? At least I don’t have to drive from place to place.”

“I guess we are staying,” Charles smiled. “Thank you for your accommodation.”

The meeting ended. Natasha and Yelena went back to the gala. Y/N talked to Hank for a few more minutes while he was waiting for Bruce. Steve and Tony took Charles back to the grand hall. Logan waited outside the conference room. Because no one was present, he took a cigar out of his jacket and lit it up. Three puffs later Y/N stepped out of the conference room with Hank.

“Already smoking?” Hank sighed.

“So what? Got a problem with that, bub?”

“Always the charmer,” Hank shook his head. “Nice evening, Y/N. I’ll see you later,” he said once he saw Banner approaching the group.

The moment Logan and Y/N were alone, they faced one another. “Are you heading back to the gala?” Logan asked.

She hummed, thinking about it. “I’m not feeling like going back there. Honestly, those fancy parties are not my cup of tea. Wanna grab a drink in our lounge room? Stark has the fanciest shit there. You’re gonna love it.”

Logan smiled at her. “Lead the way, princess.”

. . .

The lights were dimmed in the lounge room. Logan was nursing an expensive drink Y/N poured him. He made faces, eyed the liquid, humming and nodding. “This is some good shit,” said after a while. “Wealthy people can afford stuff like this. Also, Charles prohibited any alcohol at school.”

Y/N chuckled, sitting in an armchair with her drink. “It makes sense. It’s a school. Of course, he doesn’t want any alcohol there. Does he let you smoke?”

He huffed. “That he ain’t gonna do shit about it. No matter how much he threatens to turn me into a six-year-old girl.”

“Aw, that’s adorable. I’d like to see that,” she put a wide smile on her face as she sipped her drink. “Maybe I’d brush your hair, put pink ribbons in it.”

Logan kicked the drink in and stood up from the couch. His eyes noticed a few photos around the place - from parties and group shots to professional photos of the team. They were like a family. What mostly caught his attention was Y/N. She was an Avenger, part of a superhero team. He huffed. Fuck, she was a damn Avenger.

“What?” she questioned. A second later, she was by his side, eyes on the same photo of the team. “That was after Ultron almost annihilated the whole world. We celebrated our survival. Stark puked into his helmet,” she laughed.

“Disgusting,” he frowned. “I must say, you look like one happy family,” he commented.

Y/N hummed. “Maybe,” she shrugged. “I love them all to death.”

“But?” he raised a brow.

She shrugged. “Will I sound ungrateful if I say I hate being in the spotlight?” she made a face. “I can’t do photoshoots, the damn galas and shit forever. I hate attention. I’d rather be like you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “Teaching mutant kids, living life out of the spotlight. Even though it’s not easy, in my eyes, it’s simpler. Not have to deal with this shitshow.”

Logan’s fingers found her hair. He brushed them away from her face. His mouth opened, ready to say something - anything - but instead, he grabbed her by the neck, pulled her closer to his body and crashed his lips against her. It was like an invincible string, pulling them together. He couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t slow, gentle. Quite the opposite. Logan’s tongue explored her mouth, tasting every corner he could reach. It was hungry, possessive. One hand held her tightly around her waist while the other slipped from her neck, down her back until it reached her ass, taking as much of her cheek into his palm.

Both arms wrapped around his neck. A moan escaped her lips when the kisses moved to her jaw and down to her exposed neck.

“I need to have you,” Logan growled between the kisses. “Fuck, pretty baby.”

“My room,” she sighed. “We can’t give Stark or Rogers a heart attack if we do it here. Although, it would be funny.”

Logan pushed away, staring into her eyes. He went back for her lips, only to bite her lower lip, pulling at it. “Lead the way, princess,” he growled. “And hurry, or I will take you here, where anyone can see us.”

Y/N grabbed him by the hand, taking him away from the lounge room. Logan moved her to his side and kept a hand on her smaller back. He needed to feel her, to be sure she was real and not a damn dream.

It took them a good three minutes to get to her room on the upper levels. The moment she closed the door, her hands were on Logan’s jacket, taking it off, letting it fall on the floor. Both of them stepped on it, not caring. His lips smashed against hers, all tongue and teeth. Grunts and moans echoed around them as they moved closer to the bed.

“I wanna rip this dress off,” he said, hands grabbing both of her covered breasts into his palms, squeezing them.

Y/N undid his tie. “No,” she chuckled, unbuttoning his white shirt. “Too fucking expensive. Here,” her fingers quickly found the zipper on her left side. She pulled it down and the dress loosened. That was Logan’s sign to pull down on it.

“Fuck, princess,” his eyes rolled when she stood there in nothing but a black lacy thong. Her breasts were on full display, nipples stiff, just for his eyes. “Fucking perfect.”

Before he could latch onto her hardened nipples, she forced the white button-up down off his body, hand grabbing onto his muscles, fingers brushing over some of the hair on his chest. She stood on her tiptoes to find his lips in another hungry kiss.

His tongue dove into her mouth, caressing hers in the process. He felt her hands moving down to his belt, unfastening it. “Impatient?” his voice hoarse.

She pushed him onto her bed. He fell with a loud thud. The adamantium bones almost broke it in the process. “Shit, sorry,” she gasped, forgetting about his weight. But instantly, she climbed on top of him. Y/N pressed her breasts onto his chest as she needed to kiss him again and again.

Logan switched it up, rolling them so she was under his body. “Now, let me ravish you before I give you my cock,” he said, lips already trailing kissed down her chest, over her breasts. His mouth took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, biting it. Her other nipple was teased by his thumb and index finger.

“Fuck, Logan,” she whimpered.

His mouth then travelled south. His tongue left a wet trail down her stomach to the hem of her thong. He kneeled on the edge of the bed, taking her leg up in the air, kissing it from the thigh up to her ankle. “I should leave these heels on, darlin’. So fucking sexy. Fuck, and I will.”

Y/N huffed. “Logan, please, I want your mouth on me.”

“Ah, already begging. I love it,” he grinned. He put her leg on his shoulder. His fingers brushed down down her leg to her clothed pussy. With two fingers he brushed her over her hidden folds and clit. She practically purred. “Pretty sound.”

“Come on, Logan, do something.” Y/N was becoming frustrated. He kept teasing her, rubbing circles over her clit. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Not now.”

A dark laughter escaped his throat. “Patience, darlin’.” He moved the thong to the side, exposing her pussy to the cold air. He saw her clench around nothing. “What a pretty pussy, princess. So wet and ready for me.” And he buried two fingers inside her heat.

Y/N moaned once his two thick fingers penetrated her. “Shit. Ah.”

He pulled them out and put them straight into his mouth, tasting her. “Delicious,” hummed. “I’m gonna feast on you. Not now. Now, I need to feel you around my cock, princess.”

Logan grabbed her thong and pulled it off her legs, leaving her completely exposed to his eyes. He made sure to leave those heels on. “Fucking gorgeous.” He stood up to get rid of his pants.

The moment he unzipped them, she knew he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Shit, Logan, commando?” she raised a brow. His length was already hard, ready for attention. The tip of his cock was angry red, already leaking precum.

She was ready to reach for him, take his cock into her mouth and guide it into her mouth. Logan was faster. He pushed her back on the bed, shaking his head. “No, no, darlin’. I’m gonna fuck you now. And next time, I will let you have a taste of me.”

“Next time?” she smiled.

Logan leaned closer, his head above hers. “You think this a one-time thing? Oh, pretty girl. No, no.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Good,” she gave him a bright smile.

He pumped his length a few times before he positioned his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inside until her hungry pussy took him all in. He cursed, groaned when her walls clenched around him. Once he was buried to the hilt, Y/N sank her nails into his chest, leaving red trails down to his belly button. They immediately disappeared, healed.

“Feel so good, princess. So tight,” he moaned as he started to move. At first slow, enjoying every stroke, watching her face like a hawk. He loved how her eyes rolled, how she gasped for air with each thrust or how she squeezed her breasts. She was fucking perfect.

His thrusts fastened. He watched her breasts bounce as she kept fucking her. His grunts were louder, more vocal. Logan’s right hand found her neck. He wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing it. And that move made her clench hard around his cock. “Shit, Y/N,” he called her name. “Keep doing that and I will fucking cum inside you.”

Logan’s other hand sneaked between their bodies and found her clit. He started to rub it slowly, changing the movements.

“P-please,” she gasped. “I need to cum, Logan.”

He smiled. “Yeah, pretty girl? Gonna cum around my cock?”

Y/N nodded, moaning and shaking under him. “Please, please,” she begged.

“Come on, princess. Cum around my cock. Squeeze me with your sweet pussy,” he demanded. “Wanna feel you when you cum. Shit… Ah… Fuck…”

A few more flickers of his finger was what she needed to reach her peak. Her mouth formed a perfect O, her voice suddenly gone when the wave of pleasure hit her body like a train. Her back arched as he helped her through her orgasm.

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he grunted. “Milk me dry.”

A few more thrusts and he spilt inside her. His hot cum painted her walls. He growled like an animal, trying to prolong his climax with every movement. His body shook and then he stopped, panting.

His eyes found hers. There was a post-orgasmic haze in them. A smile played on her lips. She was perfect, beautiful. Logan quickly leaned down and stole a kiss from her.

“Damn, princess,” he chuckled. “Such a good girl.”

Those words made her clench around his length again. He grinned. “You like it when I call ya a good girl? Good to know.” Slowly, he pulled her semi-hard cock out of her and rolled next to her, catching his breath.

Y/N rolled to him, resting her leg over his body. Her fingers drew patterns on his chest, moving through the hair delicately. “This was fun,” she smiled. “It’s been a while since I had a good orgasm.”

He raised a brow. “Next time, I’ll make you cum on my fingers,” he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips on her fingers. “Then on my tongue and around my cock,” he hummed. “I will fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

She grinned. “Is that a promise?”

“Fuck yeah, princess.”

#Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x female reader #Logan Howlett #Wolverine #Wolverine x reader #Wolverine x female reader #Logan Howlett smut #Logan Howlett x reader smut #Wolverine smut #Wolverine x reader smut #marvel fanfiction

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hwan-g · 25 days

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𝑺𝑨𝒀 𝒀𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑵 (18+)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ pair. music professor! chris x fem! reader | genre. teacher/student, chris’ pov, age gap, smut, dark romance, angst | warnings. power imbalance, obsession, flawed characters, profanity, unprotected sex, use of pet names, dirty talk, graphic sexual content — mdni ! | word count. 8.1k

𐙚˙⋆.˚ synopsis. I’m too weak to let you be, to walk away from you. It’s a twisted, distorted thing, what’s going on inside me. I see no end to it, no relief. Only suffering. I did this to you, my heart, and I cannot apologize. I don’t want to. I’m jealous, I’m jealous, I’m wretched.

I watch you.

That’s a new dress. You walk different in it, your hips sway like you want everyone to notice, and they fucking have. I have. It’s hard not to when you’re so oblivious to your wanting, but I know you, I know what you want. There’s a scarf wrapped around your hair, and the boots you wear make you almost as tall as me, bring you up to my shoulders. I’m jealous of your calves, how they get to carry you all throughout the day, how they lay down with you at night. Your eyes, how they stare at you from every reflection, attached to you, able to see every inch of you from up close.

I’m jealous of your hands, how they brush through your hair as you sit down on the chair across from my desk, the chair you’ve been sitting at for three semesters now, the best view I get to have of you. The only time I’m able to be so close to you without anyone’s suspicion, the only time you’re required to answer to me and all my questions. I have so many of those, but I want to start with your skin. Is it as soft as it looks? When the air blows your way, how would you feel under my palm, shivering, a million tiny goosebumps rising on the surface?

You’re talking to the girl that trails you like a lost puppy, not quite a friend, always around you, yet suddenly I’m glad, because you laugh at something she said, a sound so clear, so light, it lifts the furniture and cures the wood, it builds the room and covers the cracks, pure fucking magic, until all is right again, until I am left with a gaping wound where that beautiful sound nests when it’s gone from the air. It suspends in my head and I let it. I can’t take my eyes off you. You command everything.

Satie is in your hand, what we’re studying, the copy I gave you, my personal one, with all my marks and annotations. You treat the pages carefully, aware of my watching you, yet you don’t turn to me once. You won’t look at me at all. A beast rattles inside me, begging to grab you, to hold you, to never let go. I haven’t seen you in private for weeks and I’m mad with desire, the urge to bury into your sweet cunt and wrap my hand around your warm throat, feel the pulse there, see the gasp of your mouth, the red of your tongue, your eyes on me, me, me, afraid of what I can do, of the power you give me over you, your attention, the hollow ache in my chest; I’m angry at you for being happy without me while I’m being tormented by your absence, no matter how small, no matter how big, and you still won’t fucking look at me.

(Y/N). I think of your name how I think of God. This mythical creature that has the ability to save me. Will you? (Y/N). Look at me. Look at me.

“I am tired of always dying with a broken heart.” I speak this from memory and stare directly at the boy who’s been tailing you lately. A mediocre student, unremarkable. Nothing at all.

You can’t possibly entertain him, I’ve already told you this. He doesn’t see you, couldn’t possibly. He’ll fuck you once—even at merely the thought of this I bristle, I want to crack his fucking head open—and move onto the next pretty thing, blind to you, to what you are, to all you have yet to become. It’s unbearable to me that no one seems to realize how incredible you are; your mind, vast in all directions, insightful, and your music compositions, profound and disturbing, the little I’ve taught you and all that you’ve taught me, the way you hold the pen between your fingers, how you curl around your notebook, the way your eyes skim the pages I’ve toiled over for five years, six more prior to becoming a professor, all leading to the beginning of this school year, how you walked in my class and brought me to my knees.

“So dramatic,” someone in the back mumbles. Someone else giggles, a girl I had last year. Mundane.

I wait for your reaction, but it never comes. You stare pointedly down at my book and ignore me. You’re gonna force me to get your attention some way else. You’re punishing me for something, and I’ve no fucking clue what. You want this. Me. Begging for you. Risking everything. My God, look at your wrists, so goddamn delicate, so small. I picture wrapping my hand around them how I did the first time I stopped you from leaving, I picture myself shaking you, demanding to know what’s wrong, making you see how you make my heart bleed.

I need to know you’re okay. I need you to look at me.

“Satie was an absurdly spiritual composer for his time,” I explain, leaning against my desk, crossing my ankles, my arms over my chest. One glance at everyone else, then I stop at you. I speak to you. Let me in. Let me see you, (Y/N). “A very solitary man that was capable of inventing his own religion in order to break further from society. A character like that would be a tad dramatic, albeit entirely genius, yes?”

“How do we study this guy? There’s nothing to learn from his techniques!” Your friend shook her head, slamming the book in front of her shut. “Child’s play. Overly simplistic. Only two noteworthy compositions in an entire career. Seriously, does anyone know anything besides Gymnopedies by him?”

“Gnossiennes,” another deadpanned. “Your point is shallow. He changed the tides. Music before the work you mention was entirely different from what it was after. Debussy, Poulenc, Ravel—all legendary figures that were deeply impressed by his so-called simplified style.”

A few heads nod in agreement. You remain still as ever, unmovable. What is in that brilliant little brain of yours? Why won’t you share with me? I know you best of all, I’d understand anything. Tell me. Tell me how a girl ruined an already troubled man, and we’re studying it a hundred and thirty-one years later. Tell me about obsession that rules over the mind, of the living digging graves of the dead and hugging their bones, of loneliness so haggard it chokes the air from my fucking lungs. Let me in, and I’ll point at you, my Suzanne Valadon.

“He fell in love once,” barely a sound, barely anything, yet it’s all I hear. I focus on your voice, the lull of it. Your castrating words, my baby. You’re here. You’re burning alive.

“He did.” I jump at the opportunity to talk to you in public. I’d give my blackened soul to hold your hand, to walk you to class. They’ll paint me a monster, but I’d be yours, I wouldn’t care. They’d whisper scandal, unethical, but I’d have stood next to you, defending what I feel for you, knowing very well they’ve only seen a sliver of my monstrous need for you.

This is not enough for me, but I can’t ask for any more of it.

“They tie many meanings to us, meanings that forsaken them, per their request. Satie loved Suzanne, but only because she was the only woman that ever paid him any attention. He wanted to possess her, so that he’d never be alone. It was a selfish love, barely a love at all, more like a torn house looking for an exorcist.”

There you go. Come on. Fight with me on this. Let me hear your voice, wash over me.

“You cannot fault a man, a man of music no less, for the way he loves. We are wicked by nature, we do not possess the softness you do. Even then, Valadon was a painter, as wildly eccentric as him. She refused to be put in a box. She saw only a mirror, and in that way, she saw herself. You could say her love was narcissistic.”

“Bonjour, Biqui, bonjour!” I hear somewhere from the side, but I only see you. I'm tuned in to you, your opinion about what I have to say.

I only ever care about what you think. When I grade your papers, my hands tremble to touch something so precious as your mind. I am the weakest man when it comes to you, I cave in like a house of cards. Pick me up and shuffle me. Toss me across the table, face down. Only use me, let me feel you. Visions of my cock entering you render me blind. Your voice, then. My name on your mouth as I push all the way in, right there on your desk, lights off, door locked. I can’t see no one but you, (Y/N), I’m tortured by the memories.

Can I see you after this? Will you stay? Will you let me lock the door again?

Your eyes scorch me. They light me on fire and leave me to die, I can’t bear the heat of them. How have I wronged you? What did I do to get your hate? And if this is it, then give me all of it, let it be the last thing before an afterlife wandering through a black forest, cursed with only the echo of you. I love you insane, battered and bruised. I love you with a dying breath, a horrible ending.

“Perhaps,” you say and it takes all of my willpower not to crawl to you. “Perhaps they deserved each other, in all their terrible love. Him obsessed, her always leaving. She got married to a banker. He wrote a twenty-eight second, four bar song, after all the portraits and love notes.”

You’re humiliating me. This. What I feel for you. You haven’t been in my office in days, you’ve become a stranger to your soul, and now you come back and shame me. You’ve found someone else. Who is he? Have I seen him? I’ll fucking end him. I’ll kill him, I swear. Don’t fucking test me. You don’t want to see that part of me, you don’t want to see what I’m capable of doing for you.

“‘Her whole being, lovely eyes, gentle hands,’” You pin me down, you stab into me. “We enter the Romantic Era, page two hundred and seventy-nine. Known characteristics of this movement: a greater emphasis on melody to sustain interest, a focus on the nocturnal, the ghostly, and terrifying…”

I go the entire lecture desperately trying not to stare at your face, that beautiful openness you offered me now tightly shut, entirely passive. How do I survive this, even as I know I am a grown man and should not think this way. I cannot, for the life of me, remember who I was before you walked in this room, what I was doing, why, there was no reason; you, you, you, I was waiting, maybe, an empty train station, and you the flying bullet train, cutting oxygen supply as you passed in front of me, making your stop slowly then all at once, sighing into me, giving me back my life or a semblance of it.

I assign passages and give examples, muscle memory on the piano; I grill the fucking kid that has a crush on you, I make his life miserable, and I think, that’s it, that’s right. You do it to me. You do it to me so easily. This is how it is to love her, man. You’re not made for it, but I am. I’ve survived, and she’ll acknowledge it. I’ll make her.

I sound childish to myself, petty. Truth is, you’re mine. You’re fucking mine. You can’t do this to me.

You jot down notes, you burn through the board, you raise your hand and say all the correct answers, picture perfect student, and I’m as good as dead to you. I’ve been inside you, baby, you can’t forget that. I’ve felt your warm slick clamp around my cock, I’ve had your mouth on my neck moaning my name. You can’t get rid of me. I can’t rid myself of you.

I dismiss the class at eleven sharp, and call you to me. A minute, I say, about the extra credit, even as your friend eyes me, even as the boy glares at me, even as rumors have started to circulate. She’s fucking the teacher, it’s obvious. She’s with him all the time. Except you’re not, not even close, not nearly as much as I want you to be. If I had it my way, I’d hold you to me so tight you’d become an extension of me, unable to escape me whenever you feel like.

I wait until everyone exits, then inconspicuously close the door half way, grab your arm and drag you all the way to the other side of the room. You don’t put up a fight, but your dress has risen on your hips, and I’m suddenly furious. I pull at it and trap you against me and the wall. The lack of reaction sickens me. How is it possible I’ve lost you already?

“What the fuck have I done to you that was so bad, huh?” I speak low so only you can hear, but I’m boiling inside, I’m as dangerous as I’m hurt.

I want to fuck you senseless. Dead. I want to kill you. I want to bury inside you so deep I can’t ever get out. Your breathing pattern changes, you must see it on my face. I don’t feel like being fucked with right now. You’re scared of me, but not really. I would never hurt you. It’s all fantasies, all obsession. I can’t bear the thought of losing you is all, but I need to know what’s going on. This has cost me, it will cost me even more.

I grab you by the hair, tug softly at the ends, and your chin lifts. I trace it. Your eyes widen a fraction but you don’t give in, not yet. I press my erection against you, I breathe like a wild animal. You’re so small in my arms, I could do whatever I want with you. You’d let me. You have already. I just need to find that girl in you again, pull her out.

“I won’t be the teacher’s slut,” you spit out, your lips cherry red and begging to be kissed.

“Too fucking late, isn’t it?”

You try to push me away but I keep you there, your wrists above your head, your face close to mine. I’m lost on you, my mouth goes for the soft skin of your earlobe, I suck on it and feel you melt, I move to your neck and you let me, you’re rubbing your thighs together, you’re begging for friction. I have to close the door. I have to close the door and make sure I’m quick. Classes are still in session on this side of the building. I can’t let myself get sloppy. I’m not gonna risk losing this.

I bite on your neck and you gasp. I’m hard for you. My free hand reaches under your dress, cups you over the thin fabric of your underwear. Wet, goddamn soaked. A string of curses escapes me, as I glance back at the door.

“Stay here, don’t fucking move.”

I take four long strides and lock the damned thing separating us and them, though I know I still have to be quick with you. I held you back in front of the entire class. It’s already been a considerable amount of time for a simple back and forth.

“I can come back later,” you say as I near you again. “After hours.”

In my office, where it’s private and secluded. Where no one will interrupt us or hear us. What you’re suggesting is more sane than what I want to do right now. The logical part of my brain wants to agree. The rest of me lifts your dress and shoves two fingers where I know you want them the most. You writhe against me, and hook your thigh around my hip, opening. That’s it. I knew that’s all you needed. It’d been too long, that was all. I just had to show you how good it is again.

There’s my good girl. Fucking yourself on my digits, your cunt throbbing for my cock.

“I need you, please, please, please, please…”

I cup your breast in my palm, free your nipple with my teeth and bite on it. You hiss, and say my name. I almost finish in my pants, hearing that filthy mouth mutter my name, but your hands are quicker, they’re unzipping and pulling me out, red veins popping, leaking precum, hard as a fucking rock. I want to tear you apart, I want you to feel me for days after.

You jump in my arms and I lift you up. You guide me inside, and I slip into you so easily. A well rehearsed game between us, how fast we can fuck, the thrill of getting caught too great, the adrenaline rushing through my veins pistoling through you, and I pump, I fuck your little soaking cunt until you’re a blabbering mess, until all you can moan is yes yes yes, just like that, right there, right there, and I know where that is, I got you, I’ll take care of you, I’ve done it so many times before.

Where did you think of going? No one can give this to you better than me. You love my cock. There’s no other girl that will do it for me like you do. I tell you this, my forehead dropping to meet yours, your mouth seeking mine. I kiss you, my tongue tasting the strawberry bubblegum you were chewing on earlier, my dick impossibly hard. You’re milking me dry, you’re so horny, I never want to stop, (Y/N).

“I’ll never get sick of how your body responds to me, baby. Come on. I know you’re close.”

You get so whiny when you’re on the verge, your voice raspy from all the hard breathing, and I meet you thrust to thrust, I fuck into you with all I have until I shoot inside you, until my arms give out and I have to lay you on the closest desk, and still I don’t stop, I keep going until I feel your cream, until I reach between us and shove it all inside you, three fingers this time, then kneel down and taste us. You’re so far gone by that point, and I’m distantly aware that we’ve overstayed our time.

I can’t bring myself to care. I want you. I want you so much, my heart is screaming at me. I need to eat you out until you’re coming apart for me again. My hand shoots up and grabs your throat to pull you to sit up, rough, how you like it. Your face is flushed, your hair a mess. I’m proud I got you looking this way. My seed will be inside you for days, you won’t be able to wash it out. I lift your dress once more, your smooth, swollen cunt fucked nice and raw, before I give it a stern slap and bring your underwear over your other leg, dressing you.

We smell like sex. I know we’re not careful anymore. I can’t bring myself to care. Sometimes it happens, it’s a good enough excuse. This, between us. Especially between us. We’re two consenting adults. There was no way to escape you. There was nothing I could’ve done. You grew roots inside me and have been growing ever since.

“Come visit me tonight,” I tell you as I walk you to the door. I unlock briskly, and look outside, left then right.

No one within earshot.

“Perhaps we should…” I look at you. Whatever’s in my gaze, makes you pause. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t get a reputation, Chris. I won’t.”

“Two minutes ago you told me to call you a good-for-nothing fucking whore as I fucked you dumb. I think we’re past lying to ourselves, yeah, baby?”

You blush and look down. “I just…”

“Do I need to put you on all fours?”

“That’s not fair. You can’t wave sex in my face and get me to stay.”

I retreat like a wounded dog at your feet. “Is that what I’m doing?” I ask you honestly, Heaven and Hell fighting inside me. Yes, one side says while the other soothes, you’ve done only what you know. You’ve been desperate, clinging onto whatever scraps she throws at you.

You kiss me suddenly, your hand resting on the nape of my neck, pulling me down. I move away a burned man. The door is wide open. You study my reaction and sigh. I can’t help but feel this was some sort of test and I just failed terribly.

I have more to lose than you, a regrettable and bitter realization. If the board takes this entirely the wrong way, I could get fired and my license suspended. The power imbalance is too much. If I can’t teach, I won’t be able to see you how I want to. You’ll be here and I’ll be God knows where. You want to protect me. I haven’t been doing the same. I’ve been taking and taking, I’ve been the selfish one.

“Go,” I whisper. “Leave.”

“Chris…we can still—”

“For fuck’s sake, do what you’re told for once!”

You run away from me faster than you ever have before. And for once, I don’t feel like stopping you. My body is another story. My hands tremble at my sides, my fists clenched so tight I’m afraid to move.

I want to hit something. Anything. I want you back here, telling me it’s okay, no one will know, not if we’re careful, not if we keep our distance otherwise. How I say yes, yes, as long as I get to have you like this, as long as I can get lost in you, and how I lay you down, how I never once thought of the consequences then.

Night comes, and we’re back to this. You, knocking softly on my door, and me, forever answering to your summoning, forever bound by the chains that lead only to you. The hallways are dark, the rest of the faculty having locked up long before, probably enjoying dinner in the common room, wondering once again where I am, why I never join them, how I’m no better than the rest, despite teaching Music Theory at one of the oldest universities at my twenty-nine years. I’ve earned my time of solitude. I don’t need to answer to anyone.

Anyone but you, (Y/N).

I hug you to me, and pull you inside, locking behind us. You’re tender in my hands, so impossibly soft, and I feel your melancholy mood, your glistening eyes, full of unshed tears. I wipe at them, I kiss them until they’re mine, I pacify you by whispering your name, very very quietly, my baby girl, so I can convince you that this is real, that you will never lose me, that I have nowhere else to go but you. That I would choose you over and over, that I’m so fucking sorry I ever made you doubt this singular truth.

How I regret meeting you under these circumstances, and if I had it my way, we’d be moving in together by now, we’d be browsing for a couch and a dining table. You laugh at that and call me silly. I don’t care. I got you to laugh, I shook the dreaded uncertainty away. I would do anything for you, my heart.

I sit you down in my chair and get on my knees. Your hand reaches out and I keep mine at your hips, afraid of all the things I want to do to you, with you. Your skirt is black, it reaches just above your knee; all that expanse of naked skin, smooth and unbearable. I rest my head on your lap, the stubble of my jaw rubbing against it, and you shiver, your breath turning quick, excited to have me so close to your core.

“Did you shower?” I ask you, getting hard at the thought of you walking around all day with my scent on every inch of you.

I feel you shake your head, and I smile, kissing the side of your thigh, fingers roaming down down down, the curve of your calf, down down down, your ankle, the delicate bone there. I stretch your leg and kiss all that I can. I smell your arousal, I’m so close to where I wanna be. You exhale a small breath, and I look at you. Your eyes have gone dark, wanting. My baby. I know you. I got you.

“Take your jacket off, let me see you.”

You comply, and I give you time. I make space in my desk, I turn off the lamp, I drench you in absence. All the while my need grows savage, my stomach knots. I feel like a fucking teenager, so eager to slip into warm pussy and never come out. Your warm pussy. For me, only yours.

When I turn around again, you’re taking off your skirt. No underwear. My body goes taunt, I all but fucking growl, as I grab you and smash our mouths together. My fucking girl, mine mine mine, you exist only for me, I’m going to fuck you so good, I’m going to eat you alive.

“I did it for you,” you mumble on my skin, shy, and I put you on the desk, open your legs wide. “I’ve never done it before.”

I dive right into the heat of you. Wet and sweet and slightly musky. So filthy. I love you, every part of me beats this. I love you like this, I love you, I love you. I suck your clit in my mouth, nibble it, bite it. You gasp and moan and move, your fingers in my hair, pushing me away, pulling me closer. You’re a tide, I’m at your mercy. My tongue slips in your hole, and I get to fuck you like this too. I’m so lucky. I’m so fucking privileged that it’s you under me. No one will ever compare again.

You’ve ruined me for everyone else.

What we do after this—you come, violent and thrashing, and I drink every last drop, a thirsty beast at your feet, under trance, under powerful spells and your smell, your smell, baby, your juices. I’m parched. I can’t get enough, I’m greedy, I ache all over; I pull you up and I kiss you. I kiss you and I die. You want to get down, you say, you want me in your mouth. You’re so impatient, so hungry, my love. I deny you nothing.

I grab your hair into a makeshift ponytail and let you undress me. Your fingers, working my buttons, lowering, stroking—I close my eyes, the picture of you etched behind my eyelids—I see you, stuffed with cock, slurped cunt satiated; you’re orgasmic, baby, I contemplate shoving your face on my carpet and taking you from behind, tight and ready for me. I groan, fuck your face until I see white, slapping your red cheeks, spitting in your mouth and shoving myself back in there. You’ve unlocked something primal in me and you’re enabling it, because you love having sex like this, you love being told what to do, you love being manhandled.

At the sight of you crying, I bust. You swallow everything. “Fuck, baby, god fucking damn me…” as I get on your level and wipe your face, lick the salt off your tears, bruise your lips. I take you in my arms and you fall against me, exhausted. I lay you down slowly, an angel being consumed by sin, me the devil, the defiler, and for a moment I’m ashamed; I took you a sophomore, music only your minor, literature your true passion, where your loyalty lied, and I changed your entire plan. I didn’t mean to. I only wanted to keep seeing you, to hear more of what you have to say, to witness it first hand, mere steps from you, so close I could touch, so close I could reach you.

The piano lessons I gave you in those first months, the stolen touches, glimpses of your profile as you learned the keys, as I explained the five finger scale, and then your first song, your second, the way you kept getting better and better, the fastest student I’ve ever had, your ability to write music with no idea how to play it. Teaching you was falling in love with you. It couldn’t have happened any other way. As I stare at you underneath me, hair fanning around your fucked out face, all I wanna do is lay next to you and fall asleep.

Watching you sleep. Being next to you, trusting me with your eyes closed—I can’t have it like this. You’ve never stayed the night. I’ve never let you. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe from what I’ve dragged you into. It can only go so far until I stop it. I do it with my heart breaking, an open cage. This emotion slams into me, like I’m holding you back from some amazing thing somewhere else, anywhere else, like you could have more; all this could ever be is this dark room with the lock in place, the piano on the side, quiet, in the dead of nothing. You’re attached to a ghost, you love no one.

I’m jealous of your shadow, how it follows you around unbothered, with no shame. My head would hang, a pariah paraded, they’d throw stones, scream names. It’d be all they see, all they’d talk about—see this girl, she’d disappear every evening, and after class, yeah, so many people saw her, she’d chase after him like a lost puppy, what a strange thing—but it was me chasing, it’s me lost, the sick dog begging at your doorstep, the stranger, the disturbing.

“Chris?”

I dig my nails in your hips and lift you up, flip you around, press on your back, your ass flush against my hardening length. I refuse to let you see the monster. I’m too weak to let you be, to walk away from you. It’s a twisted, distorted thing, what’s going on inside me. I see no end to it, no relief. Only suffering. I did this to you, my heart, and I cannot apologize. I don’t want to. I’m jealous, I’m jealous, I’m wretched.

You reach and grab me from behind, rubbing your slick, coating me in your wetness. I’m in shambles, baby, and can’t you tell? You hold me by the balls. I can’t see anything but you. I’m dying. You’re killing me. I enter you, dripping, bleeding. You whimper, backing up to meet me, and I bottom out. Being inside you like this, I’m burning in the last circle of hell. There’s nothing as agonizing, no form of torture more severe.

It’s here, like this, when I can truly lose myself entirely, where I can let go of any inhibitions; I am not a professor or a member of fuck all, or even a person, I’m nowhere near a man, surely, instead almost completely animal, because I fuck you, I’m getting what I want, I pistol into you, a mad thing, a predator, and I lean my body to cover yours, my mouth breathing hot over your ear, and you’re whining, you’re sobbing onto the carpet, where I’ve taken you over and over and over again, my perfect fucking girl, perfect little whore, how you fucking like it, yeah, just like this, helpless, desperate—yes, yes, please, please, God—I’m going to fucking ruin you, (Y/N), feel this fucking cock, so fucking full of me, baby—I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come, Chris, don’t stop, please, please, please—

“Stop begging,” I groan into your skin, biting your shoulder, lifting you entire as I shove myself in you. “Stop fucking begging. Clamp me. Drain me, baby, come on.”

“I can’t, I can’t—”

I’m digging into you, I’m scavenging, exorcizing. This is the roughest I’ve ever had you, and you’re taking it all so well. I’m swelling with pride, I feel so deeply for how your body receives me that I can’t hold out any longer. You let me come inside every time. I know you’re on the pill, but my mind races, primal instincts and caveman thoughts—you, swollen with my child, naked, always naked, as I slowly make love to you, staring into the face of my truth, my only right, the only thing I can never regret—you’re so goddamn beautiful it hurts.

“I love the way your come drips down my thighs,” you say breathless, lost in your lust. I’m still moving inside you, still so fucking horny for you. “I sound insane.”

I collapse next to you, but keep your back tight against my chest, lifting your leg to keep fucking into your warmth, unable to stop. Sweat runs down my brow. I’m never not impossibly hard for you. No matter how many times I have you, no matter how aggressive I am, how brutal—you take it all, you fucking amazing girl. My death.

“Tell me,” I rasp. “I could do this all night, (Y/N). Say the fucking word.”

You tilt your neck and kiss me. I salvage your mouth, run my tongue over the roof of it, and your hole engulfs me. Your pussy tightens, refuses to let go.

“Keep fucking me,” you whisper, avoiding my eyes, embarrassed. “I’m so close, Chris.”

“Tell me what you need, baby. Let me hear you.”

You mewl, and turn away from me. I quicken my pace again, this position allowing me to get deeper, and I do, I ram into you hard and fast, just how you like it, and your voice propels me, it drives me crazy, it wraps my arm around your neck and chokes.

“Your cock…I need it so bad, I crave it every night…please, Chris, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop…”

“That’s my fucking girl. Come on, baby, come on…”

I need to fucking taste you, I can’t wait any longer. I slip out of you, your wail of protest loud enough that I have to slap my palm over your mouth, slap your fucking face for disobeying the one rule I’ve set for you.

And then I dive right into your raw cunt. I slurp and lick and lap, so wet I have to reach down and stroke my dick, the sound of you so fucking filthy it’s pornographic. I growl and spit on my palm, masturbating to the sight in front of me. You climax with a gasp, and I persevere through all of it, keeping you still, but desperate for a last dip.

Once, twice, I slam back inside, and scramble to come on your stomach, thick spurts shooting out, my vision blurry, my chest heavy. A fucking mirage, covered in my cum, spent and destroyed. I love you. I love you.

“I’m goddamned obsessed with you,” I confess, falling back on my heels, breathing ruggedly, running a hand through my hair. You’re a mess all over. My fucking cumdoll. “I am a ruined man, (Y/N). I can’t think of nothing else except this. How I can spend the most amount of my time inside you.”

You laugh, and bite your lip, closing your legs on me. I slap them open, stare at what I created, a visceral feeling tearing through me. I want to cut you down, slip myself inside you, wear your skin as mine. I’m the insane one, not you. You were made to want, while my wishes condemn me.

“You’re never fucking leaving me,” I’m not proud to admit this toxic, acid thought. “I won’t survive it if you do. You’re stuck, do you understand? I’m not going to apologize, and I’ll never mention it again, but,” I rub my thumb on the inside of your thigh, braving a glance at your spent face. You’re scared, you love me. You’re afraid of the fact. “What we have… it’s not fucking normal, (Y/N). I can barely explain it myself. I need to fucking possess you, baby; I have terrible, god-forsaken thoughts of—of crawling inside your bones and carving a place for me there, a place I can never escape.”

I kiss your wet cheeks and wrap myself around you. I rest my head on your stomach, and close my burning eyes; I listen to your heartbeat, your deep breathing. You’re falling asleep, but still, your fingers reach down and soothe my demons away. I’m so devastated by you, (Y/N). I have ruined my entire life to have you. It is the highest form of happiness, the worst imaginable punishment. I need you like I need my own breath.

I drift off with my cock erect, and tears running down my face. It will never be easy, will it? Being close to you.

It shakes the very fucking foundation of me.

They find out eventually, as we always knew they would.

The board of trustees propose a meeting, a formality, really, since I’m well aware of the rules of the school, and the ethical standpoint of these kinds of things. I’m the big bad monster that seduced you, and you hold no power over me. What do they fucking know, as I stare each of them in the eye and accept their decision. What do they fucking know. You haven’t come to class in four days. Are you okay? Are you embarrassed of us?

“Seeing as you are both adults, I’m sure we can end this unfortunate event amicably. Miss (Y/L/N) will willingly withdraw from your class, and you will be taking an extensive absence of leave for the rest of the semester. The council’s vote was unanimous on this—as a brilliant established member of the university, and a graduate of it, as such, we find it a grave disadvantage to us to let you go. Therefore, an exception has been made. Do you agree with this?”

I have no choice. I pray for whoever tipped off the Chancellor that I never find them. A severe thought crosses my mind—they’ve taken you from me. How will I be able to see you now? What will become of us if we are found disregarding their rules again? Surely death. I couldn’t possibly bear a different kind of separation, one where I lose you beyond just the classroom. It’s unimaginable and it fills me with a freezing dread, a pure horror that I feel down to my fucking core.

“Will you guarantee that this will be kept under wraps? (Y/N)—Miss (Y/L/N) is an exceptional student, one that does not deserve the public outrage something like this would cause her,” I keep my face straight, my expression contained. “It was a mishap, a lack of judgment on my part, nothing more. She remains a brilliant girl, and I wish for nothing more than to see her excel and graduate with utmost respect.”

“Of course. This is a private matter. But, Mr. Bahng, if we receive a similar document again… you understand our position, surely?”

One last time. I need to see you one last time.

“Certainly. Thank you for your time.”

Your phone sends me straight to voicemail. I’m not brave enough to try your dorm room, not with all those girls in there and their judgy eyes, and you refuse to step foot in my class even though you still have two lectures before we’re both to leave. They must’ve told you it was better to stay away for a bit, as to not make it so obvious, and yet I cannot for the life of me see the logic behind you being so far away from me, where I can’t reach you.

I’ve told you this. It won’t end well if I lose you.

I am over myself. I look for you everywhere. I see you in everything, in my dreams, to what little I manage to sleep, in the corners of my office, all the places I’ve had you writhing underneath me, your seat in the very front now occupied by that stupid boy—they all seem to know. Not for certain, but it’s in the glint of their eyes, the silences your voice would fill with such certainty it would steal my fucking breath away.

I ignore them all. I DON’T HAVE YOU, I want to scream at them. My worst nightmare came true, and I can only remember your sweet laugh as I’d bite on your neck, your honey exclamation—oh, it tickles!—as I did it over and over again. I can only remember the warmth of your cunt, the vivid smell of it, and your heart, the fluttering of it against my chest, how I held you to me, and you were safe from all of them, how we should’ve stayed in that office and never unlocked the door.

Leave a message after the tone. Beep.

“Answer your fucking phone, (Y/N). You’re driving me crazy.”

A day later, there you are, getting coffee, a book in your hand, your entire face smiling, so kind it messes with my head, the inner workings of my chest cavity.

I watch you from afar, notice how absentminded you look, how ignorant I must’ve been those past few days thinking this all hasn’t meant a thing to you, because it’s always been in the little things your face makes. Your tells, the things that give you away. How you listen without having heard a thing, how you play with your hair when you’re nervous. I’ve noticed them all, my love, and I can tell right now, that you’re thinking of me.

I think of approaching you, of showing myself to you, but it’s too soon. I can’t walk up to you in public, not on campus. I weigh the risk, the consequences—they’re the same, they haven’t changed, because to me this was always the outcome, this was always the end of us.

I call your name in my grief. Only to myself, a gentle summoning, just so I can pretend your name still belongs in my mouth. It does. It always will.

You do not see me. Or, if you do, you pretend not to. I can’t be sure which hurts more. You shatter me.

I try again the next day, a Saturday. As soon as we’re out of school grounds, a good distance away, I pinch the fabric of your jacket, jilting you. You turn around terrified—this is how I feel, I want to yell and shake you.

Alone, lost, in a labyrinth where I cannot find myself, I cannot find you. Endless loops, unbearable darkness.

“We can’t do this,” you say immediately, flinching away from me. From me. I’m ugly then, I’m dangerous, I can’t seem to control my temper. “I told you we can’t do this.”

I lunge for you, I grab your face in my hands, and force your ruinous eyes to look into my blind ones. I’ve seen nothing since that night we slept together. I’ve been walking around without knowing what day it is, without direction.

“I’ve called you,” I rasp. “Where’s your goddamn phone?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Oh, my baby. You’re sick with grief, aren’t you? Just like me. Your eyes are raw underneath all that black liner.

Still, I ask, “Why?”

You place your hands on top of mine, and remove them slowly. I cherish even your rejection. At least you’re here, in front of me, corporeal and talking to me.

“I got off easy,” you admit, head dropping in regret. “I didn’t know what they did to you, I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“I can’t be near you. They sent me on ‘vacation’.”

You nod, and it takes every last bit of willpower to not smash you into my chest and keep you there, safe and sound.

“It will never be the same between us, will it?” You sound so eternally sad. I want to fix it. Fix all of it.

But I can’t. And it eats me alive.

“It will not.” In admitting this, I lose a piece of myself. My heart wails.

Look at me again, (Y/N). Meet me halfway and I’ll always choose you. Nothing has changed for me. Meet my eyes, see that I love you. That I’ve loved you from the beginning, that I was made to love you, that nothing ever existed before you, and that I cannot see in front of me.

“Then, we should end it.”

No. No.

“If we end it once and for all here—”

“I won’t,” I say, keeping my hands to myself, biting down my anger, the pain rising up to choke me. “End it? What does that—I’ve buried myself in you, (Y/N). You’re in me like my own fucking spirit. End it? This will never end. We can never end.”

I got you crying now. As much as it tugs at me, I’m glad of your tears. They show you care, that you don’t really believe the bullshit words coming out of your mouth. I won’t hear any of it, I fucking won’t. You reach for any part of me to hold, fingers lifting in desperate attempt, and I pull you to me by the nape of your neck, our bodies crushing, the wave coming up to meet the shore.

I’ll remain astute as you come and go. You don’t have any choice but to return. It’s where you belong. With me, I whisper in your hair. Stay with me.

“To what end?” You mumble, your voice broken with emotion.

I bring my other arm around you, hold you close against me. “Ours. Until I’m dead. There’s no one else for me, baby. You. It’s always gonna be you.”

You won’t hear any of it. “I can’t ask you to do this for me, Chris.”

I silence you, kiss your forehead, your eyelids. “This is for me. I’m the fucking— I’m the selfish son of a bitch that can’t quit you. If it happens again, I’ll resign,” I made a promise to myself then. “I’ll resign and wait for you to graduate. Once you do, we’ll leave this damned place and go wherever you want. I’ll take care of you, you know that right?”

You nod, and I feel your fists bunching the material of my shirt, as if being this impossibly close isn’t enough for you. As if you’d wear my own clothes if you could, coexist in this body of mine. That’s all I’ve been asking for, you know. To somehow become one entity, to never have to part from you.

Why were our souls split? Not ours, I think bitterly. Ours should’ve never parted. What a cataclysmic event it must’ve been.

“I’ll rent an apartment, I’ll leave campus,” I whisper my plans to you, as we walk along the maple trees wrapped in each other’s arms. “It’ll be ours, you can come whenever you please. You’ll have your own key.”

“I’ll buy my stupid couch and a matching coffee table,” you laugh softly, and I’m ready. I’m sure about this.

I need you to be happy like this, to not have a care in the world. I’ll make it happen, I fucking swear it to you, my heart.

“And the island chairs, and ridiculous knick knacks that I won’t have a say over?”

Your unadulterated giggles set me on fire. “All of them, yes! It’ll be out of an IKEA catalog.”

All I want, all I want—my very soul beats this. A life with you. Beyond the class. It’s always been beyond it.

I say this to you that evening, as I make love to you in a borrowed bed, my name coming from your lips still the sweetest sound I’ve ever had the privilege to hear. My heart’s song, the greatest one. The rise and fall of your breath. My own. Its unique composition.

I love you. I love you so much my chest bleeds open with the truth of it. I’ll gladly run dry at your feet.

“You’re everything, (Y/N). You’re everything.”

Nothing will ever take you from me. Not even death itself. Especially death.

I will find you there as well, if I have to.

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