#what is happening to me guys I’m turning into something else

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Dr. Zayne will handle it.

Pairings: Zayne x afab! Reader

Summary: Zayne finds out your gyno appointment is going to be with a male doctor and he’s less than happy about it.

Warnings: not really any just Zayne being jealous yet respectful, idk if I wrote him ooc or not… but it’s a learning experience lol.

Ps- it’s a lil shorter than what I normally write but I have so many ideas brewing.

————

Zayne’s fingers type quickly on his laptop, a warm cup of tea steeping next to him. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose with the lenses reflecting reports and patient files. He had promised only an hour of working in his home office while you stayed with him.

He could hear your voice in the main room arguing with whomever you spoke with. After your tone sharpened slightly, he decided to close his computer, remove his glasses, and see what was happening.

“No, I’ve been waiting for this appointment for two months! There has to be something else you can do.” You plead with frustration.

Zayne raises a brow, wondering what kind of appointment has you so stirred up. He watches as you angrily huff and say goodbye before ending the call. Your phone is tossed to the couch carelessly and you rub your face in your hands.

He carefully comes up behind you, his large hands covering your shoulders and the pads of his thumbs gently massage the tissue.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Concern is evident in his voice.

You nod and turn around to face him. “Yeah, just my stupid gynecologist.”

Zayne remains quiet, obviously waiting for you to continue.

“I’ve been trying to see this specific doctor because the association recommended her, but they just called me and said they overbooked her for this month and she won't be able to see me."

“Why does the association even have a recommended gynecologist?”

His questions hung in the air for a few moments while you scooped up your phone from the couch.

“I guess Dr. Lina is the best in her field. Kinda like how you’re the best cardiologist- most hunters try to see you instead of anyone else for heart issues. I guess it’s the same for her, and since a lot of hunters are women, the association trusts her to handle any issues for us.”

Zayne hums in understanding and places a tender kiss on your temple, his hand stroking your back to relax you. “So, what are you required to do now?”

You let out a sigh, “They can either reschedule me a month from my original appointment or I have to see the other gynecologist that the association recommended… who’s a guy.”

He tenses up and his hand stops moving.

Zayne maintained a high level of professionalism in his interactions with female patients. He recognized that the primary objective of doctors, including himself, is to assist individuals in need. Nevertheless, he experienced a sense of jealousy at the chance of another man observing you in a vulnerable situation.

“And are you comfortable with that?” His voice grows more cold and tense.

You pull your lip that you were chewing on from between your teeth, “Not really… that’s why I was waiting for Dr. Lina. If I’m not cleared soon, then I’ll have to be put on desk duty until I am.”

The foreboding future of being limited to desk duty when you weren't even physically injured was sure to make you go crazy. It was one of the most frustrating things about being a hunter- forget the wanderers, no, it was staying on top of all the appointments to ensure you were completely healthy. Dental appointments, eye exams, physicals, and now gynecology.

“I’ll miss my deadline if I wait for her,” frowning, you collapse onto the sofa in defeat. “Hello desk duty for the next month.”

You glance up at Zayne, searching for a hint of his thoughts on the situation, but he simply exhales through his nose, a silent acknowledgment of your frustration. He settles beside you, and you allow yourself to rest against his chest, feeling the cool steadiness of him. As you roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all, you pull out your phone to dial the clinic once more. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne’s gaze is intently fixed on the screen, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“I’ll just book with that other doctor,” you say dejectedly.

Zayne's hand clamps down on your wrist with a surprising intensity, preventing you from dialing the number. Shock floods your senses, and as your gaze meets his, you can't help but notice the piercing coldness in his green eyes. The tension in the air thickens, making it clear that this moment is more weighted than you had anticipated.

“Zayne?”

You look back to his hand locked onto your wrist. Little white snowflakes flurry from his arm, and from that, you can tell the doctor is having an internal battle with his emotions.

“Forgive me for my impracticality, but I don’t think I’m comfortable with you seeing a male gynecologist.” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice was now lowered and a chill ran through your body.

The flurry of snowflakes burst from his hand in quicker movements at your words and he quickly lets go of you.

“My, my, is Dr. Zayne… jealous?”

“I don’t see why I cannot clear you for this, I am your primary doctor after all.”

Aww, your snowman was jealous. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“Zayne, honey,” you lock your fingers with his, noting the way the snowflakes start to calm down. “As much as I would prefer you to do it over anyone else, the association wants someone specialized in that field.”

Zayne furrows his brow, a wave of frustration washing over him. He knows deep down that he lacks the authority to grant you the necessary clearance, and the thought that another man will see you exposed, no matter how justified it may be for medical reasons, angers him even more. The tension in the room thickens as he rises abruptly from the sofa, his movements are almost forceful as he unintentionally nudges you aside in his haste, caught between concern for your well-being and the turmoil within himself.

“Don’t make the appointment.”

And with that, he leaves the room.

"Zayne!" You call out, but the sound of his office door shutting was all you received in response.

—————-

About an hour ticks by and you never leave the couch, instead just opting to watch some soap opera to pass the time with a throw blanket covering your body as the rain pelts against the windows.

You could faintly hear Zayne's muffled voice speaking to someone over the phone. You didn't want to disturb him, understanding how difficult it is for him to express his emotions. If he needed some time alone, you would give him that space.

By the time the door opens, the main character is already in tears again for the umpteenth time. He stands over you and you turn off the show.

In the stillness, you can sense his struggle to meet your gaze, while your eyes remain locked on his, filled with concern and curiousness.

Finally, he clears his throat.

“You have an appointment with Dr. Lina at 8 a.m. on Monday. Please do not be late.”

Shock washes over your features and your mouth parts open.

“What? Zayne, how did you-”

“Being at the top of your field has its advantages.”

You're silent, not knowing what to say, just overall confused. It would’ve taken you another month to see her and now you’re seeing her in three days?

“One of my colleagues is Dr. Lina's cousin. I explained to him your situation and he talked to her. I guess she was delighted to find out that the one and only Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend wanted to see her- so she pushed back one of her appointments.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Without another thought, you move off the couch and wrap your arms around his neck. Zayne reciprocates the hug and cradles your head to his chest.

“Thank you.”

Zayne's hand continues to stroke your hair, a bit hesitant as he chooses his next words carefully. "Darling, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier."

You pull away with furrowed eyebrows as he meets your eyes.

"You were right, it seems I was a bit jealous." His hand brushes back a stray lock of your hair. "If you were required to go see another male doctor, I should have been more understanding of that. It wasn't right nor professional for me to intervene without your consent-"

"Zayne." Your sharp tone cuts off his apology. "You don’t need to apologize for anything. I understand how difficult it is for you to confront your emotions. Honestly, I couldn’t be more relieved. I had already told you that I wasn’t comfortable seeing a male doctor for this, so you being jealous and taking action like that is kind of sexy."

"You think that was sexy?" Zayne smirks as if humored by the situation. "Really."

You shrug and nod your head, "I mean, yeah. You being all protective like that and realizing you're jealous is something I don't get to see every day. Maybe I should make you jealous more often..."

He lets out a low growl and pulls you back to his chest, lips brushing against your hairline as he inhales your shampoo.

"It would be wise not to push it," He warns. "Besides, I’d much rather owe Dr. Lina a favor than you forced to be uncomfortable.” His thumb brushes over your ear.

“What’s the favor?”

“That I see one of her children. With the discovery of his new evol, I guess his heart had some abnormal fluctuations.”

You frown at his answer. A child with heart problems already?

Zayne notices your change in demeanor and he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“Don’t fret over it darling, I’m seeing him tomorrow and she had already given me a brief rundown on his condition. It sounds like it’s just the body getting used to the abundance of power. It's common in children.”

You nod, relieved. If anyone can figure it out, it’s your boyfriend.

The rest of the night was spent cuddling on the couch and snacking on sweets while the cliche drama played in the background.

———-

Your appointment with Dr. Lina went very smoothly and she said you were in perfect health.

By the next week, you were approved to continue out in the field and the heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders.

Zayne was very relieved to find out his hypothesis was correct with Linda’s son, Ivan. As it turns out Ivan’s evol was super speed and the fluctuations in his heart were just him needing to burn off the energy.

You were glad it all worked out, thanks to your Dr. Zayne.

[maskedbyghost]

When Angels Fall

Hello, my lovely people! Ready for some soul-crushing angst? No? Too bad—send your tears via mail. Love you! Also, all blame should be directed to the anon who requested this. Okay, thanks, bye!

Simon never believed in angels.

The world was too cruel, too ugly for something as pure as that. Wings were clipped, halos were tarnished, and heaven felt like a myth told to children who hadn't yet seen the things he had. He knew better than to believe in fairytales.

And then he met you.

You were 141’s guardian in the sky, an airman with a reputation that preceded you. Your callsign was Halo. It fit, he supposed, given how you watched over them, weaving through the air with a precision that impessed him since the very beginning he met you.

Your voice, crackled through his comms during every mission, would guide them out of hell and back home. You kept them safe, and God, if you weren’t the calmest person he’d ever known.

But it wasn’t just the security you brought that got under his skin. It was you—your voice, your laugh, the way you could turn a routine check-in into something that made him feel less like a ghost and more like a man.

“Wheels up in ten, boys,” you’d say, and Simon would find himself smiling under his mask, comforted by just the sound of you.

He didn’t know how it happened—how you managed to slip past the walls he had spent years building. Maybe it was the way you read him like an open book, saw through his hard exterior, or how you never once pushed him for more than he could give. Maybe it was because you still spoke to him like he was worth saving despite all the blood on his hands.

He didn’t know how, but he fell. Hard.

And the most terrifying part? You caught him.

It started small. You’d read off mission briefings in that smooth, calm voice of yours, and he’d listen like it was scripture. Then, you’d tease him about his accent and call him ‘big guy’ over the radio just to hear his exasperated huff. He didn’t even mind—not really. He’d never admit it, but he liked it. He liked you.

And at some point, it wasn’t enough to hear you only on missions.

One night, after a brutal mission, he found himself restless, the heavy burden of the battlefield clinging to him. He didn’t think—just grabbed his radio and switched to your private frequency.

“You up?” His voice was rough, and you immediately knew that he wasn’t okay.

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle could be heard coming from your side. “Simon Riley, calling me just to talk? I must be dreaming.”

He should’ve played it off and made some excuse about mission reports or logistics, but instead, he said, “Can’t sleep.”

A moment of silence passed, and then you said, “Want me to read to you?”

He frowned. “What, like a bedtime story?”

“Exactly like a bedtime story.”

He should’ve said no. Should’ve shut off his radio and suffered through another sleepless night like he always did. But he didn’t.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, alright.”

And so you did. Some book you had lying around, something about stars and the vast, endless sky. He barely remembered the words—just the sound of your voice, soft and lulling—until sleep finally took him.

After that, it became a habit. Whenever the weight of the world became too much, he’d reach for his radio, and you’d be there, voice soft in his ear, pulling him back from the darkness in a way nothing else could.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

But, he should’ve known happiness like this wouldn’t last.

The mission was supposed to be routine. Get in, retrieve intel, and get out. Simple. Clean.

It wasn’t.

Everything went to hell fast. Some kind of ambush, a miscalculation on their part, and the enemy waiting for them like they knew they were coming. The ground team was pinned and cut off from their extraction point, and Ghost could hear the tension in your voice as you called for support.

“Hang tight, I’m coming in,” you promised, your aircraft screaming through the sky.

He had no doubt you would. You always did.

You swooped in, raining fire from above, giving them enough cover to push forward. For a moment, it worked. For a moment, he thought they might actually make it.

Then the missile hit.

The explosion was deafening—a violent burst of flame and metal as your aircraft took a direct hit. Ghost felt it like a punch to the gut, his heart lurching into his throat as your voice crackled through his comms.

“Mayday, mayday! I’m hit—controls are—fuck—”

The world slowed.

He could hear Gaz yelling, could see Soap moving, but all he could focus on was your voice, filled with panic and your breathing ragged as you tried—tried so hard—to stabilize.

“Ghost—”

And he knew. He fucking knew.

“Eject,” he ordered, his voice steady despite his whole body shaking from the shock. “Now.”

“I—”

A choked sound. Static.

And then—

Silence.

They found the wreckage hours later.

What was left of it actually.

The ground was scorched, metal twisted and blackened, and the smell of burning fuel filled the air around them. There was no body, just fragments of what had once been your aircraft, pieces of you scattered like shattered glass.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. Just stared at the wreckage, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.

Price placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured something meant to comfort. He barely heard it.

All he could hear was your last transmission, looping in his mind like a broken record. Your voice—his anchor, his safe place—reduced to a desperate cry for help he couldn’t answer.

That night, for the first time in years, he reached for his radio and switched to your private frequency.

Static.

He closed his eyes, gripping the radio so tightly it trembled in his hands. He waited, hoping—praying—that somehow, against all logic, you’d answer.

But you didn’t.

You never would again.

And Simon never believed in angels.

Not until he lost one.

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

gonna go hide now.

@daydreamerwoah

[th3mrskory]

Lessons in Desire

Pairing: fem!Reader x Professor!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, explicit language, coercion, power play, handjob, fingering.

Summary: In the classroom, their power dynamics shift, drawing them closer to the edge of what’s acceptable. Caught between desire and the threat of scandal, they push past boundaries, each unable to deny the magnetic pull between them. But with stakes this high, the real question is: how much will they sacrifice for a forbidden passion they can’t control?

Word count: 7.7 k

A/N:For those that know me know that I love history (it was almost my major but life happened), so this was me basically thirsting over this pictures of Hugh and imagining him as my history teacher. Yes I’m exposing myself, anyways I hope you guys like it. If you guys have ideas that you would like to share with me, please let me know, and maybe we can create something. I’m rambling … please enjoy!

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

"Power is not always obvious," Professor Logan said, his eyes scanning the room, catching the attention of his students. "It doesn’t always come with a crown or a title. Sometimes it comes with a whisper, a glance, a gesture. And sometimes—sometimes it comes when you least expect it."

The lecture hall was a quiet hum, a symphony of the mundane—pens scratching against paper, the rustle of pages turning. Logan’s voice carried through the room, steady and calm, but beneath it ran an undercurrent of something else. He spoke of empires, of power, of rulers who bent the world to their will. His words were sharp, his delivery precise, but always with an edge of something darker, something more elusive.

His eyes lingered a moment longer on Y/N, sitting at the front, her pen poised over her notes. She was one of the best in the class, her focus unwavering, her understanding evident in the way she took in every word. He could see the intellect in her eyes, but there was something else too—a quiet defiance, a knowing. She met his gaze for just a fraction of a second before looking back down at her notes, but in that brief exchange, the air between them shifted.

"History," Logan continued, his voice low and resonant, "is full of those who understood this—those who knew how to wield influence without ever raising a sword." He let the words linger in the air, letting the students process, but his eyes were already searching, narrowing as they locked onto a figure in the front row—Y/N.

She sat with her chin propped in one hand, a look of quiet disinterest in her eyes as she scribbled down a few notes. Her friends, a small cluster of chatterboxes seated next to her, whispered among themselves, the occasional giggle slipping through the otherwise hushed atmosphere. Y/N didn’t seem to mind; her eyes drifted lazily over Logan, then back to her friends, her attention more drawn to the familiar cadence of their conversation than to the lecture itself.

Logan could feel her presence, could sense the way she seemed to float above his words. She was too intelligent to be completely consumed by his lecture, and perhaps that was the greatest challenge—how to captivate someone who had already mastered the material long before it was ever spoken aloud. And yet, every now and then, she would glance back at him, those eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. It was the same each class—brief, fleeting, but enough to remind him of the subtle power they held in each other's gaze.

"But what happens," Logan’s voice dipped lower, growing more intense, "when the power shifts? When authority is tested?" He paused, holding her attention a moment longer, the words weighing more heavily now. "We’ll see that today."

A student in the back row raised a hand, his voice eager. "Professor, are you suggesting that power is always a matter of perception? That someone can be in control without others even knowing?"

Logan glanced at the student, a brief flicker of amusement crossing his features. "Exactly," he replied, his eyes shifting back to Y/N, even though he answered the question. "Power often hides itself in plain sight—subtle, insidious. True power doesn’t need to announce its presence."

Another student chimed in, this time from the middle row. "So, like—manipulation?"

Logan paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Manipulation," he said, eyes narrowing with a trace of something dangerous, "can be a tool, if wielded wisely." His gaze, though, remained fixed on Y/N. "But power, true power, is about controlling the game without ever touching the pieces."

The students exchanged murmurs, their intrigue growing, but Logan’s focus never fully left Y/N. She wasn’t engaged in the discussion—not like the others—yet there was something about the way she let his words wash over her that made her more dangerous to him than any of the others. 

"Take the rulers of ancient Rome," Logan continued, seamlessly drawing the class back in, his tone now lighter, almost conversational. "They understood this very well. The true power wasn’t in the Senate or the legions, but in the whispers of the people. In the alliances made not on the battlefield, but in the shadows."

Y/N’s eyes flicked back to him, a moment of acknowledgment passing between them. She was listening now, more intently than before, but only just. Logan could feel it—how her mind moved faster than his words, how she already knew the direction he was going. And yet, something about the way she looked at him—something in that moment—made him pause, made the tension between them swell, palpable and thick.

Before he could finish his thought, Y/N interrupted him, her voice cutting through the air, the usual quiet of the room briefly shattered. "You’re going to tell us that real power isn’t in war or force, but in control, right?" Her words hung in the air, bold and playful, a challenge and a tease all at once.

Logan blinked, momentarily taken aback, but his gaze sharpened. His lips curled, not into a smile, but something more dangerous—acknowledgment, maybe even respect. "Control?" He leaned forward, his voice lowering, drawing her in. "Yes, it’s about control. But it’s not just any control. It’s the kind that’s invisible, the kind that makes others think they’re in charge while you hold the strings."

A flicker of something passed through Y/N’s eyes, a sharpness that matched his own. "Manipulation," she replied, her tone low but deliberate, her gaze never leaving his.

The words hung between them, charged. Logan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She’s onto me, he thought, and that thought sent a current through him, an unfamiliar thrill. "If you want to call it that," he said, his voice low and smooth. "But manipulation only works if you understand who you’re manipulating—and why. It’s about knowing how to move, when to act, and when to let things fall into place."

Y/N didn’t flinch, her eyes never wavering. She leaned back slightly in her chair, arms crossed, as though she were more an observer than a student. "And when does the power shift?" she asked, tilting her head. "What happens then?"

Logan’s gaze shifted, a slight pause before he answered. He had expected her to be sharp, but this was something different. "When the power shifts," he said slowly, his voice turning almost wistful, "you learn who really holds it."

The room settled into a quiet anticipation, the kind that only arose when the lecture strayed from the script. Logan turned to the chalkboard, picking up a piece of chalk and scrawling a name in bold strokes: Julius Caesar. The classroom watched, but Y/N’s eyes followed the movement with an almost lazy attentiveness, her focus as sharp as it was disinterested.

"Take Caesar," Logan began, his back to the room. "Brilliant general. Unstoppable conqueror. But what truly made him dangerous wasn’t his victories on the battlefield." He underlined the name, his strokes precise. "It was the way he made himself indispensable to Rome—how he turned loyalty into a weapon."

He turned back to face the class, letting his eyes drift again to Y/N, who hadn’t moved, her expression inscrutable. "He didn’t just seize power. He made them give it to him. The Senate, the people—they thought they were in control. But every step they took to restrain him only tightened his hold on them."

A hand shot up near the back of the room. "Wasn’t that what got him killed, though? Didn’t the Senate turn on him because they felt he had too much power?"

Logan’s mouth curved into a faint smile. "Exactly. But even in his death, Caesar proved his point. The Republic collapsed soon after, and the empire he had envisioned took its place. His name—his legacy—became synonymous with authority. Even those who conspired against him couldn’t escape his influence."

He leaned back against his desk, arms folding loosely across his chest. "So, the question isn’t whether power shifts. It always does. The question is—" his gaze swept over the class, settling on Y/N once more, "—who has prepared for the moment when it does?"

Her friends exchanged murmurs beside her, but Y/N stayed silent. Her fingers tapped idly on the edge of her notebook, her posture casual, but there was something coiled beneath it, something deliberate. She tilted her head, her lips parting as though to speak, but then she stopped, a ghost of a smile brushing her face as she leaned back again.

Logan noticed the hesitation. His jaw tightened, just for a moment, before he turned his attention back to the broader audience. "In Rome," he continued, voice steady, "Caesar’s power wasn’t in the Senate or the legions. It was in his ability to command the loyalty of others. He made them believe in him, even as he dismantled everything they held sacred."

The room buzzed faintly with whispers, but Logan didn’t silence them. He allowed the undercurrent to fill the space, his words sinking in slowly. He glanced at the clock—five minutes until the hour.

"All right," he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, "we’ll stop there for today. Read the chapters on Rome’s transition from Republic to Empire. And," he added, his gaze briefly flitting to Y/N, "consider what it takes to hold power without ever appearing to grasp it."

The students began to shuffle their things, the noise of zippers and chair legs scraping against the floor filling the room. Y/N stood, slipping her notebook into her bag as her friends chatted beside her. But as she made her way toward the door, Logan’s voice cut through the hum.

"Y/N," he called, his tone neutral but firm. "Do you have a minute?"

Her friends shot her curious glances, but she waved them off. "I’ll catch up," she said, her voice easy, almost careless. She turned back toward Logan, stepping away from the others.

He waited until the room had cleared, the door clicking shut behind the last student, before he spoke. "I need some help with grading," he said, his words measured. "“I could use some extra hands this evening—are you available?”

Y/N raised a brow, her lips quirking in faint amusement. "Grading? Or a lesson in subtlety?"

Logan’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. "We’ll see," he replied, his tone low, charged.

She considered him for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. When and where?"

"My office," he said simply. "Six o’clock."

Y/N didn’t respond, but the glance she gave him was answer enough before she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the empty classroom.

Logan remained seated on the edge of his desk as the classroom door swung shut behind her. The faint click of her heels against the hallway floor lingered in his ears, each step an echo, a countdown. He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, his fingers catching briefly before dropping back to his side. The room, now empty, felt larger somehow, its silence almost accusatory.

Grading. The excuse had come so easily, almost too easily, but it was better than nothing. He couldn’t very well say what was really on his mind—hell, even he wasn’t sure what that was. All he knew was that when she spoke, when her gaze pinned him in place, the careful structure he maintained in his world started to shift, brick by brick.

He pushed himself off the desk, straightening his tie as he crossed the room to gather his notes. His handwriting, normally steady, seemed slightly uneven today. He glanced at the last page, where his lecture had trailed off into a cluster of jagged phrases—power, perception, control. He closed the notebook sharply, the sound satisfying in the empty space.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, Logan was in his office. The space was small but personal—bookshelves crammed with volumes of history and philosophy, their spines worn from years of abuse. A map of the ancient world hung on one wall, dotted with small push pins marking significant events. His desk, a heavy wooden piece with years of scratches and scars, was cluttered with papers, a half-empty coffee cup, and a small brass figurine of a Roman eagle.

The knock on his door was soft, but deliberate. He glanced up, already knowing who it would be. "Come in," he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the anticipation simmering beneath the surface.

Y/N stepped inside, her expression calm, almost detached, but her eyes gave her away—bright, alert, scanning the room in a single sweep before settling on him. She carried her bag over one shoulder, her free hand resting casually on the strap.

"You’re early," he remarked, leaning back in his chair.

She shrugged, letting the door click shut behind her. "Figured I’d get this over with."

Logan smirked, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. "Glad to know I’m such a burden."

Y/N didn’t sit immediately. Instead, she wandered a few steps, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of one of the bookshelves as she glanced over the titles. "You’ve got a lot of books about power," she noted, her tone light but probing.

"Comes with the territory," he replied. "History is about power—who has it, who wants it, and what they’ll do to keep it."

She turned then, meeting his gaze. "And you? Are you one of those who want it?"

Logan’s smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, more guarded. "You don’t get to ask questions like that without sitting down first."

Y/N tilted her head, amused, but she complied, settling into the chair across from him. She crossed one leg over the other.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "grading. What’s the plan?"

Logan slid a small stack of papers across the desk, his fingers brushing hers briefly as she reached for them. "Freshman essays on Rome’s decline. Half of them won’t even spell Caesar right."

Y/N flipped through the stack, her expression unreadable. "Sounds riveting."

"Welcome to my world," he said dryly.

For a while, they worked in near silence, the occasional rustle of papers or scratch of pen filling the air. But Logan couldn’t help watching her, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she read, the way her fingers tapped absently against the desk when she paused to think.

"You're good at this," he said after a while, his voice breaking the quiet.

She glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "At grading?"

"At analysis," he clarified. "You see things most people don’t."

Y/N set the paper she’d been holding back on the desk, leaning forward slightly. "And what do you see, Professor?"

Logan met her gaze, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, the air heavier. "Someone who doesn’t like being underestimated," he said simply.

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something close. "Good," she said softly. "Because you’d be wrong if you did."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the unspoken hanging between them. Then, Y/N leaned back, breaking the tension. "So, what’s the verdict on these essays? Anyone worth saving?"

Logan blinked, the spell broken, and glanced at the stack. "A couple, maybe. But how is it possible,” he muttered, “to spend weeks discussing the rise and fall of empires, only for them to write that Julius Caesar’s greatest achievement was dying?”

Y/N burst out laughing, the sound breaking the otherwise quiet room. She set down her pen, shaking her head. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Logan picked up the offending essay and held it out to her. “See for yourself. Apparently, his second-greatest achievement was ‘Romeo and Juliet.’”

She snorted, her eyes scanning the page as she leaned over the desk. “This is tragic. This one essay could single-handedly set the entire field of history back by centuries.”

“Well, at least they’re consistent,” Logan said dryly, tossing another essay into the reject pile. “This one thought the ‘divine right of kings’ was God handing out crowns like participation trophies.”

Y/N laughed again, the sound warm and unguarded, and Logan found himself watching her for a beat longer than necessary. Her shoulders shook as she leaned back in her chair, an easy confidence radiating off her.

“So, what about you?” he asked, shifting the focus. “How’s your thesis coming along?”

“Slowly,” she admitted, crossing her arms. “I’ve narrowed it down to the influence of religion on political systems, but it’s like peeling back an onion. Every time I think I’m getting somewhere, there’s another layer waiting.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’re taking on a beast of a topic. What angle are you focusing on?”

“The shift from divine justification to secular authority,” Y/N replied, her tone more serious now. “How religion was weaponized to maintain control, and how that control evolved when religion started losing its grip.”

A flicker of respect passed through his eyes, though he kept his tone light. “Ambitious. Let me guess—you’re arguing it’s all manipulation in the end?”

She smiled, tilting her head. “What else would it be? Power is power, whether it’s cloaked in faith or reason. It’s still about controlling people.”

Logan leaned back slightly in his chair, his pen tapping idly against the desk. His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful yet laced with curiosity. “You’ve got your thesis to worry about, and still, you’re helping me out. I appreciate it. I just hope I’m not keeping you from anything—or anyone—important. A boyfriend waiting for you, perhaps?”

Y/N snorted softly, her lips curling into a wry smile. “Hardly. He’s low-maintenance.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her answer. “Low-maintenance? What does that mean?”

Y/N’s gaze flicked to him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “It means he’s rechargeable. Silent. Never argues. And he always knows when to stop.”

Logan’s smirk deepened, his voice smooth as he leaned forward just slightly. “So, he’s an easy out? No strings attached?”

“Exactly,” she replied, her tone playful. “No messy complications. Just... straight to the point.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rich, almost predatory. “Hmm, sounds like you’ve found the perfect solution. Clean, uncomplicated.”

Y/N’s eyes twinkled with amusement, but there was a steel edge beneath her teasing tone. “I like things simple. No mind games. No drama. Just... what I need, when I need it.”

Logan leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening, intrigued by the calm confidence she wore. “Control. You’ve got that down to an art, haven’t you? Even in your... choice of company.”

She met his gaze, a sly smile curving her lips. “I learned from the best.”

Logan paused, his breath caught for just a moment, before he let out a quiet chuckle. “Flattery. That’s a dangerous game.”

Y/N’s smile deepened, her voice low but unwavering. “Maybe. But I’m not the one playing it.”

The brief silence between them felt charged, the space between words crackling with unspoken thoughts. Y/N allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to form as she leaned back slightly in her chair, her gaze steady on him. She tilted her head, her expression one of quiet challenge. “And what about you, Professor?” she asked casually, her voice laced with a hint of mischief. “Anyone waiting for you back home?”

Logan’s eyes darkened briefly, his expression shifting as he leaned back in his chair. The pen in his hand tapped against the desk, a rhythmic, deliberate motion that betrayed his otherwise calm demeanor. “No,” he said after a beat, his voice carrying an edge sharper than intended. “Commitment’s not really my style. I’m more of a... here-and-now kind of guy.”

Y/N’s brow lifted, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “‘A here-and-now kind of guy,’” she repeated softly, the words brushing the air between them like a challenge. Her smile deepened, almost wistful. “That’s... disappointing.”

Logan’s gaze flickered for a moment, though his expression remained controlled, as if weighing her words, testing the waters. “Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter, almost nonchalant. “But complications have a way of unraveling things you don’t want to lose. Simpler’s safer.” He let the words hang in the air, deliberately guiding the conversation.

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his. “Uncomplicated, sure,” she murmured, her voice soft but threaded with a quiet challenge. “But sometimes, don’t you think... what you’re missing is worth the complication?” Her words lingered in the air, but there was an almost imperceptible softness to her tone—a fleeting crack in her otherwise cool demeanor. Logan noted it, watching her with a careful, calculated look.

Logan smiled, just slightly, letting the moment breathe. “Maybe,” he replied, his voice now cooler, as though he were drawing back, pulling her deeper into the web without her fully realizing it. “But I’ve found that sometimes, it’s easier to avoid the... complications. Keeps things from getting messy.”

He let that hang in the air too, deliberately creating space, knowing the pause would make her respond. He met her gaze again, just long enough for her to sense his scrutiny. “You wouldn’t want that, right? Complications?”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, one that was almost... understanding, but it wasn’t quite enough to give away what she was thinking. “Maybe I don’t mind a little ‘complication’ every now and then,” she replied, her voice calm but her eyes locking onto his with quiet intensity. “After all, some things are worth the risk.”

Logan didn’t let the moment slip. He leaned forward slightly, maintaining just enough distance to keep the tension taut but still under his control. The words between them had reached a tipping point, and he could see it in her eyes—there was curiosity, but it was laced with something more.

For a brief second, Logan allowed his gaze to soften. This wasn’t just about testing her; it was about controlling the situation, manipulating it into the direction he wanted. “You sure you want to go down that road?” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost intimate. He was close enough now that the question felt like a warning, though Y/N couldn’t know it was a game he’d already planned out.

Y/N’s lips parted, her breath hitching slightly as she met his gaze. There was a faint hesitation in her eyes—one that she quickly masked, but it was there. “Maybe it’s just... curiosity,” she said, the words slipping out with an almost vulnerable undertone. She was playing along, but Logan knew she was being careful, trying to keep her emotions in check.

He smiled, watching her carefully, knowing exactly how to push without breaking the illusion. “Curiosity,” he repeated softly, his voice low but laced with something almost indulgent. He leaned in a fraction closer, just enough to close the space without crossing that line completely.

“You know,” he said quietly, his breath warm against her skin, “curiosity has a way of leading people to places they didn’t expect.”

Her heart rate quickened, but she held her ground, her lips barely moving as she whispered, “And sometimes, that’s exactly where you want to go.”

Logan’s breath hitched for the slightest moment, but he masked it instantly, his focus shifting to the game at hand. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers in a tentative kiss. Soft. Calculated. His lips barely touched hers, enough to send the message, enough to make her feel something deeper.

It wasn’t a kiss of passion. It was a kiss of deliberate provocation.

When they finally broke apart, the air between them hummed with a charged silence, like the crackle of electricity in the aftermath of an intentional spark. Their breaths were shallow, their eyes locked, as if neither could move, both caught in the weight of what had just passed between them.

Logan was the first to speak, his voice lower than before, with just the slightest edge of something darker—more guarded. “This... we shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his words meant to sound like a regret he didn’t quite feel, the weight of the moment a tool in his hands. He wasn’t sorry—not truly. He wanted to see how she would react, whether she would flinch, show any sign of vulnerability, or challenge him. The flicker of desire was still there in his gaze, but it was buried under layers of calculation.

Y/N didn’t react the way he expected. Her lips curled into a wry smile, but her eyes stayed locked on his, steady, almost daring him to push further. “You don’t sound convinced,” she observed softly, her voice a careful blend of playfulness and something more—an understanding of the game they were both playing. It was a challenge, yes, but also a recognition of the unspoken truth between them.

Logan scoffed, his laugh a low, almost bitter sound. “I’m not,” he admitted, but his words weren’t filled with regret—they were loaded, deliberately dismissive. He wasn’t retreating; he was testing the waters, watching for a reaction. His gaze flicked away from her, then back to the desk in front of him, as if trying to avoid her unyielding gaze. “But it doesn’t change what just happened, does it?”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second—was it doubt? Or something softer?—but it was gone before it could fully surface. Her expression returned to its calm, controlled mask, as if the whole moment had been anticipated. “No,” she answered quietly, her voice steady, distant. “It doesn’t.”

Logan’s posture shifted as he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, a gesture that made him seem a little more disarmed than he’d intended. “Y/N... we can’t—” He started, but she cut him off, her tone decisive and calm, as though she had already moved past the tension he was still dwelling in.

“We don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted smoothly, the words hanging in the air between them like a challenge. “Not yet.”

The certainty in her voice gave him pause, something in her demeanor catching him off guard. She wasn’t flinching. She wasn’t retreating into regret. There was something about the way she held her ground that intrigued him—something that suggested she understood exactly what was happening and wasn’t going to let him dictate the narrative.

Logan studied her closely now, his arms crossed, his expression thoughtful but guarded. His gaze never wavered, though there was a flicker of something else there—something more complicated than simple curiosity. “You’re not exactly... conflicted about this, are you?” he asked, the words almost slipping out too easily, the hint of a challenge in his tone.

Y/N met his gaze head-on, her eyes sharp with unspoken challenge. “Not in the way you think,” she replied, her voice quiet but resolute. "I know the risks, Logan. I know exactly what this means." She leaned forward, just slightly, her posture relaxed but full of intent, a subtle power radiating from her. "But sometimes... the things we want the most come with the heaviest consequences."

Her words weren’t a warning, they were an invitation. She was offering him something, but it was still unclear whether she understood just how deep the game they were playing could go. 

"Maybe I'm willing to deal with those consequences," she added, her voice low, the challenge unmistakable. Her eyes stayed steady on his, unwavering. She was daring him to take the next step.

Logan’s breath hitched, his gaze flickering just briefly. He saw it then—the confidence, the control. It made him pause, just for a moment, before he masked it behind the careful composure he always maintained. But this wasn’t how he expected her to play this. He'd thought he’d be the one to make the move, to pull her in. Yet here she was, letting him know exactly what she was willing to risk.

“And what happens now?” His voice remained steady, but there was something in it now—something that betrayed the tension between them, an undercurrent of desire buried beneath the layers of control.

Y/N didn’t answer with words. She didn’t need to. She grabbed the front of his shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric with a boldness that surprised him—pulling him toward her without hesitation, without doubt.

A calculated move in this dance they were engaged in. Logan’s breath caught in his throat, a sharp intake as he felt the force of her pull, the heat of her body so close to his. This wasn’t what he planned—this wasn’t the distance he had wanted—but he wasn’t backing down now. Her boldness wasn’t a weakness; it was part of the game.

Their lips crashed together, urgent and raw, a kiss filled with all the unspoken tension that had been building between them. This wasn’t soft or teasing—it was the culmination of everything they’d avoided saying, everything they’d skirted around. The heat of it was overwhelming, and it swept away the logic, the control. This was about need.

Her fingers gripped his tie, pulling at it as though she wanted to tear down every barrier between them—every piece of control he’d set in place. She wanted him, but this wasn’t just about physical desire. It was about the power struggle between them, the unspoken understanding that they were playing with fire and knew it.

Logan’s hands moved to her hips, pulling her even closer, the urgency mirrored in his movements. His mind raced with the implications, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was pushing him, but he was in control. He always had been.

Her lips parted slightly, and he felt the shift in her kiss, felt the hunger in the way she responded. This wasn’t just an act of passion—it was a statement. A declaration that she was willing to go there, even if it meant everything else unraveled in the process. She wanted more, and now, Logan wanted to see just how far she was willing to go.

Breaking the kiss for a brief moment, Y/N’s voice came out shaky, but her words were sharp with need. “I don’t want to finish grading,” she breathed, the teasing edge in her tone now thick with desire. “Not when there’s something else I want more.”

Logan’s chest tightened, his grip on her waist instinctively tightening as he absorbed her words. The pulse of desire in her voice triggered something inside him, something he’d carefully cultivated, and without hesitation, his lips found hers once more. This kiss wasn’t tentative; it was frantic, hungry, and more driven than the one before, as if they were both racing toward a precipice neither had ever dared approach before.

Her fingers tugged at his tie, pulling it free and discarding it like the insignificant obstacle it was. The classroom, the grading, the rules—everything that had once stood between them shattered into nothing. There was only the burning need they couldn’t contain any longer. Logan’s hands roamed her body, pulling her closer, and with each touch, the world outside of that classroom faded further. There was no right or wrong anymore—only this.

Her breath was quick, her lips leaving his only to trail across his neck, her hands moving over his chest, exploring the heat of his body beneath the fabric. It was like a spark had ignited inside her, and she needed more of him—more than the stolen glances, the moments of tension.

Logan’s hands slid lower, finding the curve of her hips as he lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering in their wake. She felt the rush of blood in her veins, the heat of his touch, and the magnetic pull that had been drawing them together from the very start. The kiss deepened, more urgent now, as if their bodies were trying to communicate what their words hadn’t. Each movement, each shift, brought them closer to the inevitable.

Y/N moaned against his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him in closer, as if she needed him to fill every space inside her. Every caress was an electric shock, a wave of heat that seemed to surge through her, leaving her breathless and craving more.

Logan’s hand slid under the hem of her skirt, his touch firm but gentle, as though testing her response. The shock of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she gasped, her pulse racing with the rush of adrenaline and need.

“Logan,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to speak, her voice ragged with desire. “I don’t care anymore… about the rules, about anything. I just want this.”

He didn’t need to answer with words. His mouth claimed hers again, slower this time, but with an intensity that suggested he was savoring the taste of her, the feel of her beneath his hands. He was in control, but it didn’t feel like control—it felt like something more dangerous, something they were both choosing to step into.

His hands slid under her blouse, his fingertips brushing over her skin, sending a rush of heat through her veins. She moaned softly against his lips, her body arching toward him, urging him on. She wanted more. She needed more.

Everything else, every rule, every boundary, seemed insignificant compared to the way they were consumed by each other. This moment—this connection—had been building for far too long, and now that they were here, there was no retreating, no second-guessing. Only the fire between them, only the pull that neither of them could resist any longer.

Logan’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of heat that made Y/N’s breath hitch. His rough hands moved to the hem of her blouse, his fingers brushing against her bare skin as he lifted the fabric slowly, deliberately. She shivered at the sensation, her own hands not idle—they slid along his chest, tracing the defined muscle beneath his skin, her touch both curious and confident.

"Do you always move this slow?" she teased, her voice breathless yet playful as her eyes met his.

Logan chuckled, his smirk equal parts charm and challenge. "You in a hurry, princess?" he murmured, his voice thick as honey.

Instead of answering, she took matters into her own hands, tugging at his belt with deft fingers. The clink of metal echoed in the room, sharp against the background of their heavy breathing. Logan growled low in his throat, the sound sending a thrill straight through her as he captured her lips again, more fervent this time, as if her boldness had spurred him on.

The blouse slipped from her shoulders, pooling on the floor alongside the papers and books that had already been scattered. Logan’s hands roamed her now-bare skin, his touch reverent despite the urgency building between them. His calloused palms brushed over her ribs, his thumbs tracing the edges of her bra before sliding beneath the straps and slowly tugging them down her arms.

Her own fingers worked quickly to rid him of his shirt, pushing it back until it joined her blouse on the floor. She took a moment to drink in the sight of him—broad shoulders, a chest covered in hair, and a strength that had always been hinted at but now stood fully revealed before her.

"You’ve been hiding this under those button-ups?" she asked, her voice low and teasing as her nails grazed his skin from his chest and down his abdomen.

Logan chuckled again, a rich, gravelly sound that sent a rush of warmth through her. 

His hands slid to the waistband of her skirt, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric as he pulled it down slowly, letting it fall to the floor. She stood before him now, clad in just her bra and panties, her confidence unshaken as his eyes roamed over her, lingering on every curve.

"You're beautiful," he muttered, almost to himself, as he reached out to trace the line of her hip.

Y/N smiled, stepping closer to him, her hands moving to the waistband of his trousers. "So are you," she whispered, her voice softer now, almost tender, as she undid the button and slid the zipper down.

The clothing between them quickly became an afterthought, discarded piece by piece until there was nothing left but bare skin and the electric tension that had built between them. Logan’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him, the heat of his body making her gasp softly.

Her hand slipped between their bodies, the heat of her palm pressing against him with an aching precision. She wrapped her fingers around his length, her touch firm and deliberate, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him.

Logan’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the intensity of her touch forcing him to steady himself. He leaned into her, his forehead resting against hers as she began to move, her hand stroking him with a rhythm that was both torturously slow and utterly consuming.

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, and his hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer until there was nothing between them but the slick heat of skin against skin. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a strained rasp, thick with desire.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her breath came in short, quick bursts as her movements grew bolder. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who’s supposed to have all the control.”she whispered, her tone teasing yet tinged with her own need. 

He chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Don’t push me, darlin,” he warned, though the way his hips moved into her touch betrayed just how much power she held in that moment.

“Oh, I plan to,” she shot back, her voice playful, her fingers tracing deliberate paths that made his entire body tense beneath her touch.

Logan’s hands slid up her back, his fingertips digging into her skin with a restrained urgency. He caught her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her soft gasp as he shifted their positions, guiding her back against the desk. The wood was cool against her bare skin, but the heat radiating from him made it impossible to focus on anything else.

His lips left hers to trail down her jaw, then lower, nipping at the curve of her neck. “You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” he murmured against her skin, his voice a low growl.

Y/N’s laughter was breathless, her hand never pausing in its steady rhythm. “I think you like it,” she countered, her tone light, though her body betrayed her own rising need.

Logan pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his smirk dangerous and full of promise. “I think you’re about to find out just how wrong you are.”

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the curve of her thigh with rough fingertips, the contrast against her softness making her tremble. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over hers as he whispered, “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Y/N barely had time to reply before his lips descended to her neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made her arch beneath him. His hand slid between her thighs, his touch light but purposeful as he explored her heat, teasing and testing her resolve.

A soft gasp escaped her lips, her head tilting back as his fingers moved with skill, parting her gently. Her breathing quickened, her body instinctively shifting closer to him, seeking more of his touch.

“You’re so sensitive,” Logan murmured against her collarbone, his voice a low growl filled with a mixture of admiration and intent. He pressed his thumb to her clit in a slow, deliberate circle, his movements calculated and unrelenting.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp as she struggled to form coherent thoughts. “Logan…” she breathed, her voice catching on his name, both a plea and a warning.

He smirked against her skin, the trace of something darker in his eyes as he planted soft, deliberate kisses along her neck. His lips brushed over her shoulder, sending a shiver through her, before he whispered in her ear, his voice thick with desire. “No, not Logan, darlin’.”

She froze for a second, the weight of his words hanging in the air between them. The tension crackled with unspoken authority. Logan’s breath was warm against her skin as he continued, his lips brushing the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “You know what I want you to call me.”

Her pulse quickened, a flicker of resistance sparking within her, but she couldn’t deny the way his voice, low and commanding, made her heart race. She met his gaze, the challenge still alive in her eyes. “Professor,” she whispered, the word feeling foreign yet somehow right on her tongue.

A low chuckle rumbled from him, and he pulled her closer, the grin on his face both triumphant and dangerous. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice now a gravelly whisper that sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over her. “Just let me take care of you.”

Her body arched as he pressed deeper, his fingers finding a rhythm that had her gasping, her thighs trembling against his forearm. Logan watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, taking in every reaction as though it fueled him.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her head falling back against the desk as her body succumbed to the pleasure he built within her. Logan didn’t relent, his movements growing more insistent, his free hand gripping her hip to steady her as she began to fall apart beneath him.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice a rough command, and when her eyes fluttered open to meet his, the raw intensity in his gaze sent her spiraling.

Her release came like a tidal wave, her body tensing and then shuddering as a broken cry escaped her lips. Logan didn’t stop until the last tremor left her, his touch slowing but never fully leaving her, grounding her in the aftermath.

As her breathing steadied, Y/N met his gaze, her lips curling into a lazy smile. “Fuck Professor.”

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his words a mix of accusation and surrender.

“And you’re stalling,” she replied, her tone daring as she tilted her head to meet his lips fully, capturing them in a kiss that was fierce and demanding.

Logan groaned against her mouth, his self-control shattering as his hands roamed over her body, claiming every inch he could reach. 

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, the heat between them building with every stolen touch. Logan’s lips left hers, trailing down the line of her neck, his stubble scraping her sensitive skin in a way that made her gasp.

“Y/N,” he rasped against her throat, his voice thick with desire and restraint, his hands tightening on her hips.

Her answer was to arch into him, her breath hitching as her body pressed against his. “No more talking,” she whispered, her voice firm but breathless, her fingers tugging him back to her.

The cool edge of the desk met her back, but the warmth of his body was all she could focus on as he leaned into her.

She could feel his hands roaming gently, tracing the contours of her body, but it was the way he moved—intentional, slow, and purposeful—that had her pulse quickening. His lips ghosted over her skin, just enough to leave her shivering in anticipation.

Logan’s hands were firm on her hips, his grip possessive as he pressed her back against the desk. His mouth was everywhere—her jaw, her throat, the dip of her collarbone—hot and unrelenting, like he was making up for all the time they’d spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

But Y/N wasn’t in the mood to just take whatever he gave her.

With a smirk, she pushed at his chest, catching him just off guard enough to make him step back. His brows furrowed in confusion, lips parted like he was about to argue, but she didn’t give him the chance. Instead, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him into his chair.

Logan let out a low, breathy chuckle, eyes dark and sharp as they flicked up to meet hers. “That so?” he murmured, his voice all gravel and challenge.

Y/N just smiled, swinging a leg over his lap and settling onto him like she belonged there. Like she was claiming him the way he always tried to claim her.

Logan’s hands immediately found her thighs, sliding up with slow, dangerous intent. His gaze was locked onto hers, heavy-lidded and unreadable, but his fingers dug into her skin like he was daring her to keep going.

And she was going to.

She rolled her hips against him just enough to feel the sharp hitch of his breath, the way his fingers tightened in response. He groaned low in his throat, his control cracking, his grip guiding her just a little rougher, a little more desperate—

Knock.

They both froze.

A heartbeat. Then another.

Knock.

“Professor Howlett?”

Y/N stiffened. Logan’s jaw locked, his grip on her waist iron tight as if he was physically restraining himself from losing his goddamn mind.

The voice was muffled through the door, but the words were clear. “I just had a question about the midterm—are you in there?”

Silence.

Y/N barely breathed, her body still pressed against his, her heart pounding so hard she swore Logan could feel it.

His hands didn’t move. His eyes didn’t move. He was staring at her, exhaling slow and steady through his nose, and fuck, he looked like he was about to ruin something.

Instead, he leaned in, his lips barely brushing against her ear as he muttered, voice thick with frustration, “This isn’t over.”

Y/N smirked, her lips ghosting over his jaw as she whispered, "I wouldn’t dream of it."

Logan exhaled sharply, a low, frustrated sound rumbling in his chest. His hands flexed against her thighs like he was this close to dragging her right back down, to make sure she regretted every ounce of that teasing bravado. 

And with painful reluctance, he lifted her off his lap.

The second her feet hit the floor, she felt the loss of him—the heat, the weight, the way he’d held onto her like he wasn’t ready to let go.

She met his gaze one last time, taking in the way his jaw was tight, the way his knuckles were white against the arms of his chair.

And she already knew—when this moment finally came back around?

It was going to be worse.

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[pixiexdusts-world]

The last game

Chishiya x reader

Summary: A carefree girl earns Chishiya’s respect through her charm and unpredictability in a deadly game.

Word count: 741

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I knew he was trouble the first time I saw him—tall, cool, and looking like he could read my mind. But I didn’t mind. Honestly, I liked the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to figure out. I’m not dumb, but I guess I don’t exactly come off as the smartest person in the room, either. That’s fine, though. I don’t need to be brainy to keep up with him.

Chishiya’s the kind of guy who doesn’t waste words. He says exactly what he means, and when he smiles, it’s like he already knows something you don’t. He’s a little scary, but I like it. He has this way of making everything feel like a game—a game I don’t always understand, but I play along.

He usually leaves me out of the really dangerous stuff, the mind games and the strategy talk. He knows I’m not good with that—hell, half the time I don’t even get what’s going on. But he doesn’t mind. Or at least, he never shows it.

It was during one of those endless nights when the games seemed to drag on forever that I found myself sitting beside him in a dark corner of the building. Everyone else was fighting, plotting, scheming. But me? I was just… existing. Trying to look cute. Trying to make him smile.

He didn’t look at me, not at first. His eyes were focused on the game screen, his mind already miles ahead, analyzing the next move. I was used to it by now, the way he just… tuned me out when things were important. It didn’t bother me.

But when I shifted and bumped his shoulder, he looked up, those sharp eyes locking onto mine.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low, like he was testing something.

I smiled, my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. “Just thinking… about us, I guess.”

Chishiya didn’t react right away. His gaze lingered, as if trying to decipher what I meant. But I didn’t care. I liked being mysterious sometimes. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t always predictable.

“Thinking about what?” he asked.

“About how I can make you smile,” I said with a grin, leaning a little closer.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that your strategy?”

I shrugged, flipping my hair and making sure he caught the way I looked at him. “I guess you could say that.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His lips quirked up into a half-smile, the kind of smile that made you wonder if he was mocking you or just playing a game you didn’t quite understand.

“You know, I’ve been watching you,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not as dumb as you seem.”

I laughed, brushing it off. “Hey, I’m not stupid. I just like to have fun.”

His smile turned a little more genuine, and it made my heart race. “Fun can be dangerous,” he said, but there was a softness in his voice that didn’t match his usual cold tone.

I blinked at him. “Is that why you like me? ‘Cause I’m dangerous?”

He tilted his head, considering the question. “You’re not dangerous. But you’re unpredictable. And that makes things interesting.”

The next day, things went south. As usual, the game was twisted and brutal. The other players were ruthless, fighting for their lives in the most twisted ways. I kept close to Chishiya, though. He was my shield, my secret weapon. Not because he wanted to protect me, but because I kept him entertained. I had a feeling he liked keeping me close for the challenge, for the puzzle I presented.

“You’re not like the others,” he said when we managed to hide away from the chaos. “You don’t try to fight. You just… let things happen.”

I smiled, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “I don’t need to fight to win, babe. I have other ways.”

He studied me for a moment, that unreadable expression on his face. “You really think that?”

I nodded, proud of myself. “Of course. I have my charm.”

Chishiya’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was something different about it now. He wasn’t laughing at me, not anymore. It was like he finally understood me. He knew I wasn’t just a dumb girl in a messed-up game. I was a player, too, in my own way.

And for the first time, I thought maybe, just maybe, he respected me. Not for my brain, but for the way I played the game.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said, turning to leave.

I watched him go, my heart fluttering for reasons I didn’t fully understand. I was smart enough to know that with Chishiya, I was always one step behind—but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to play. And if that meant being the unpredictable, carefree girl who kept him intrigued, then so be it.

Because in the end, that was the game we were both playing.

[daisy-01-blog]

Stupidly beautiful model got fucked by another beautiful model (Model! Gojo x fem! model reader)

A/N: was thinking of using porn video title as the title but yea…it doesn’t work. Light angst and ended with smut LMAO. Subby Gojo

You’re a famous model known globally, everyone adores you and everyone wants you. Your face is on the magazine, on the banner, literally anywhere. You know that, and you flaunt it. After all, you're gorgeous and rich. 

There’s someone who didn’t appreciate all that, Gojo Satoru. 

It’s not a surprise he becomes a model, he’s gorgeous-with his striking blue eyes and white hair. People adore him. 

You too, you try your best to take his attention-yet he ignored it all the way. 

You two are usually paired with each other, and many people ship you-you’re afraid what they want won’t come true. 

You’re not a player, you had some lovers in the past-but there isn’t any info about Gojo’s dating life. People said he hasn’t dated anyone at all. 

You tried to ask him to hangout after the session ended, and he always refused. And you can’t force him. You still have (some) dignity after all. 

One day, you bought a coffee that you knew he’d like-and you paused in your tracks. You saw him conversing with a beautiful person. 

You’re more beautiful than her of course, but that’s not the point. He’s laughing and smiling, and you never saw him laughing and smiling with you. 

You turned around, sighing. Goodbye, Gojo Satoru. 

*** 

It’s the next day, and you talked to him. He’s surprised you didn’t bring anything-you usually did, to bribe him into loving you. 

“I’ll give up on you” you mutter. 

He raised his eyebrows and smirked, you must be joking. It has been months since you chased him. There’s no way you’ll be giving up now. 

“Sure” he shrugged, that’s all that he said.

You gritted your teeth, so it doesn’t even affect him. The shooting started and end in a breeze, you just wanna go home.

***

“I wanna stop modeling along with Gojo,” you told your manager. 

She raised her brows “you sure? you two have collected tractions all these years” 

You nodded “I wanna try something new” you muttered. She nods “suit yourself” 

Gojo didn’t know what to do with what happened, his manager told him you wouldn’t want to model with him anymore. 

He’s surprised, but he said nothing about it. After all, he felt nothing. Right? 

*** 

A week has passed and he becomes more grumpy, why does it matter to him now that you model with someone else? he didn’t even like you in that way. This shouldn’t even make any sense. 

And when he walks by and saw you on a cafe, laughing and talking with a guy you don’t recognize-he pulls you out there. 

“What!” you said “I’m in the middle of a date” you scoff, crossing your arms. 

You look nice, he noticed. A purple dress and a necklace. He stares at you “why did you leave me?” he said. 

“What?” you said, confused. 

“Why did you just-stop bothering me?” he mutters. 

You huff “isn’t this what you want?” 

“No” he said “I like you” 

You frown “and I’m in the middle of a date, so go away” you said to him. 

He kisses your hand “please” 

***

No one knows how you two get into this, but you ended up riding him on his bed. He shudders in pleasure as the bed creaks. You moan in pleasure. 

“Am sorry” he whines “please don’t leave me-ha” he moans “again” he whines. 

“Only if you’re a good boy” you moan as you feel his huge veiny cock throbbing inside your walls. 

He shudders “don’t stop” he moans as you did. You ride him fast as he moans in pleasure, shaking and panting. 

“Please” he whines “wanna cum” 

You shudder as you two cummed. But he isn’t satisfied. 

He moans in pleasure as he lets you suckle his cock, shaking and panting as you gag on his huge cock. 

He shakes his hips “so good” he whines needily, shaking his hips over and over. 

“Mmmh…” you drool as you kiss his cock. 

“I love you” he mewls “I love you…please don’t stop” 

You swallow his cum. 

“One more?” he whines. 

You grin “sure”

[joaosnovia]

❦ - one wrong digit.

summary:: joao wanted to call his ex, instead slipping up a digit leading to you. but was it really just a slip up?

warnings:: none! y/n mentioned tho

writers note:: RIGHT THIS IS MY RANG SPOT. how am i flopping this hard? excuse me. i’m lowkey gonna crash out i’ve fallen off and i haven’t even reached the height of my career yet?? also why is all of joaos delicious photos gotta be monotone bro step up! lmk if you want a part two of this.

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp ; lmk if u wanna be added!

you’re halfway through making a cup of tea when your phone rings. the number flashing on the screen isn’t saved in your contacts, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you swipe to answer.

‘hello?’

silence. then, a hesitant voice. ‘uh… hello?’

you frown. the guy on the other end sounds confused, almost unsure if he meant to call. ‘who’s this?’ you ask.

a pause. ‘i… uh… i was trying to call someone else.’

you let out a small laugh. ‘clearly.’

normally, you’d hang up. wrong numbers happen all the time. but something about his voice makes you linger, it’s deep yet soft, carrying a weight you can’t quite place.

‘who am i talking to?’ he asks, still hesitant.

‘you called me.’ you tease. ‘but since you’re curious, i’m y/n, and you?’

he hesitates, like he’s debating whether to tell you. ‘joão.’

‘nice to meet you, joão,’ you say, settling onto your couch. ‘you okay? you sounded kind of… off when you called.’

he exhales, the sound crackling slightly through the speaker. ‘yeah. just… long day.’

‘i get that.’ you shift, making yourself comfortable. ‘want to talk about it?’

he chuckles softly, but there’s something tired in it. ‘you don’t even know me.’

‘sometimes that makes it easier,’ you reply. ‘no pressure, though.’

for a moment, you think he’s going to brush it off. but then, to your surprise, he starts talking. not in long, drawn out sentences, but in small admissions, about football, about expectations, about the kind of loneliness that lingers even when you’re surrounded by people.

and you listen. not because he’s famous (though his name does sound vaguely familiar), but because he sounds like he needs it.

‘sounds like a lot,’ you say when he finishes.

‘yeah.’ his voice is quieter now. ‘sorry. you didn’t sign up for all that.’

‘i mean, i was about to watch a movie, but this is much more interesting,’ you joke.

that earns a soft chuckle from him. ‘what were you gonna watch?’

‘a classic,’ you say. ‘ever seen 10 things i hate about you?’

there’s a brief silence. then, ‘can’t say i have.’

you gasp dramatically. ‘that’s unacceptable. you have to watch it.’

he chuckles. ‘that good?’

‘it’s life changing.’

you hear a faint shuffling sound, like he’s moving on his end. ‘maybe i should.’

‘good,’ you say. ‘that way, next time you accidentally call me, we can discuss it.’

another pause. ‘next time?’

you laugh. ‘unless you’re planning on deleting my number after this.’

there’s something light in his voice when he replies. ‘no. i think i’ll keep it.’

you don’t expect it to turn into anything. but over the next few weeks, joão keeps texting you, sometimes after matches, sometimes just because. the conversations come easily, and soon, it’s not weird at all that a wrong number has somehow turned into a late night talking habit.

[aperrywilliams]

Satellite Call. Part IV: None of Us is Coming Home Tonight (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Words count for this part: 4.0k

Series summary: Your world crushes when Spencer is arrested. Between finding a way to get him out and keeping you afloat, there is something else you need to focus on, too. And even when you thought things couldn’t go worse, a tragedy makes you question if you can make it through.

Part IV summary: A trap settled for the team ends with your world shattered into pieces. At your most vulnerable moment, Spencer can't be by your side, but Emily becomes your rock.

Series warnings: ANGST (with CAPS). 18+ (MDNI). Some heavy topics will be discussed and shown here. Prison arc, but mostly from Reader's perspective and Emily’s. More detailed under the cut.

Spencer lies to his wife. Drug consumption (against their will). Pregnancy symptoms. Spencer is in jail for more than three months. Hospital visits, doctor’s info dumping (not accurate). Alcohol consumption. Arguing. Strong language. A lot of crying. Emotional breakdowns. A car crash happens (as in the CM storyline). Character dies. More hospital things. Miscarriage. More angst. Depressing symptoms. Mourning. Self-doubt. Suicidal ideation, and almost consummated. Emily is everyone’s emotional support.

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

It turns out that the message you got from Garcia should never have landed on your phone. It was meant for the team, minus you. So when you arrive at the BAU, Emily - and the rest of the team - can’t hide her surprise at seeing you there.

“What are you doing here?” Emily asks, and you huff.

“You're asking me what I'm doing here? Isn't that obvious?”

Penelope walks into the conference room. When she sees you, she freezes, realizing her mistake. Her body language is pretty clear to you.

“Wait a minute. You didn't want me here?” you say, looking at everyone.

“We knew you were visiting Spencer,” Emily argues.

“I'm sorry, boss, it was my mistake,” Penelope mutters.

“I see. And I assume you weren’t going to tell me that Spencer's trial was postponed either,” you chant in fake mocking.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Emily says, voice firm to end the discussion. “Take a seat,” she instructs. She’s right; it’s not the moment, so you bite your tongue and do what you were told.

Emily resumes their findings and a possible location for Lindsey.

“It's the best we have by now,” Stephen adds. “Scratch could be regrouping and needs Lindsey to cut some ends.”

“You mean, get rid of her?” Luke concludes.

Your stomach churns thinking this could be your last chance to get something tangible to link Scratch to Spencer.

“That's why we are going to this location. We coordinate with local police, but they are instructed to do nothing before we get there,” Emily explains. “Come on, let's go.”

Everyone goes to grab the necessary items before heading to the SUVs that are waiting in the parking lot.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come with us,” Emily says when she approaches you, but there is no reason she could tell that will convince you.

“Nonsense, I’m coming. We need to catch this guy now,” you point, adjusting your Kevlar.

“I know I shouldn't have kept what was going on from you, but it's dangerous. You know that,” she tries to reason.

“Yeah, you shouldn't have,” you agree. “But it's not enough to let me out of this.”

Emily knows it's worse fighting you on this, so she sighs and starts checking the rest of the team before climbing into one of the SUVs. With her go JJ and Rossi. Luke is driving.

You hop into another with Stephen in the back seat, Tara as copilot, and Matt driving.

“Okay, guys, let’s go,” Emily instructs.

The ride starts mostly silent, with everyone checking the last details of the operation at hand. The adrenaline is rushing high because you all know how important this is.

The night is fully settled by now. You try to distract yourself by looking out the window so you can mask your nervousness. From your peripheral, you catch Stephen stealing glances at you from time to time. You assume it is not so easy to conceal your anxiety, but you get surprised when he speaks.

“How far along are you?” You barely make Stephen‘s words. He is talking low but only enough for you to hear. You snap your head in his direction, eyes wide.

“How-?”

“I’ve seen how you rub your belly protectively when you are lost in thoughts,” he clarifies. You sigh in defeat. Of course, someone would notice it.

“It’s my 22nd week,” you admit quietly. Stephen smiles.

“I assume Spencer doesn't know yet.” You nod.

“Yeah. I was just going to tell him today, but I got Penelope’s text.”

“He will be so happy,” Stephen assures you, and your lips curl upright in a shy smile. With the thought of Spencer finding out about the pregnancy, you return your gaze to the window.

The reality comes back to you when Tara’s voice raises in questioning.

“What do you mean the trace is gone?” 

She is talking to Emily. You realize when Tara turns on the speaker.

“Garcia lost the signal,” Emily repeats.

“Can it be a system failure?” This time, Matt interjects.

“We don’t know,” JJ replies. “But we have to assume he’s moving, so we need to hurry.”

Your brow furrow. Something is off.

“We are two minutes fa- fuck!” Emily shouts. Then, a loud sound of tires scraping the pavement fills the line. “We hit something!” you hear Emily say before your car does a summersault after pinching something. Tara loses the grip of her phone, and it falls to the floor. Matt is trying to control the vehicle, but whatever you strike is making it impossible to stop the zig-zag the car is doing. You know you are in trouble when the car starts spinning, and Matt yells, “Hold it!”

After the car stops, you can’t even think what has happened when a loud honk is heard.

“A truck!” Tara shouts. Instinctively, you try to cover yourself, and at the same time, you feel Stephen’s arms quickly enveloping you. It's a fraction of a second, but your mind conjures Spencer’s face just before the impact. Your ears are ringing, your head pounding, and then you feel a heavy shove as if something is pushing you out of your body.

Then, nothing. Silence. Void.

-

Emily groans in pain once the car stops abruptly before hitting a tree. Her ears are still ringing from the shrieking sound of tires trying to grasp the pavement. Returning to her senses, she quickly checks on her teammates.

“Luke? JJ, Rossi, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke says, panting from the adrenaline. Rossi groans.

“My hip hit the door hard, but I’m okay.” He looks to his side, where JJ is steadying herself in the backseat.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she repeats.

Once Emily gets a response from everyone, her mind immediately goes to your car. “Shit, where are the others?”

Before anyone can answer, Luke pushes open the driver's door to get out of the car. Still dizzy, he turns around to help the others out. Emily manages to climb out through the broken window, staggering. Her vision is still blurry, but the distress of not knowing how the rest of the team is doing pushes her back to her senses. 

"Tara! Matt!" she calls, trying to spot their car. Luke joins her once she helps JJ, who stays behind to help Rossi and tries to call for help.

“Prentiss! Over there!” Luke points to the other side of the road, where the car is some feet back. Further back is the truck that hit you. The driver is running where you are.

“No. No, no, no.” Emily repeats over and over, understanding what has happened now. Luke is hot behind her.

“Call 911!” He shouts to the truck driver when he sees him frozen before the damaged car.

With her heart pounding hard, Emily feels it almost in her throat as she rushes to check on her teammates. 

The front of the car apparently didn't get much damage. Tara and Matt are trying to get out of the vehicle. But when Emily looks at the back, she sees you covered by Stephen. Neither of you are moving. 

Emily feels her chest tighten. This can’t be happening. How is it possible that in a couple of minutes, everything turned into chaos?

The sound of ambulances approaching can be heard in the distance. Help is on its way. Emily only hopes it is not too late.

Luke ultimately helps Tara and Matt while Emily checks on you and Stephen, realizing you’re both trapped. Paramedics and firefighters arrived just seconds later. 

"Ma'am, you need to move over so we can clear the scraps and remove them from the car," a firefighter tells Emily, who is trying to move the destroyed door out of the way.

“Please, get them out. She’s pregnant,” she says to the first responder who’s behind the firefighter. He nods and quickly goes to help his partner.

After some minutes, they manage to get you on a stretcher. You are severely injured but alive. Another couple of first responders get Stephen out, but unlike you, they cover him completely.

“God, no,” Emily breaths out. Luke puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder as the EMTs tell them Stephen is already dead.

Between the shock and the current news, Emily doubts for a second what to do. Ultimately, she decides to ride you to the hospital. She instructs Luke to get the others checked and to ensure Stephen’s body gets to the morgue.

Your pulse is weak, and it’s uncertain the extent of your injuries. The EMTs don’t want to make a conjecture about your baby’s status either. Emily holds your hand all the way to the hospital, even when one of the EMTs is checking her injuries.

You are quickly rushed into the hospital's OR. The nurse at the stand instructs Emily to get checked despite her refusal.

Rossi is the next to get into the hospital; his hip has a mild fracture. Behind him, JJ, Matt, and Tara are moved to another box to check their cuts and bruises.

Luke is who tells them about Stephen. Everyone is shocked by the news and the uncertainty of your health condition.

Once Emily is discharged, she asks for you. The nurse tells her you are still in surgery, so she goes to check on Rossi, JJ, Matt, and Tara. She then calls Garcia to investigate what happened. Matt, already discharged, volunteers to help Penelope.

“I need to call Stephen’s wife,” Emily says. Luke shakes his head.

“I’ll do it. You need to take a break. We don't know what else to expect.” He is clearly talking about you. Emily agrees. She is terrified.

As she waits for news of you, Garcia and Matt call her with their preliminary findings. As she had suspected by now, the road was a trap. Bands covered with nails and glass scattered the road, flattening both cars' tires.

Emily feels stupid for falling into such a crude trap. How could they not see it before? The worst thing is that nothing makes sense. Not that Scratch wanted to kill them all in an accident, nor that Lindsey was plotting something like that under his orders.

“Agent Prentiss?”

A man’s voice gets Emily out of her thoughts. It's the doctor who’s treating you. Emily stands immediately.

“How’s she?”

“Despite the broken bones, the cuts, and the concussion, she’ll make a full recovery. But there is something else,” he remarks solemnly, and Emily already knows what it is.

Emily needs a minute to sit down while the doctor explains what’s coming next.

-

A couple of hours pass before you wake up. You slowly blink your eyes open. Sitting next to your bed, you see Emily, who has a patch on her forehead.

“Where am I?” you mumble, feeling the white and sterile lights hurting your eyes. Your mouth feels dry, and your voice hoarse.

“Hospital,” Emily says, hoping you are numb enough not to feel pain. “You are still weak, so try not to talk much, okay?”

Your mind is still fuzzy, but slowly, memories of the accident come to you. Accident? You were in a car accident. Shit.

“Emily?” Your voice trembles, evidence of your memories coming back.

“Scratch set a trap for us. And your car was hit by a truck,” she recounts, and now the picture is clear. The sound of the tires flatting, the shriek of breaks pushing hard, the car spinning, and the truck honking before the hit.

You remember Stephen shielding you from the impact.

“Stephen?” You ask, and you can see Emily gulping hard and pressing her lips tight. You know her; she does that when she tries to control hard emotions. “Is he-?”

“He didn't make it,” she finishes the sentence for you, a somber look in her eyes.

“Oh, God. No. No, no, no. It can’t be.”

“The EMT couldn't do anything. It was fast.”

You close your eyes to try to process the news. Your coworker is dead, and you could have died, too. Your hand instinctively goes to your belly; it feels weird. Your belly. Your baby. Fuck.

“My baby! Em, they checked my baby? Is she okay? What did they say?”

It’s the part Emily feared the most. She knew you would be shocked by Stephen’s death, but this? This news will break you beyond repair.

“I’m sorry,” she says, resting her hand over yours to try to comfort you in any way. “They tried to save her, but they couldn’t. I’m so sorry.”

Emily can see how the little spark of life abandons your eyes. They go hollow, fixed in the ceiling.

“I kill my girl,” you mumble in disbelief, and Emily is quick to refute.

“You didn't kill her. It was an accident.”

“I couldn't protect her. Emily, I let this happen.” Tears start to roll down your cheeks. The weight of everything is coming down on you.

“No. Don’t say that. It was an accident,” Emily insists, but you are hardly listening.

“I shouldn’t have been in that car. You were right. It's my fault. Oh, God. What did I do!”

Although Emily presses over and over that what happened is not your fault, the pain blinds you, and you barely pay attention to her.

“I lost her. I did kill her. How did I let this happen? I failed! I failed as a mother, and I failed as a wife. I’m a total loss.”

You are so deep in the hole of regret and auto-flagellation that you start to yell and hyperventilate, so much so that Emily has to call a nurse to give you a sedative to calm you down and make you sleep.

Emily waits until you’re deep asleep before leaving the room. She doesn't know how to help you. It's too much for just a couple of months. Spencer's incarceration, finding out you’re pregnant, and now your accident and miscarriage. Emily is worried about how this will affect you in the long run.

Outside your room, JJ, Tara, and Luke are waiting for Emily. Their eyebrows furrow when they see their unit chief so deflated.

“What happened?” JJ rushes to ask, worried that you might be worsening. Emily has to make an executive decision. You didn't want the team to know you were pregnant, but things have changed now. And they need to regroup to face what’s coming next.

“We need to talk.”

-

After Emily tells the team about you and how complicated things will get from here, she sends everyone home to get some rest.

“Can I drive you, boss?” Luke asks Emily after being with Stephen’s wife. He has helped with Stephen’s funeral arrangements and offered all his support to his family.

“No. Thanks. You go. Get some rest.” Luke's eyebrows furrow.

“With all due respect, Prentiss, you haven’t taken a break all night. That’s not healthy.”

“I appreciate your concern, Alvez, but I know what I’m doing.”

Emily cannot leave knowing you are there and can wake up at any time. Luke knows that, and it's pointless to fight Emily for it.

Once Emily makes sure everyone has gone, she goes to the hospital roof, and with a coffee in hand, she lights a cigarette. The night is freezing and bone-chilling, but it's enough for Emily to keep a cool head. It's hard when she knows what you’re facing from this moment on. It's something Emily would never have wished on anyone, much less you.

It's past six AM when you wake up again. Your head throbs, but you feel more like yourself despite the sharp pain in your torso. After blinking a couple of times, your eyes adjust to the light. Taking a deep breath, you scan your surroundings—the hospital room, the machines, your arm in a cast. Looking to your left, you see Emily curled in a chair, her coat covering her frame.

You feel the tears pricking the corners of your eyes again. The ache in your heart returns as soon as your memories come back. Looking at the ceiling, you try to control yourself. There are so many questions you have, and even if the outcome doesn’t change with the answers, they haunt your mind.

As on cue, a nurse enters the room to check on you. That wakes Emily up, noticing you are awake as well. You look at your friend with pleading eyes. You can’t articulate a word, but Emily knows what you’re asking for.

“Can you please tell the doctor to come? My friend recently woke up and has important questions for him,” Emily asks politely. The nurse nods and leaves the room.

“Thank you,” you mutter. “Can you stay when he comes?” You don’t think you can do this alone right now.

“Of course, I’ll stay.”

Emily keeps her promise and stays by your side while the doctor explains to you what happened and the consequences for your body. It’s tough to hear the life growing inside you for six months is no longer there. It's painful to accept it will only be a memory from now on—something that could have been but will never be. A life that never saw the light, while yours remains in a state of pause, overshadowed by sadness.

Tears fall spontaneously, even when you don’t want to cry anymore. It feels like being numb inside, yet your body reacts in ways you can’t control. When the therapist arrives a few hours later, she reassures you about how these feelings are normal and part of the healing process. However, you can’t picture a future without the pain you’re feeling right now.

When she leaves and Emily enters the room, she notices your gaze is fixed on a distant point on the wall. You don’t even acknowledge her presence, turning on the bed and positioning yourself away from her. It’s your way of saying you want to be left alone. Emily respects your wishes, but it breaks her heart to see you like this.

Your physical injuries don’t allow you to attend Stephen's funeral. The fact conflicts with you, considering that thanks to him, you are alive, but at the same time, you do not have the strength to look his wife in the face. The truth is you don't have the strength to look anyone in the face. The times someone on the team wanted to visit you, you didn't let them, except for Emily. She's the only one you've allowed to see you like this.

The doctors finally discharged you after six days. You still have your right arm in a cast and a fracture in one leg in the healing process. That makes the idea of returning to your apartment by yourself difficult and gives Emily the perfect excuse for you to stay with her for a couple of days.

You won't resist her suggestion much because you don't know if returning to your lonely apartment, where you had already started the arrangements for the nursery, is a good idea. It's definitely not a good idea.

Emily is an understanding friend. In the first few days, she doesn't push you; she lets you cry on her shoulder and makes sure you're not alone at night. While she would like to be able to do more, Emily knows it has to be at your pace.

That has also meant your refusal to talk to Spencer. Much less tell him what happened. You know that if you go to visit him, he'll know something is wrong. You still have the physical marks of the accident, and that's more than obvious to anyone who sees you.

However, as the days pass, Spencer starts to ask questions. First, it’s Fiona who tells him how busy the team has been. Then, Emily herself visits him and recounts what happened with Stephen, leaving out the fact that you were in the car and much less mentioning the consequences that the accident brought to you.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” Spencer asks in another of her visits. It has been almost three weeks with no news from you.

“She is not feeling okay. You know it's been hard for everyone.” Emily tries to be vague in her statement. She doesn't want to say much, even if she thinks it's not fair to Spencer to stay in the dark.

“Yeah, I know. But the last time she came, she said we needed to talk and never told me what. Sure, I assumed something, but I was wrong, and she never told me the truth.”

She hates having to lie to Spencer again, but she can't do anything when you have to make that decision. The question that remains is how long you can keep it to yourself.

“What did you tell him?” You ask when Emily returns to the apartment from visiting Spencer at Milburn.

“That you were with the team in a case out of town,” she says, plopping on the couch beside you.

“Did he believe you?” It’s a good question. Spencer is a profiler, after all, and since his incarceration, you never failed in your visits.

Emily sighs. “I guess. I told him you were still shaken by the accident and that you don’t want to worry him about it.” She shakes her head. “Jeez, I hate lie to him. But I know, I understand why.”

You hate every second of this, too. You hate you can’t tell your husband the truth. You hate feeling like you’ve failed at everything. You hate the fact you still can’t get him out of jail. You hate getting your hopes up about bringing a life into this world and ruining it. You hate taking that chance away from Spencer and yourself. You hate being a mess and don’t do anything about it.

You need to do something about it. Yeah, you’re still broken and shattered, but if you are still here, you just can’t stay and do nothing. If not for you, for Spencer. And even if you or your baby can’t go home tonight, you owe Spencer that chance.

After tossing and turning in bed for what feels like hours, with the small energy remaining in your system, you grab a pen and a piece of paper.

‘Spencer, my love, Things around here have been tough lately; you already know about it from what Emily has told you. And I’m sorry for not coming to see you or contact you in the past weeks. I miss you so much, and I wish I could be stronger in the way you deserve me to be. But I’m not feeling quite well these days. Please don’t think it's your fault or that you need to do something to fix it. I need to get my shit together again, and I need some time for it. Just know my promise stands. I’m not abandoning you, and I’ll do anything in my power to get you out of there, to make sure you come home. I don’t want to fail you on this. Keep fighting and looking forward to better days. I love you, Spencer. Like I never loved anyone, and like I’ll never love again.’

Once you signed the letter, you put it in an envelope. You can’t hand it to Spencer personally now, but you hope Emily or Fiona can do it during her next visit.

You don't know if Spencer will ever forgive you for the things you didn't say in these past few months, for your bad decisions, and for failing him. But you hope that at least he knows how much you love him and that what's left of you won't rest until you get him out of prison.

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Previous | Next

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Series Taglist: @strawb3heart @lunaryoongie @bwlol7

[kathlare]

some things never change

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando is caught off guard when a viral post shows Amelie and Shawn Mendes together, stirring old feelings he thought he had buried.

Wordcount: 1.9 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

February 28th, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

liked by shawnmendesbrzl, amelienation, and others

ameliedaymandaily: Spotted today! 👀 Amelie and Shawn out for a stroll in London! 😱 This is the first time we’ve seen them together in YEARS! 🌆💖 Anyone else feeling the old sparks? 🔥

View all 3,182 comments

fan1: uhhh… they’re basically each other’s first love 😳 this feels like a sign → fan2: @fan1 LITERALLY! You don’t just forget your first love like that 😭 → fan3: @fan1 i’m lowkey not mad at this, but also confused? 🤨

fan4: WAIT are they back together?? 👀 → fan5: @fan4 idk if they’re back, but the vibes are there 🥺🔥

fan6: this whole situation is giving me we were meant to be vibes 😩 → fan7: @fan6 girl, we can only hope 🙏 but I’m here for whatever happens 💅

fan8: guys, they’ve both had relationships since then—let them grow 😤 → fan9: @fan8 yeah, but can’t we just enjoy the nostalgia for a sec?? 😭

fan10: am I the only one who’s still bitter about Shawn and Camila? 🤡 → fan11: @fan10 honestly, SAME! But now’s the time for Amelie and Shawn 🔥🥵

fan12: too many red flags for me. idk why ppl still ship them 🙄 → fan13: @fan12 You know they have that first love magic, but I see your point. 🧐

fan14: Why do ppl act like Shawn's a saint? Didn't he literally just date Camila?? 😬 → fan15: @fan14 facts! This whole thing is so overhyped. Let them live and move on 😴

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

Lando sat in the barber chair at Max's house, staring at his phone with a blank expression, the buzz of the clippers echoing in his ears. Theo, Max’s younger brother, was behind him, expertly cutting his hair, but Lando barely noticed. His focus was entirely on the screen in front of him. He’d just scrolled past a few posts from fans, some about the new song Amelie had released, others about her recent Grammy wins. The usual mix of praise and admiration that followed her every move, always with the same undertones of jealousy, admiration, and curiosity. But then, something caught his eye.

A gossip post, the words so stark they seemed to jump off the screen.

Spotted today! 👀 Amelie and Shawn out for a stroll in London! 😱 This is the first time we’ve seen them together in YEARS! 🌆💖 Anyone else feeling the old sparks? 🔥

Lando’s stomach dropped. His fingers tightened around his phone, and for a moment, the room seemed to blur around him. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it wouldn't go away. Amelie and Shawn? Together? He hadn’t seen her in so long—hadn't spoken to her in even longer—and now she was walking the streets of London with him?

Theo, completely oblivious to Lando’s inner turmoil, let out a low whistle behind him. —Hell, Amelie looks hot as fuck these days. Damn. I don’t know how you let her go, mate.—

Lando’s face immediately flushed. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the screen, unable to escape the mental image of Amelie laughing with Shawn, their bodies close, perhaps too close.

Max, who had been lounging nearby, his legs stretched out in front of him on the couch, gave Theo a sharp look. It was one of those looks that said, Shut up, now. Max stood up quickly, his eyes scanning the phone in Lando’s hand.

—What are you watching?— Max asked, his voice a little too casual.

Lando, still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, shrugged. —Just... some gossip. Nothing important.—

Max raised an eyebrow, walking over to get a closer look. His eyes flicked over the post, and then he turned to Lando, his expression unreadable.

—You okay, mate?— Max asked, leaning against the counter. His tone was cautious, knowing full well what a blow it could be to see Amelie and Shawn back together—especially after everything Lando had been through with her.

Lando tried to brush it off, his hands twitching in his lap. —Yeah, just... I dunno. Maybe they’re just friends again. You know how it goes. It’s not a big deal.—

Theo laughed from behind him, finishing up Lando’s trim. —Friends? C’mon, mate. Look at that picture. She’s looking at him like she’s in love.—

Lando felt a hot wave of frustration build in his chest. His fingers were trembling, and his heart was beating too fast. He exhaled, trying to keep himself together.

—I don’t know. It’s... It’s not what it looks like, okay? They’ve been friends for years. That’s probably all it is,— Lando muttered, though even he didn’t believe his own words.

Max crossed his arms, his gaze softer now, but with an edge of sympathy. —You can’t stop it anymore, Lando. She’s gotta move on at some point. You know that. You guys... it wasn’t gonna last. You were in a weird spot, and so was she.—

Lando’s frustration flared up like a fire, and he slammed his fist down on the armrest of the chair, causing Theo to jump a little. The clippers buzzed to a halt as Lando’s voice rose. —I fucking know, okay?— He was trying to keep it together, but it was like a dam bursting. —I know she has to move on. But fuck, I don’t want to see it. Not like this. Not with him.—

Theo exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Max, clearly unsure how to navigate the tension. Max, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as unsure. He leaned back against the counter, sighing heavily, the weight of the situation settling over him.

—Mate, I’m not trying to be a dick here, but...— Max began, his tone calm but firm. —You can’t keep holding on to this. You’ve already tried. And look where it got you.—

Lando’s eyes shot up to Max, his face hard. —I didn’t ask for your fucking advice, Max.— The words were sharp, bitter, and they hung in the air between them. He felt the heat rise in his chest as his emotions swirled into a mess he couldn’t make sense of.

Max didn’t flinch. He wasn’t going to back down this time. —Look, Lando, I know you care about her. But you’ve gotta face the reality of it. She’s moving on. And you... well, you’re still holding onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.—

The words hit Lando like a punch to the gut. He clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms as he stared down at the floor, breathing hard. His mind was racing, but he couldn’t focus on any one thing. It was all too much. The anger, the hurt, the jealousy—it was all mixing into something ugly, and it was all over a girl he couldn’t get over.

Lando stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His hair was only half-done, but he didn’t care. His heart was racing, his blood boiling, and there was only one thing that could calm the storm inside of him.

—Lando, what the fuck, mate? Where are you going?— Max’s voice cut through his thoughts, but it was too late. Lando was already halfway to the door.

—I'm leaving,— he shot back, his tone clipped and filled with frustration. He didn’t have time for another heart-to-heart with Max, didn’t want to hear any more about how he needed to "move on" or "let go." All he wanted to do was escape.

He was already pulling on his jacket as he reached the door, his mind made up.

—I'm gonna see Luisinha,— he added, though the words felt like acid on his tongue.

Max’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he stepped toward Lando, but didn’t stop him. Lando could feel the weight of Max’s gaze on his back, but it didn’t matter. He had to do something to distract himself from the pain that was suddenly consuming him.

Luisinha was always the easy option. The one he could turn to when he needed to bury his feelings for Amelie under someone else's warmth, someone else's smile. She was safe, uncomplicated—nothing like Amelie had ever been. And now, with Amelie out of his reach, maybe it was time to throw himself into whatever distraction he could find. He just couldn’t stand the thought of being this torn apart over her anymore.

Max didn’t stop him, but Lando could feel the unspoken words in the room. He could feel the weight of Max’s disapproval, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. He didn’t have time for it.

Lando’s car roared to life as he sped down the streets, barely paying attention to the road as his mind raced. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t ready to move on from Amelie. Hell, he didn’t even know how to—he had barely gotten over her the first time around, and now it felt like it was happening all over again.

But if Amelie was going to be with Shawn, then what choice did he have? He couldn’t just sit around waiting for something that would never happen.

Lando didn’t remember much of the drive to Luisinha’s. Just the sound of his own thoughts, loud and relentless in his head.

Amelie. Shawn. Amelie. Shawn. Over and over again.

By the time he got to her place, his blood was still fucking boiling. He barely knocked before Luisinha opened the door, her face softening into surprise.

—Lando?—

He didn’t answer. He just stepped forward, grabbed her face, and crashed his lips against hers.

Luisinha gasped against his mouth, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she melted into him, her fingers curling around his neck.

Lando didn’t think. He just lifted her up, his hands gripping her thighs as he carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

He just wanted to forget.

Even if it was only for a little while.

[skellseerwriting]

5 Times Iida Thinks You’re a Boy and 1 Time He Finally Realizes

Oblivious!Iida x Fem!Androgynous!Reader

Part 2: Changing Rooms + Binder

Part 1

Word Count: 800+

Content & Warnings: Reader references having trauma (implied to be sexual trauma), reader mentions wearing a binder (this is me projecting my former body dysmorphia), something Iida says sounds transphobic but he’s just uneducated, Mina makes a (slightly) inappropriate joke

Summary: After waiting for everyone to finish changing their uniforms, Iida realizes you aren’t there

Everybody was waiting in the hallway outside the locker rooms; all in their blue training uniforms. Iida tapped his foot impatiently. He had done a head count and they were still waiting for someone to finish. As he glanced over the small sea of heads, it finally clicked to him on who was missing.

You were nowhere to be found.

In fact, Iida began to realize, he hadn’t seen you in the boy’s locker room at all. There was over a dozen other guys in there, but he distinctly recalled the lack of your distinguished aura amidst the loud and slow-paced boys. After glancing around once more, he eyed the group of girls who huddled together to chat. No… was it possible that-

“Sorry I took so long!” You were quickly walking down the hallway (running was against the rules), wearing the same blue as everyone else. “It took me a while to find the nearest restroom…” you sounded out of breath, so it was possible that you had been sprinting earlier.

Iida briskly walked toward you, his angled arms swinging back and forth in front of him. “Why didn’t you use the locker rooms to change?” He demanded, standing in front of you while you caught your breathe with your hands on your knees. After giving him a sheepish smile, you straightened up and shifted to a more hushed tone.

“I have… trauma.” You explained, not meeting his eyes. “So I’m not comfortable changing in front of other people.”

Tipping his chin up, Iida chided you. “That’s no excuse to keep everyone waiting!”

You hunched a bit under the words. “I know I know… I’m sorry.” Finally, you looked him in the eye again and steeled your resolve. “I’m sorry, Iida, it won’t happen again.”

Satisfied with your answer, he nodded. “Good.” Then, he turned back around. “Alright everyone! It is time to get moving! We are approximately three minutes and twenty-seven seconds behind! We must maintain a quick and steady pace if we want to get there on time!”

The other students groaned, but you smiled. He may have been prude, but his lack of care for your methods truly showed how much he understood your situation by not trying to negotiate you out of it; considering how much he prioritized efficiency.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Ashido bumped into your hip with her side. “You know, other than finding the restroom.” The two of you started walking down the hallway. With your position, you were actually at the front of everyone.

Turns out you had just come from the direction you were heading.

“Ah,” you clocked onto what she was saying. “Couldn’t get my binder off. The darn thing was practically stuck to my skin.”

Finding it funny, she tickled between your shoulder blades where your sports bra now lay. Unfortunately, it was a must-wear when exercising.

“Don’t worry, Training is only for an hour. You’ll have it back on in no time.” She reassured. Her quick pace brought the two of you closer to Iida, who now turned around to look at you.

“Binders?” He said it like he had never heard the word. “Aren’t those something women wear?”

You winced, and felt Ashido do the same.

“No.” You said, trying to keep your tone light. It was obvious he didn’t mean it maliciously. “Most people who wear binders aren’t women. When women do wear them, it can often be for things like costumes or cosplay, as opposed to wearing them for the usual purpose.”

You sensed Ashido relaxing at your side as you explained. No need to punt Iida today over stupid reason number ‘I stopped counting’.

He nodded thoughtfully, falling in line next to you. “I see.”

You felt satisfied with the knowledge that this had gone well rather smoothly. Then, Iida hit you with the question of: “And what is its usual purpose?”

Your footstep halted for a moment. Ashido grabbed your shoulder and shook her head. You scrambled your brain for a way to word it in a way that your class rep wouldn’t deem scandalous. “It’s… um…” you scratched your neck. “Well, you see…”

“Ah!” He interrupted, turning his attention away from you. “We have arrived!”

Leaning into Ashido, you let out an exhausted sigh at being given a free out to try and provide an explanation. She just patted your shoulder in understanding.

“He’ll probably look it up online later and get traumatized all on his own.” She jested, supportively pushing you off of her so you could walk outside into the clear sun.

“Better the internet than me.” You jested back, lightly elbowing her ribs. Shrieking in laughter, she pulled your arm in to bring her lips to your ear.

“But you could have given him a lesson on female anatomy.”

Gasping loudly, you tried to elbow her again, but she ran away onto the training field. Trying to keep down your smile, you intentionally didn’t look at Iida as you sprinted after her; shouting and throwing empty threats.

She was never going to let the Iida jokes down, and it was going to be a long semester.

Tagist: Tenya Iida

@electronicexpertshark

[fair-dinkum-mechanic]

Well how do I move on from this

[atlafan]

why is every guy on hinge either bald, has a disgustingly grown beard, is 5’6, a cop, already a dad, in the army, smokes week, grotesque, or a combination of anything above? are all the good ones truly taken? is that why there’s no one good on hinge? is this truly my only dating pool? it’s fucking rough out here, I don’t want to be back in this place! I was supposed to be done with all of this bullshit!

[exopelagic]

my players don’t know it yet but the adventure we’re doing rn is me being silly goofy bc they hadn’t made their characters in time for me to plan around them. now that I Know Things the game can really start

[jaqdawks]

Aaaaaaaa

[imaginedisish]

Heroes (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: I think I used David Bowie's "Heroes" for another fic when I first started writing on this blog. Oh well. We're using it again bc it inspired this fic. This is a combo request fic: Co-teachers/Logan having a nightmare/smut. Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: You and Logan are assigned by Charles to co-teach a class to learn how to work as a team. You expect Logan to be cold, distant, short. What you don't expect is the way you find yourself needing him, and him needing you.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, soft!Logan, cocky!Logan (always), softdom!Logan vibes, implied age gap (Logan is obvi older), frenemies to lovers, feelings, some violence (Logan accidentally hurts the reader while having a nightmare), reader has regenerative powers, fluff, hurt to comfort (literally), reader has family trauma, afab!/f!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 5,267 kinda wanna do a part 2 this was cute

“I work better alone Charles. You know that.” 

You and Logan Howlett never did see eye to eye. 

“Yes, Logan. Which is why I’m giving you this challenge.”

He was always cold. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Always distant. 

“Hence why it is an excellent idea, Logan.”

But you never thought he’d be this resistant to teaching a class with you. 

“I’m fine with it,” you say, your eyes flitting between Logan and Charles. “It doesn’t faze me at all.”

Logan’s leather jacket crinkles and he puts his hands on his hips. He furrows his brows. “You’re fine with this?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. 

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why not.” Your eyes find Logan’s, but you can’t make out the expression on his face. Can’t tell if it’s dislike, pure hatred, or something else altogether. 

“This can’t happen,” Logan insists, tearing his eyes away from yours and turning towards the Professor. His words sting and you’re not quite sure why—not sure why you should care about this at all. 

“It is too late,” Charles’s voice booms. “I have already decided. You will co-teach a history class for...” Charles trails off, choosing his words carefully. “Younger students.”

You smile, but Logan rolls his eyes, his brows still furrowed. “How young?” You say in unison, although in starkly different tones. You whip your head to face Logan and find that his eyes are already on you.  

“Ages six to seven,” Charles explains. “This will be a smaller class, given how rare it is for children of that age to show their abilities, and the course will be incredibly simple.” He rolls away from behind the desk and approaches you and Logan in the center of the room. “I have faith that the two of you can handle this.”

Logan exhales deeply but doesn’t say a word. “We can,” you answer, your stare breaking away from Logan and turning to the Professor instead. “I look forward to teaching the class,” you pause, “with Logan.”

Something in Logan’s glare softens. His frown slowly disappears, melting away. His jaw relaxes, and his shoulders go slack. “Fine.” He’s curt, but something about the resolve in his voice gives you an ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe this will go well. 

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

This is, in fact, not going well at all. 

Agreeing on the curriculum was not a problem. Logan, having experienced most of U.S. History, believes in telling history as it happened. No rose-colored glasses. No murky half-truths or prettily wrapped white lies. No weird Christopher Columbus-themed arts and crafts. Having seen multiple wars and experiencing the power of government exploitation firsthand—not surprisingly—has made Logan progressive.

So, you had designed an age-appropriate, honest, curriculum. You were shocked at how well you and Logan worked together. You shared quiet hours in the library, passing scribblings and notes back and forth while pouring over books. You actually felt quite confident. 

That is, until the very first class. 

You and Logan had only just introduced yourselves—written your names on the board. 

“We are going to have a fun, educational year,” you finish, smiling widely. “Does anyone have any questions?”

A young girl in the center of the room raises her hand. You nod towards her, and she smiles sheepishly. “Are you two married?”

You’re taken back, your brows furrowing. “Oh, um—”

“No,” Logan cuts you off, his arms crossing tightly against his chest. His shortness hurts more than you’re willing to admit. “Absolutely not.” 

The little girl’s eyes widen. “But then why do you look at her like that?”

“Excuse me?” Logan asks, his voice a little too harsh. “Like what, kid?”

“Logan,” you whisper, turning to face him. “She’s six. Let it go,” you chide. “Professor Logan and I are friends and co-teachers. That’s all.” You turn back to the little girl, who nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. 

The rest of the class goes relatively well. It’s very introductory—teaching the children how mutant history and human history are intertwined. You and Logan are able to simplify things for the children so that they can understand. And, as the class goes on, Logan seems more comfortable with the children. 

The period is almost over when a little boy raises his hand, and Logan calls on him. “My older brother told me people like us are scary,” he says shyly. His eyes are sad—too tired for a six-year-old. “He told me that we shouldn’t exist.”

Your stomach drops, tears burning behind your sinuses. You think back to your own family, back to the trauma of being disowned for something you couldn’t control. You’re too heartbroken to tackle the question. Logan’s eyes flicker between you and the little boy. 

“Your brother is wrong,” Logan answers, crossing the room to stand next to you. He brings a hand to your lower back. It’s the ghost of a touch, but it’s a lifeline. “You’re special,” Logan says, and you know he’s talking to you, too. “You all are. Don’t listen to what they say. You’re more important than you’ll ever know. More extraordinary than they can understand.”

The bell rings, and the children stand, collecting their belongings. “See you all tomorrow,” Logan shouts over the shuffling and ruckus in the hallway. The children file out the door, jumping and cheering as if nothing happened. 

“They’re so resilient,” you say, shaking your head and watching them leave. You look over to Logan—his face close to yours, his palm still pressed against your back. 

“So are you,” he whispers, smiling softly, rubbing up and down your back. “You did great.”

“Yes, she did. And you did too, Logan,” Charles says, suddenly in the doorway to the classroom. “I forgot to drop off the roll call this morning,” Charles explains, holding out a sheet of paper. You cross the room to meet him, taking the sheet into your hands. “It has the list of names of the children in your class, as well as their abilities.” Charles backs into the hallway. “Excellent work, you two. You make a better team than you realize.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you say. Logan mumbles a soft Thanks, and heads towards the door once Charles is gone. 

He scratches his head, almost nervously. “Got another class to teach,” he husks. “Meet up later to go over tomorrow’s lesson plan?” 

You nod your head. “Sounds good.” Logan smiles and walks through the doorway and down the hall. 

You look at the roll call, and your eyes widen. Your heart beats out of your chest. You find the name of the little girl who had asked if you and Logan were married. 

Claire Teller—Precognition, Clairvoyance, shows signs of potential telekinesis.

The paper falls from your hands and drifts slowly to the floor. You look down, your lips parted in shock. Did she see you and Logan—

“You alright, sugar?” Rogue’s voice snaps you back to reality. You look up, and she’s standing in the door. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

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

The rest of the week goes smoothly. You and Logan meet each night to discuss the lesson plan for the following day. The classes go well. Claire always seems a bit distracted, her eyes flickering between you and Logan, but she does just fine in class. 

In fact, you’d say this was going better than well. You and Logan, despite his hesitation in the beginning, were growing closer every day. 

It’s written in secret, stolen moments—hands accidentally brushing, glances across the room. But you can feel it, the way your lives are being sewn together. You find ways to spend time alone outside of class—ordering dinner and grading together, practicing in the Danger Room as partners and not opponents. You had become something of a team.   

Tonight, you’re alone with Logan, sitting on the floor of his room, grading the small quiz you had given the children on the branches of government. Logan had picked the background music—60s and 70s rock. 

You hum along to Evil Woman by Electric Light Orchestra as you write “100%” at the top of a student’s quiz. 

“Pretty voice,” Logan rasps, looking up from his last quiz. Before you can react, before you can even process what he says, he’s moving on. “You almost done?”

“Just finished.” You write another “100%” and look up at Logan. He’s on his side, resting his head in his hand, balancing on his elbow. He smirks and stands up, striding over to you. He reaches his hand out, and you tilt your head, confused. You take his hand all the same, and he pulls you up. 

Logan’s hands find your waist, and he sways you from side to side. You giggle, shakily bringing your arms up and around his neck. Your heart thunders in your chest as you dance with him. 

“Didn’t take you for a dancer,” you murmur. Evil Woman fades out and Heroes by David Bowie starts up.  

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Logan husks. He pulls you in tighter, his chest pressed to yours. 

“Yeah?” You ask, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. Your eyes flutter closed. “Like what?”

He’s suddenly silent, and you can feel the tension thicken in the room. “When Charles came to us about the class…” He trails off, searching for the right words to say. “I was nervous,” he admits. 

You lift your head from his neck. “Why?” You question, smiling softly. 

Logan presses his forehead to yours. “Because I—” But then there’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Charles on the other side. Logan huffs, his eyes closing defeatedly as he loosens his hold on your waist and walks over to the door. 

“There has been an emergency,” Charles says the second the door is open. “I need you to go on a mission immediately. This is a dire situation.”

Logan looks across the room to you. “Okay,” he says, his eyes still trained on yours. 

Charles nods and heads down the hallway. “Meet me downstairs. Hank is readying the jet now.” 

���I have a bad feeling about this,” you confess, fighting the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. You can’t quite place where the feeling is coming from—why you’re suddenly so nervous about Logan leaving. A month ago, this sort of thing would’ve felt routine, normal. There’s always a crisis somewhere. 

Logan swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I’ll come back,” he promises. “And we can talk then.” He strides over to you, wrapping you in his arms, and pulling you into his chest. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” 

“Logan?” Charles calls from downstairs. “We need to leave at once!” 

Logan squeezes you tightly before letting go. He works his jaw, his teeth gritting as he backs out of the room and down the hallway. Your heart drops as you listen to his footsteps echoing against the stairs. By the time you muster up the courage to follow him, it’s too late. The door to the mansion slams just as you make it to the bottom of the steps. 

You can still hear Heroes faintly playing from Logan’s room. 

And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, forever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

You sit on the bottom step, your head falling into your hands.

“Oh, sugar,” Rogue whispers as she walks into the foyer. She settles next to you. “I didn’t know you and Logan…” She trails off, shaking her head. “He’ll come back. He always does.” She hangs her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her chest. 

You hope she’s right. 

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

The next morning, Logan is still gone. You’re forced to teach the class alone. As you’re starting roll call, a young boy raises his hand. 

“Yes, Jimmy?” You call, arching your brows. 

“Where’s Professor Logan?” He asks curiously, tilting his head to the side. 

You swallow harshly, inhaling deeply. “He has something to take care of,” you explain. “It’ll just be me teaching today. Is that alright with you?” You try to sound light, jovial, plastering a fake smile across your face. The kids buy it, giggling and nodding. Jimmy smiles widely and nods, too.

But Claire—the little girl who can seemingly see into the future, stares at you sympathetically. It sends a chill down your spine. It’s like she knows how you’re feeling—can see it in her mind’s eye. You shake the feeling off, proceeding with the lesson. The material is distracting enough—the U.S. voting system, carefully explained so that the children can understand. 

The rest of the class goes off without a hitch, and the bell finally rings. The session felt longer than usual without Logan, and certainly harder to get through, but not impossible. The class picks up their belongings and files out. You grab your papers, readying to leave, assuming that everyone is gone. 

“He’s going to come back,” a small, familiar voice whispers. You look up from your materials, and there’s Claire, standing in front of the desk. Her deep, brown eyes twitch back and forth. She closes them tightly and smiles. “You don’t have to worry,” she assures. “He’s safe. He’ll always come back to you.” She pauses. “All I see is happiness.” The veins in her temples grow thicker, and you can tell she’s working too hard to look to the future.

“Claire,” you say, your hand grabbing her shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself, my love. You don’t have to do that for me. I’m okay.”

Her eyes fly open, and she smiles widely, as if nothing happened. She steps away from the desk, your hand falling from her shoulder. “Didn’t hurt at all!” She calls as she skips out the door. “See you Monday!”

You shake your head. Resilient, you think to yourself. So goddamn resilient. 

The rest of the evening is slow. You try to keep yourself busy—grading papers, listening to music, going for a run, training in the Danger Room. But all you can think about is Logan. 

After dinner, you get ready for bed, changing into a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt. You sit alone in your room, on your bed, reminding yourself of what Claire had told you this afternoon. 

He’s going to come back. You don’t have to worry. He’s safe. 

You lay back on your pillows, bringing the covers up to your chin and closing your eyes. You repeat her words over and over again in your head as you fall asleep. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. 

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

You wake up a few hours later, your bedside lamp still on. Your alarm clock reads 1:45 AM. You groan, rolling over and shutting your eyes tightly, trying to force yourself back to sleep. But it’s no use—you’re awake, thinking of Logan already. 

You push yourself to sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, and pressing your feet into the cold wood floors below. You walk to your door, twist the knob, and head out into the hallway.  A lap around the mansion might make you tired—might relax you. 

You walk down the hallway slowly, noticing instantly that Logan’s door is closed. You can’t help but pick up your pace, striding towards Logan’s room. 

You stand in front of his door, your hand on the knob, ready to twist and push. You stop yourself, wondering if this is crossing a line, tearing down a carefully constructed boundary. But all you want is to see him breathing, lying on his bed. You need to know he’s in there—safe. 

You knock once, but there’s no answer. You swallow nervously, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. 

Your heart stops. There he is. He’s home. He’s safe. He’s breathing. You let out a sigh of relief, smiling softly as you start to close the door. 

But then his head snaps to the side, and he grunts. “Logan?” You call, opening the door slightly. He doesn’t answer. He grunts again. You quickly notice the way his fists white-knuckle his sheets. 

You step inside his room, closing the door behind you. “Lo,” you whisper into the darkness. He tosses and turns, his head whipping from side to side. He must be having a nightmare, You think to yourself, your heart breaking in two, watching pain wrack his body, his mind. 

You meet his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him softly. “Logan,” you say, your voice louder, stronger this time. “You need to wake up.” But he doesn’t. He groans, his brows furrowed, sweat beading his forehead. 

“Come on,” you plead, climbing into the bed, and straddling him. You hold him down by his shoulders, stopping him from writhing. Now that you’re closer, you can see the tears streaming down his cheeks, can see the agony etched into the lines of his face. “Logan!” You yell. “You gotta wake—”

His eyes fly open, and you feel cold metal pierce your leg. Your jaw drops as pain stings sharply in your thigh. “Oh fuck,” Logan curses, sitting up and retracting his claws. Tears brim in the corners of your eyes as the pain worsens. “Shit!” He cries out, grabbing at your thigh, blood spilling into his fingers. 

You close your eyes as your powers take hold. Your skin slowly stitches up, putting yourself together again. You groan, and Logan wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into the side of your head, pressing soft, gentle kisses there. “I love you, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

What did he just say?

“W-what?” You ask, the pain fading away as those three words echo in your mind. 

Logan’s breathing only quickens as he realizes what he said. “A-are you okay?” He asks, ignoring your question. 

You nod. “It’s already gone,” you whisper, nodding to your thigh. “But what did you just—”

“I love you,” he interrupts, saying it again. You pull back a bit to look at him. You can see the seriousness in his eyes, the adoration, the honesty. “I love you.” 

You bite your lip, your eyes widening as you process what this means. Logan loves you. It’s everything you ever wanted. Everything you could have asked for. It just makes sense.

“I love you too,” you confess, choking on your words. “I was so worried. I didn’t know when you’d come back, or if you’d come back at all. I saw your door closed, and I just had to see you. I needed to know that you were okay, that you came home.”

He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes closing. “Before I left,” he pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I was going to tell you why I didn’t want to work together.” His eyes open again. “I was scared to get close to you,” he explains. “I knew I wanted you the second I saw you. Knew I had to have you. I’ve never felt that way before. You opened something inside me that I thought I didn’t have. Turns out it was just locked, waiting around for you.”

“Logan,” you breathe, his lips just inches from yours. “I wanted you too. Wanted you this whole time.” You need him to kiss you—to take you right here and now. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you admit, giggling softly. 

He shakes his head, smirking. “I liked you too much,” he rasps. “Didn’t know what to do about it. You were driving me crazy, sweetheart.” You can feel his erection straining in his boxers, and you can’t help but grind down on him, your core rocking against his cock. “Fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips. “Slow down, pretty girl. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod emphatically. “Already healed,” you assure him. “Just need you, Lo.”

“Need you too, sweetheart,” Logan groans, rolling your hips against his, tugging you down his length. “Can feel you soaking through those panties already,” he grunts. And he’s right. The heat pooling between your legs is uncontrollable. 

You groan as your clit drags across his erection. “F-fuck,” you stutter, his fingers digging into your hips. You bring your hands to the waistband of his boxers, tugging at them. But before you can get anywhere, Logan is flipping you onto your back and crawling down your body. 

“Next time, sweetheart,” he coos, hiking your shirt up and smirking when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples before sliding down further. “Wanna take care of you this first time.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words. You can see the hunger in his eyes as he kisses down your stomach, going past the hem of your panties, stopping at your clit. He takes a deep breath. “Can smell that pretty pussy. Know she needs me, darlin’.” 

He hooks his fingers into your waistband, and tugs the thin lace down your legs, revealing your aching cunt to him. He settles between your thighs, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your clit. 

“L-Lo,” you choke. “Please.”

He smiles against you, breathing you in again. “Please what, princess?” He asks, looking up at you under hooded eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” you beg. “Need you. Always gonna need you.” 

His smile meets his eyes as he licks a long stripe through your folds, his tongue pushing through your entrance, tasting you, savoring you. He hums against you, the vibration of his voice rocking your core. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles, licking another long stripe. “Perfect pussy. Knew you’d be this sweet.”

You watch as he laps at you, drinking you in. Logan’s tongue finds your clit, drawing tight circles into the bud. “F-feels so good,” you stutter. 

“I know, beautiful” He soothes, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh, drawing closer to your heat. “You look so pretty when you let me eat you out,” he praises, his fingers prodding your entrance. “You want more?” He teases, slipping just past your slit and quickly pulling out. 

“Yes,” you whimper, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Need your fingers, Lo. Please.”

He wastes no time—suddenly thrusting inside you, his long, thick fingers splitting you in two. Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, taking him deeper. “So tight,” he coos, pulling out and sliding back in. “So fucking wet.”

Logan wraps his lips around your clit, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, hard. He releases, his teeth grazing the bud lightly. Your walls clench around his fingers at the sensation. “Fuck,” Logan curses, smirking against you. “You like that?” He teases. “Like when I’m rough with you?” His tongue flits out, lapping flat strokes across your clit. 

You moan a soft Yes in affirmation, your back arching off the mattress. You’re already close, ready to let go. But Logan isn’t letting up, his fingers slamming into you, taking your clit back into his mouth and sucking harder, rougher this time. He swirls soothing circles into the bud, pushing you to the edge. 

“Logan,” you whine, your hips squirming as he drags his tongue harder against your heat. “I’m so close.” 

Your muscles contract and release around his fingers as he hits that sweet spot inside you, pump after pump. “I know, pretty girl,” He soothes, his free hand wrapping around your hip and holding you down to the mattress. “Look at you,” he praises between harsh sucks. “So beautiful like this.” His tongue circles your overstimulated clit. “Already fucked out, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” you mutter, your hips squirming helplessly against his grip. It’s all too much, his hushed whispers, his praises, the way his tongue flits against you, his deep thrusts dragging along your walls. “Logan, I’m gonna…” 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coaches, his tongue still lapping at you ravenously. He’s starving, unwilling to stop. He needs more. “Should keep you in my bed so I can taste you whenever I want.” He grunts against you. “Want you to come on my fingers, darlin’. Wanna taste it. Let go.”

It’s all blazing, white-hot heat, raging through your body, searing your skin. Your eyes stay trained on Logan as he works you through your orgasm—ravaging you, lapping up every last drop of your release. His fingers pump in and out, slowly, before he pulls out completely. But his face stays buried against your cunt, his tongue pushing through your folds. 

“Logan,” you whine, lacing your fingers through his hair. “Need you up here.” 

He looks up from your heat and licks one more long stripe before climbing up your body. He tugs his boxers down his legs, his eyes not leaving yours. His cock springs free, bumping against his stomach. 

Logan settles on top of you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand wraps around the base of his cock. You instinctually spread your legs, as if it’s second nature, as if you’ve been here before. “Such a good girl,” Logan praises, sliding his tip through your folds. “All spread open for me.” His cock nudges against your clit and slides back down. “You need me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you choke. “More than you can—”

And then he’s plunging inside you, bottoming out with just one thrust. “Fuck!” You cry out. He stays inside, unmoving, letting you adjust to the size of him. 

He presses his forehead to yours. “You okay?” He asks. His cock throbs, pushing against your walls, searching for more. His hand slips between your bodies and finds your clit. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter, sighing in relief as his fingertips draw gentle strokes into the bud. “S-so big.”

“I know,” Logan soothes, sliding out only to shove himself back in, down to the hit. Your back arches off the mattress, your chest coming flush with his. “Gonna work you open.” His voice is gentle, calm. “I’ve got you. Relax for me, sweetheart.” 

Logan pulls out and thrusts in again, his lips swallowing your moans with a kiss. His fingers swirl around your clit as pleasure pulses through your every nerve ending. “Feels so good,” you murmur as he picks up his pace, his hips rolling against yours. 

He grunts. “So perfect,” he praises. “Fucking made for me.” He pumps in and out of you harder, faster now, letting himself go. He pinches your clit, rolling the bud under his fingertips. “Never gonna want anyone but you, you know that?” He twitches inside you, and your walls flutter around him. 

You curse under your breath. “Yes,” you cry out. “Only gonna want you, Lo. Only you.”

“Doing so good for me,” he husks between hard thrusts. “Taking me so well.” His hips snap against yours, his fingers circling your clit rapidly, adding more pressure. His lips find yours again, biting, kissing you bruisingly, fitting against you like a puzzle piece. 

Your chests heave together, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing against the walls of the room. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, his lips suddenly at the shell of your ear. He bites down on your pulse point, his tongue flitting out to lick the pain away. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your walls contract around him, squeezing him as he sinks deeper inside you, hitting exactly where you need him most. You’re so close, ready to come undone. “Fuck, Logan,” you whine as he pounds into you. “I’m gonna—”

“Me too, pretty girl,” he rasps, twitching inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close as he plunges deeper. He lifts his head from the crook of your neck and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Don’t wanna stop. Don’t wanna…” He trails off, his cock throbbing inside you again. You know he can’t hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist. “Don’t stop,” you beg. “Stay inside.” 

He groans, his forehead pressing to yours. “You want me to fill you up, sweetheart? That what you’re asking for?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, his fingers pinching your clit and stroking relentlessly. “Please,” you choke, begging, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, sweetheart. Wanna make you mine.” 

“Already yours,” you whisper, your muscles contracting around his length again, your legs trembling as stars flood your vision. Logan moans your name, and you can feel him spilling inside you. You come together, your orgasm crashing into you, more intense, more powerful than the last. 

“Love you so much,” he whispers as he finishes, painting your walls. 

“Love you too, Lo,” you say back, your heart beating out of your chest as you come down from your high. 

His fingers drag against your clit, swiping gently before running up your body, slipping under your back, and pulling you into his chest. His hips are still, his cock unmoving inside you. He finally pulls out, and rolls off you, taking you with him. He tugs you into his chest, holding you tightly.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Need anything?”

“J-just you,” you stammer. His fingertips trace patterns along your back, soothing and gentle. 

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart,” Logan whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and moving to sit up. But you stop him, wrapping your arms around his torso and holding him down. He smirks, letting you pull him back. “I’m just gonna grab a towel, yeah? Wanna take care of you. I’ll come right back.”

You nod, letting him go. He slips out of the bed, strides over to his bathroom, and grabs a towel from inside without turning a light on. Within ten seconds he’s back in bed, just like he said he would be. 

Logan brings the towel between your legs and wipes you clean. His touch is gentle, soothing, careful not to be too rough. Once he’s done, he throws the towel to the floor and reaches over to his nightstand. When he turns back to you, he has a glass of water in his hand. He extends the glass out, bringing it to your lips. The water feels cool as it slides down your throat. You drain the glass, and Logan smiles as he pulls it from your lips. 

He places the cup back down on the nightstand and pulls you into his arms again. You bury your head into the center of his chest, listening carefully to his heartbeat. It’s even, steady, constant. Just like him. 

“Never felt like this before,” he whispers into the silent darkness of the room. 

“Like what?” You mumble, your voice muffled against his chest. 

You can hear the smile in his voice as the words leave his lips. “Happy. Safe.”

Tears—happy tears—free themselves from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. 

“Can’t let go of you,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t wanna go back to before.”

“You don’t have to, Lo,” you pant. “I’m yours. Always.” And you know you mean it. You know it’s true. It’s already been decided, already played out. Already etched into the future. 

Are you two married? Claire had asked. 

He’ll always come back to you. All I see is happiness, She had promised.

And she was right. 

“I love you,” Logan husks. 

“I love you, too.” 

tags: @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @Ifdybadgirlsdiw @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[brokenmenswhore]

first | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, & sirius) x fem!reader

summary: virginity loss trope :)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), language, gender swapped dorcas cus i said so 🤷🏻‍♀️

────── ☾ ──────

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, body halting as the staircase began to shift beneath you, “and completely untrue.”

“Oh come on, you never do anything interesting! For your sake, it has to be true,” Sirius teased.

You turned to him, mouth open in offense. “I’m plenty interesting.”

“But not interesting enough to lose your virginity to Meadowes in the library during fourth year?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“No! It didn’t happen!” you protested, “now please, let it go.”

“How would a rumor like that even get out if it isn’t true?” James asked genuinely.

“Probably because everyone knows Meadowes has the hots for her. Bet you he started it himself,” Remus answered, distaste evident in his voice.

“Are you three done now?” you asked, whispering the common room password and letting the boys in.

“So if it isn’t true, how did you lose it?” Sirius pressed.

You looked at him stunned, eyes wide in disbelief that he would ask you something like that out of the blue.

“Absolutely not,” you said, raising a finger toward him, “I’m not playing that game.”

“Oh come on!” Sirius raised his hands and smiled, “you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, now I’m curious,” James continued on, “if not Dorcas, who?”

You sighed, placing your books down and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, turning toward them exasperated. “Why does it matter?”

“You know seventeen of the girls I’ve slept with by heart,” Sirius replied, “I’d say it’s only fair.”

“Sirius, you told me about seventeen of the girls you’ve slept with. Willingly. Without me asking. Ever,” you said, earning a laugh from James at your disgust.

They followed you up the stairs to your dorm, empty from everyone sneaking off to a party in the Ravenclaw common room that you were supposed to be getting ready for, but alas, you were late and distracted.

You sat down in front of your vanity mirror, ready to start applying makeup, when Remus placed a hand on the desk in front of you, leaning his face in close to you, his hair falling slightly in front of his face. He was completely in your personal space.

“Come on, Y/N, tell us who got to fuck you first.”

Remus’ voice was low, and his breath fanned your face as he spoke. You locked eyes with him, a sigh leaving your chest that you weren’t aware you were holding in. You were nervous to have him this close.

“No one has. Sorry to disappoint. Now drop it, will you?”

Remus didn’t move. You continued to look up into his eyes, your voice a little shaky, and you didn’t know what to do. You moved to get up, but Remus caught your chin between his fingers, pulling your attention back to him. “Meaning what?”

“Did you not hear me? Cus you’re like 6 inches away from me, so if you didn’t, you need to get your hearing checked,” you said, annoyed at your current predicament, just wanting to make the embarrassing conversation end. Remus finally let you stand, but Sirius and James were right behind you, stopping you from leaving the room. You opted to sit on your bed.

“You guys are insufferable.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “So you’re-“ he trailed off.

“A virgin, yes, wow, how crazy of me. You know, it’s not that weird, you all just have a personal body count higher than everyone at this school combined. And everyone else’s body count includes you. Can we please just forget about this?” you begged.

“Such attitude,” James teased, “from such a good girl.”

“Oh, so I’m a goodie two-shoes now that you’ve all discovered I’ve never had sex?”

“Kinda, yeah,” James giggled.

“Fuck you guys,” you sighed, partially lighthearted and partially annoyed, “it was my choice. You think I couldn’t have screwed Dorcas Meadowes in the library if I wanted to?”

No one had a response. Sirius’ nostrils flared, and Remus sighed. They almost seemed… jealous? at the thought of you and someone else.

You four were ridiculously close, anyone could see that, and you would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about them in that way, but you were best friends, and you didn’t want to risk ruining that.

“You ever think about, like, just doing it?” Sirius asked.

“What?” you replied.

“Do you ever think about just saying fuck it and asking someone, like, I don’t know, one of us, to just take your virginity?”

Your breathing caught in your chest. You stared at Sirius, a million thoughts coming to your head but you couldn’t articulate any of them. You had no idea what to say.

“I mean, I’ve thought about losing my virginity, yeah, that’s normal,” you explained.

“To one of us?” Remus asked.

You could lie. You could act disgusted at the question and walk away now, or, you could tell the truth, and risk ruining your entire friendship. You could also tell the truth and potentially gain everything you wanted.

Your voice became small, your eyes watching your hands fidget in your lap, “maybe.”

The boys all exchanged a look between one another.

James was the only one who was able to pull himself together. “W-who?”

You titled your head up at him. “What?”

James sat down on the bed next to you. “Which one of us?”

You could physically see all the boys tense up, ready to be filled with either pride or jealousy. Sirius and Remus were staring daggers at you, anxiously awaiting your answer. James kept his eyes on you as well, trying to make you feel less intimidated and tense than Sirius and Remus were.

Your eyes darted between all of them, “I-“

You were evidently nervous, and Remus felt bad. He knelt on the ground in front of you, taking your hands in his own. It was the most intimate gesture you’d received from him yet. He kept his voice soft. “Angel, you don’t have to tell us, but we really want to know. I promise none of us will be too hurt. Please,” he almost begged.

You sighed. You weren’t worried because you only thought about one of them, you were worried because you were embarrassed to tell them the truth. You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “All of you.”

They were not prepared for that answer.

Remus and James stared at you and tried to process your words. Sirius was more of an “act on impulse” and “speak without thinking” kind of guy.

“Fuck off,” he said, “all of us?”

“Mhm.”

“Like at the same time?” he pushed.

“Sirius-“ Remus warned.

“No, no, I wanna hear you say it,” he said, attention back on you, “I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about losing your virginity to all three of us. At the same time. I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about us fucking you.” He was standing dangerously close to you now.

“I- I have,” you said, blush evident in your cheeks.

Sirius growled. “Remus, move.”

“Excuse me?” Remus snapped back.

“Move.”

Remus sighed and moved out of the way so that Sirius was standing directly in front of you. “You stop us if there’s anything you don’t like. Understood?”

You nodded your head, but that wasn’t enough.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you retried.

Sirius gave you a small smile before grabbing your face in his hands, tilting your head up and leaning down to give you a long, intimate kiss. Once you had settled in, he deepened the kiss, his carnal desires taking over. He slowly leaned you back on the bed, your legs still hanging off the mattress, as he placed one knee next to your waist, holding himself up as he continued kissing you. When your back hit the mattress, you held the back of Sirius’s head to keep him in place.

You felt one of the boys behind Sirius, pulling your pants off and leaving your lower half nearly exposed.

Sirius flopped down on the bed next to you, still kissing you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

James slowly kissed up your thigh, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders as he kissed your underwear right above your heat. You gasped, but Sirius didn’t let you break the kiss.

“Sirius, come on, give her a break,” James pleaded, “I wanna hear her.”

Sirius groaned into the kiss before breaking it, looking down to James in between your legs. “Well, go on then.”

Sirius was still feral and needy, pulling your shirt over your head and ripping off your bra, immediately going to grab and kiss at your breasts. You were embarrassed at the exposure, but everyone was moving on your body so fast that you didn’t have time to think about your body being on display.

James pushed your underwear to the side and kissed your folds, causing you to squeal. This was an unfamiliar feeling, but you were growing wetter and wetter by the minute. He pushed your folds open with his tongue, licking and flicking at your clit. You whined and threw your head back. He continued his actions, peeking up at you from between your legs, watching you come apart as he ate you out like a man starved.

“Take it easy,” you heard Remus say from behind your head, “you gotta remember she’s never done this.”

James moaned into your cunt as a response, sending a shiver up your body, causing your legs to shake slightly. He kept sucking and licking circles around your bud, and you couldn’t help but grab the hair at the back of his head, pushing him closer into you.

“Good girl,” Sirius cooed from beside you, touching every exposed part of your body that he could.

As James’ tongue quickened, your whines grew louder, but you tried to tame them and save yourself further embarrassment. Remus noticed and was not happy. He grabbed your face and forced your neck to look backward at him. “Are you holding back?”

“N-no,” you said anxiously, not sure if it was the truth.

“Ah, but I think you are,” he started, “and we don’t accept that. Let us hear you.”

“But I’m emb-“

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Stop holding back. Now.”

Remus’s demanding and controlling demeanor only added at the pleasure James was giving you with his mouth. You did as he said. James continued to quicken his pace, whines and moans falling from your lips.

“Does that feel good?” Remus asked.

“Yes, Rem, I-“

“No fair!” Sirius suddenly exclaimed, “if you ask her all the questions, you get to hear her moan your name. Selfish prick.”

“Are you gonna let this be about her or what?” Remus retorted.

“I am! I should be asking you the same thing, why do you always get to be in control of everything?”

They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, but the entire time, James remained focused on you. He watched from between your legs as his tongue made you squirm and moan, and he had you nearly seeing stars.

You desperately tried to tell him you were going to come, but Remus and Sirius were too busy bickering for James to hear you. You tapped at his head to signal him, and he got the message, sucking at your bud until you finally came. Your chest rapidly rose and fell as James continued to lick you until he had tasted every last drop of cum from your hole, standing up and placing a wet kiss on your lips.

“What, did you just give up?” Sirius asked when he saw James standing.

“No, idiot, she came,” James replied, “you two dickheads were too busy arguing to notice.”

Remus’s nostrils flared. “You just let us keep arguing?”

“She tried to say something!” James defended you, and partly himself.

“Baby, you ok?” Remus checked in.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“You got a little more in you?”

“Mhm.”

“You want me?”

“Mhm.”

Remus pulled his pants and boxers down and climbed on top of you, pulling your underwear completely off of you as he placed his knees on either side of your waist.

“You sure?” he asked, wanting to confirm your consent.

“Yes,” you responded.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with it being me?”

Instead of responding with words, you tilted your head up and kissed Remus, assuring him that you wanted it to be him. You would have been okay with any of the boys, but Remus was always so in control, it made sense that he would be your first. Your relationship with him was always a little less silly, and a little more intimate, than your relationship with the other two.

“Are you ready?” he checked, lining up his already hard cock at your entrance.

“Yeah,” you replied, “just- please be nice, okay?”

Remus smiled, “of course, baby.”

You nodded at him and locked eyes as he slowly pushed into you, a long gasp leaving your lips as he filled you up. His cock was bigger than you thought it would be, and it was taking you a while to adjust to his size.

“Shit, Rem,” you breathed out, “you should have warned me that you’re that fucking big.”

Sirius growled next to you, your words driving him crazy. He couldn’t help but pull out his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched you.

Remus gave you plenty of time to adjust before you nodded at him, signaling that he could move. He started slowly, pushing in and out of you as an excruciatingly slow pace. It burned, and you almost told Remus to stop, but after a few minutes, the pain subsided, and the pleasure took over.

A particularly filthy moan left your lips, and Sirius cursed under his breath. James appeared behind your head, stroking your hair as Remus’s head dropped to your shoulder as he began to pick up the pace.

“Shit, baby,” he moaned, “you feel so fucking good.”

“You look so fucking good,” Sirius breathed.

“Thank you, Siri,” you cried out, causing Sirius to cum in his hand, the nickname making him lose all control.

“What a good girl,” Remus spoke, his thrusts quickening until he was causing your body to jolt upward with each hit from the force, “you’re doing so well.”

James placed a kiss on your forehead and you reached up to grab his hand for leverage. You squeezed his hand, the pleasure between your legs becoming almost too much.

“Relax, baby, you’re being such a good girl,” James said.

Remus’ breathing quickened. “You’re so tight, angel, if you keep squeezing my cock like that I’m not gonna last,” he warned.

“I c-can’t help it,” you told him.

“I know baby,” he replied.

“I d- don’t know how to m- make it stop,” you said.

Remus giggled, “you don’t have to make it stop. It feels good for me.”

“Oh,” you whimpered, “that’s good.”

Remus giggled again. You were so cute, even in the middle of losing your virginity. Remus leaned down and kissed you, your lips moving in harmony as he began to pound into you. Any sense of kindness and mercy he had for this being your first time went out the window when you kissed.

Your moans grew louder and louder, and you tried to cover your mouth with your hand to quiet yourself down.

“Ah ah ah,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hand away, “none of that.”

“Rem- Rem- I-“

“I know angel, let go.”

Your high crashed over you again, your hips bucking upward to meet Remus’ final few thrusts before he came inside of you, the feeling of you squeezing him becoming too much for him to hold on. Remus stayed inside of you for a moment, watching your face as you calmed down from your high, a slight shake in your legs.

“What a good girl,” James praised, kissing your forehead.

“You okay?” Remus checked in, pulling out of you and standing in front of you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “‘m okay.”

Sirius leaned down to kiss you again. “Everything you imagined?”

“Mhm.” You were too tired to formulate complete words or sentences.

“You wanna skip the party?” Sirius continued.

“Mhm.”

“You wanna cuddle and watch a movie?”

“Mhm.” You shifted so your head was resting on Sirius’ lap as he began to stroke your hair.

Sirius smiled. “And then maybe round two.”

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”