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demxters · 1 year ago

Text

—𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀

x-files!au jake seresin x f!reader

summary: something wicked this way comes on the night you find yourself stuck at the motel california with your work partner, jake seresin.

wc: 12.7k

warning(s): 18+ for sensitive subject matter, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname pumpkin), language, mentions of paranormal entities, implications of self harm/suicide, brief violence, alcohol and drinking

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

find it on ao3

a/n: if you're familiar with teen wolf, yes this is also loosely based on the motel california episode of s3. a huge ty to @blue-aconite for being my rock throughout this entire process. i couldn't have done it without you <;3

Of all the moments in your career, none have felt quite as humiliating as this. You have shed your own blood, sweat, and tears just to even be respected in your field. Right when you felt like you were finally coming up on top, Director Simpson threw a curve ball and sent you right to the basement. Your ex-partner laughed in your face at the news, making steam pour out of your ears.

The X-Files. Are you kidding? You are a highly skilled field agent and medical doctor–that’s one more thing than Director Simpson could say he was. Yet somehow, you were the one going down. Literally.

The X-Files was a department full of hallucinatory agents. Those who believed in aliens, the supernatural, and ghosts just to name a few of what they investigate. It was a joke department. One that was created to satisfy the pipe dream of passionate believers. Sending you down there felt like an insult to your intelligence.

The squeaks from the age old elevator as the doors opened to the dusty and dimly lit hallway was enough for you to know this probably wasn’t the most highly decorated department. With a steady gulp, you make your way down the hall. Dodging agents running around like headless chickens has you clutching your suitcase closer to your chest. Your eyes scan each room, looking for the director’s office.

Someone bumps you on the shoulder, making you yelp. Meanwhile, they drop all their files onto the floor.

You let out a soft “oh,” dropping to your knees to help the flustered agent.

“I am so sorry, ma’am,” he breathes.

Despite your annoyance, you could tell that the man was genuine, and your attitude softens slightly. “It’s alright,” you reassured him with a soft smile. Picking up the rest of his stray papers, you’re able to get a better look at the man. He had boyish features and a buzzcut. He was probably the same age as you, maybe even a couple years younger. He had the look of fresh meat, making your hardened exterior falter. “Agent…”

His eyes flit up to meet yours with a smile.“Garcia, ma’am. Agent Mickey Garcia.”

You hold out a hand which he grasps in friendly greeting. “Nice to meet you, Agent Garcia. Are you new here?”

A shaky exhale leaves him as he lets go of your hand and takes the rest of his papers from you. He runs a hand over his short hair. “That obvious?”

A sympathetic look graces your features. “Just a smidge.”

He groans, throwing his head back.

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing! We’ve all gotta start somewhere.” The sound of a phone ringing in the distance reminds you why you were down here in the first place. If you could spend the rest of your afternoon chatting with Garcia, you would. He was sweet. The kind of person you could find yourself befriending if not for the nature of your position. “Garcia, would you happen to know where Director Mitchell’s office is?”

He nods hurriedly at the name of his superior. “Absolutely. Follow me.”

You follow swiftly behind him as you weave your way through the various agents and file carts. A few of the male agents snickered and clearly looked you up and down as you walked by. Years of tolerating this behavior made you indifferent to their actions. Garcia said hello to a few of his fellow agents and blatantly ignored a few of the others who threw out teasing remarks to the man about his last assignment. You could tell it was a sensitive subject for him as the tips of his ears turned red and he ducked his chin to his sternum.

Finally reaching the end of the hall after what felt like an eternity, you are met face to face with the wooden door and golden plaque with the name “Mitchell” staring back at you.

Garcia gestures to the door. “Well, this is it. Good luck.” He gives you a half hearted thumbs up that did nothing to quell the anxiety bubbling in your system.

You nod, harshly trying to swallow the nerves that were crawling up your throat. “I hope to see you around, Garcia,” you’re just barely able to speak.

He turns over his shoulder with a bright smile and sound agreement before disappearing in the direction they came.

You hesitantly raise her fist to the door when a muffled, “Come in,” is voiced from the other side.

You push the door open with caution, unsure of what to suspect on the other side. You have only ever heard stories of the famed director, none that gave you any reassurance that your career was in good hands.

Director Mitchell despite being dressed in slacks and a button up work shirt looked like the most casual man in the department. A pair of aviators sat on his desk next to his badge that was haphazardly thrown onto the surface of his desk. You wrinkle your nose at the sight, not seeing this man as someone you could easily respect as a superior.

“I would say have a seat, but I don’t plan on keeping you here long,” the director puts it bluntly. “I’ve read your file. Incredibly impressive, to say the least.”

You straighten your posture and hold your head up high at his praise. “Thank you, sir.”

“Needless to say, I don’t see how your talents could be any more useful here as it is with the big dogs.” You could feel the underlying tone of his annoyance with the higher ups.

“I am thinking the same thing,” you dryly add.

He pushes off his desk with a large exhale and brings himself to his feet. “Well, whatever the reason, they sent you here. And lucky for you, I’ve got the perfect place to put you.” He beckons for you to follow him out the door.

Walking past him, you mutter bitterly under your breath, “Lucky me.”

Director Mitchell explains how the X-Files is an overlooked department in the FBI and continues to emphasize how they are not just a committee full of nut jobs. He drones on and on about the compelling evidence they have and if Director Simpson could just listen to his agents, they could be making history. You zone out halfway through his speech, watching the agents around you intently. Over in one of the board rooms were a group of agents who looked like they were in the midst of a playfully heated argument. You smile upon noticing one of the agents to be Garcia. Amongst them was a woman who looked like she could command a room with a single look. If there was anyone you were hoping to become good colleagues with, it was her. God knows you needed another woman to talk to down here.

Mitchell leads you to the last room. The door was already ajar and before even stepping into the room, you could tell it was a mess in there. There was red string and newspaper clippings everywhere. Sticky notes and photographs galore.

You can hear shuffling from inside the room as Director Mitchell steps in front of you and lets himself in with only a light knock.

“‘M busy, Pete,” a voice from inside the room says.

It’s deep, male with a hint of southern twang. The way he calls the director by his first name makes you uncomfortable. Director Simpson would never let that slide.

“Too busy to meet your new partner?” Mitchell teases.

The rustling stops and Pete steps aside so you can step into the room. You’re unable to hide your surprise as you step inside, glaring at him with questioning eyes. “I’m sorry, partner?”

The sound of your voice makes the man in the office straighten up. He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks as he leans against his desk. You could see him from the corner of your eyes but refuse to give him any acknowledgement.

“Director Simpson didn’t say anything about me having to work with anyone down here.”

The disgust was evident in your tone, yet the man’s smirk only grew into an amused grin.

Pete sighs. “With all due respect, agent, Director Simpson told me to place you where I think you’d be most fit. That being said, after everything I’ve read about you tells me you like working alone. I think you’ll find that working with Seresin might just change that.”

The man, Seresin, steps into your view and you can’t help the heat that rises up the back of your neck. He’s attractive, that’s for sure. His blond hair was slightly disheveled–almost like he has run his hands through it a couple of times. He had bright green eyes and a fit physique. If anything, the smug look on his face just infuriated you even more.

“Jake Seresin, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand that you ignore.

If looks could kill, Pete would be dead on the floor.

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.” The director excuses himself with a pathetic shrug, knowingly escaping your wrath and leaving you for Jake to deal with.

You’re still glaring at him as you watch him go, not wanting to have to interact with your new partner.

“Well aren’t you just Miss Sugar, spice, and everything nice.” Jake’s voice cuts through your self loathing.

Your stare, now directed at him, cuts through him like a knife. “I hope you know I’m only doing this because Director Simpson sent me here and not because I want to be here. Especially with you.”

He laughs, causing your blood to boil even more. “Alright, pumpkin, no need to be so defensive.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped back.

Jake holds his hands up in surrender, shaking his head with a laugh before settling back into his work on his desk. “We are going to have one hell of a time together, Agent. I can feel it.”

If only you could figure out a way to transfer out of here before your first case.

Two years later and you were still partners with Jake Seresin. All it took was one case and an insane amount of coincidences to get you to stay. You are a skeptic to say the least. Despite everything you’ve seen, you continue to go on these cases with Jake in an attempt to prove that there must be some scientific explanation for everything. Every time without fail, you are proven wrong, but you aren’t one to give up. So here you are, still in the X-Files department and still going on crazy cases with Jake.

Your original dislike for the man turned into fond admiration, and eventually friendship. Jake was smart, smarter than you gave him credit for. You judged him too soon upon meeting him, assuming that just like everyone else, he was just another nut job in his department. However, you soon came to understand that no one in the X-Files department were nut jobs. Only curious agents with curious minds. You’ve even come to respect them and their many far fetched theories for the unexplainable cases you investigate.

Here you are two years later and still investigating the impossible. But if you were being totally honest? You wouldn’t have it any other way. What you once thought to be a careless mistake, ended up becoming the best two years of your life.

“Jake and Pumpkin at it again. Solving cases one supernatural entity at a time,” Jake’s comment breaks through the silence of the car.

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his words. “Solving cases? Absolutely. Supernatural entities? Well…”

Jake glances at you bewildered, before focusing his gaze back on the road. “What? Oh come on, darling, you mean to say even after everything we’ve been through you still think the supernatural isn’t real?”

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you turn to see Jake smiling. “Hey, all I’m saying is that there is a scientific explanation for everything.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you. “Alright, killjoy, way to ruin my fun. Jake and Pumpkin at it again. Solving cases one scientific explanation at a time.” Jake cringes, making you chuckle. “See? Now that just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“We can agree to disagree.”

“Don’t we always?” Jake sends you a quick wink and you have to bite your lip and look out the window to stop yourself from the school girl giggles that threaten to leave you.

Jake was a charmer. From the beginning, his suave and confident attitude made you want to rip your hair. Now, it was something that made your cheeks warm and your heart flutter. However, you made sure he would never catch onto that fact. He gets his ego stroked enough by Pete and the unassuming people you meet on investigations.

You were still riding a post-case high and you just weren’t ready to head back to the office. You hum thoughtfully, causing Jake to look at you with a raised brow. “I’m in the mood for a celebratory drink, Mr. Seresin. What do you think?”

The mischievous grin on his face told you everything that he was thinking. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea, Pumpkin.”

You loved to travel. Your favorite thing about being sent all over the U.S. for cases was discovering the small town charms along the way. More specifically, the dive bars. Celebratory drinks became a tradition for you and Jake after your first successful investigation together. The two of you would stop at the first dive bar you’d find and spend the night with a drink or two before heading back to the office or hotel you were spending the night in.

Tonight, you found a rustic little dive bar in the middle of the desolate road in California. There wasn’t much around other than a few little establishments and it was clear that the next big city was at least a dozen miles away.

Jake was nearly done with the beer he has been nursing since the beginning of your visit. Meanwhile, you were just starting round three of another tequila lime and coke. He was intently keeping an eye on you, just in case you decided to pass out on him.

He loved seeing you like this, all rambly and carefree from the alcohol. He loved working with you, but you could be so stiff and orderly that he took advantage of the moments where he got to see you so unabashedly yourself. He did everything he could to make you feel comfortable enough to be yourself around him. It took some time for him to crack you open, especially with how set you were on shutting him out. But he was patient. Before you could even realize what he was doing, he slowly ended up building up your trust in him all while chipping at the walls you’ve put up to keep him away. To his surprise, he immediately fell in love with the woman he found underneath. He knew it was a slippery slope, working with you while feeling the way he did. It could compromise your partnership if you ever found out, as well as his judgment out in the field.

Bradley had warned him against his feelings towards you. It hurt, but he was right. If you ever found out, you would probably never want to work with him again.

But he couldn’t help it. The two of you worked so well together and you understood him and his thoughts more than anyone he has ever worked with. The two of you were a team and he never wanted to work with anyone else. He never wanted to be with anyone else.

So he kept quiet. If keeping quiet meant keeping you here, then he would stay this way forever. At least until he knew if you felt the same way.

There were moments in your partnership when Jake swore you felt the same way about him. But these moments were fleeting–disappearing just as fast as they came. By the time Jake was able to notice them, you were already pulling away and going back to your hardened “work and no funny business” exterior.

They were moments like you reaching out for his hand when things got a little too intense. Your eyes scanning for him whenever the two of you get separated in the field. The smaller, more intimate moments where you’d share with him a piece of yourself that no one else knew.

These were the moments that had him holding on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you felt the spark between you two that everyone else could blatantly see.

“Do you think we could take one of these shot glasses back home, Jake? I think Reuben would really like one of these.” You examined one of the lone shot glasses on the bar top, holding it up to the light.

There wasn’t anything special about it. It was just a regular old shot glass that you could find almost anywhere. But in your buzzed state, the shot glass looked nothing but special.

He smiles softly, replaying the word home in the back of his mind. Not back to the office, but back home. The way you said it made it sound like Jake was going back to your home with you. Oh, how much he wished that was true.

Jake shakes his head, gently taking the glass from your fingers and setting back on the table. “I don’t think so, darling. This one belongs to the fine gentleman who owns the bar.”

A small pout crosses your lips making Jake feel like his heart was thumping out of his rib cage. Oh, he was a goner.

“Besides, I think Reuben has enough shot glasses to attend to the whole department.”

“I guess so,” you sigh softly, before going back to sipping at your drink.

The slightly dejected look on your face makes his face fall and before he can even process what he’s doing, Jake’s grabbing your hand delicately in his. “But maybe we can stop at a gas station on our way back and buy him an even cooler glass. How does that sound?”

Your eyes light up and Jake takes pride in his mission accomplished. You don’t seem to notice that your hand is still in Jake’s and you don’t find it in you to care.

Jake wants to trap this moment in a bottle forever. There were barely any patrons left in the bar other than you two and a couple stragglers. But to him, it felt like it was just you and him. There was no need for him to be bothered by the rest of the world.

The bartender clearing his throat breaks Jake from his trance. “You and your lady best be going now, son. It looks like the storm’s getting pretty bad out there. Don’t want the two of you getting stranded on the road.”

Jake glances out the window to see that the man was right. He could barely see the night sky through the dark clouds overhead and the wind as well as the downpour was starting to pick up. You were still happily sipping your drink when Jake carefully pries your cup from your hand and pays off the rest of your tab. You let out a little whine in protest, but comply when Jake points out the storm brewing outside.

The bartender gives you a bottle of water to take with you so you can sober up and help keep yourselves safe on the road. Jake, ever the gentleman, shrugs off his jacket and holds it over your head as the two of you run into the rain. He holds it above you as you get into the car before he hurries over to the driver's side.

The rain seemed to be more than enough to have the effects of the alcohol wearing off as you’re instantly turned back into your level-headed self.

You’re cursing under your breath as you lamely hold your phone up to the roof of the car in search of some cell service.

“Nothing?” Jake asks after trying his own luck.

You shake your head with a worried frown on your face. Jake holds out his hand and you get the message immediately, swapping phones and trying again. You knew it was silly and you’d probably end up with the same results, but it was worth a try.

Even with Jake’s phone, you’re unable to get even one bar of service. Jake’s luck seems to be much better than yours as a soft “a-ha!” leaves his lips as he holds your phone awkwardly in front of the rear view mirror.

“You got something?” You lean over to get a look at your phone.

“It’s a bit slow, but I’ve got it.” He pauses waiting for the directions to load. “Here, Motel California.”

“You mean like the song?”

The innocence of your question makes him smile. “That’s Hotel California, darling.” He tilts the phone so you can get a better view. A glimpse of the preview pictures of the motel made the both of your faces drop. “Well, she ain’t pretty, but at least she’s something.”

You only shrug in agreement. “I guess we have stayed in worse places.”

“Here, how about you–” Jake is cut off by the sound of your phone chiming. He doesn’t mean to snoop, but the message is right in front of his face.

It was a text from Pete.

Are you sure you want to go through with your transfer?

Jake’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. He has never felt as hurt and betrayed as he did at this moment. “Transfer? What transfer?”

Your face falls at Jake’s venom laced words. You have heard him speak this way before–to colleagues who disrespected you at work and even friends who took a joke a step too far– but you have never been on the receiving end of his malice. You know you’ve been caught and you have nothing to say to justify it without giving yourself away. “Jake, I was going to tell you.”

He drops your phone in the cup holder between the two of you. His face stern as he starts the car and begins driving.

“Jake,” you start, already feeling the regret seep into your bones.

“Don’t.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens and so does his jaw.

“Jake, please. I was going to tell you, I swear–”

“When? After you get transferred?” He scoffs, his anger fading into disappointment. Jake whispers your name. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he called you by your name. Not Pumpkin, or sweetheart, or darling. “And to think I was proud to call you my partner. I thought we were good together. Clearly I was the only one.”

“Jake,” you beg. “You know that’s not true.”

He holds a hand up, silently telling you to stop. If you say anything else he might say something he doesn’t mean. “Just read me the directions. I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Respecting his request, you shove down the cries that want to escape you and reach for your phone, weakly directing him to the motel.

He was quiet tonight. It was another case solved thanks to you and Jake and you were celebrating with a pitcher of beer at one of the honky tonk bars you stumbled upon in the city.

And Jake was never quiet. Especially after an investigation. He usually talked your ear off about how impressed he was with your skills and you would roll your eyes and give him an equal amount of appreciation. Or he would be going on about the supernatural phenomenon the both of you had just witnessed while you try to debunk it all with scientific jargon.

The two of you landed an investigation in Texas and on the way there, you have never seen your partner as excited as he was on the plane ride. You thought Jake would already be on the dance floor because this was his element. Suddenly it was like a switch flipped, and he was no longer comforted by the essence of home. Now he looked like he was ready to take the first flight out of there.

You desperately wracked your mind through the events of the past few days, nitpicking every moment you spent with him. You were hoping you could find the moment where his childlike excitement turned to absolute dread.

It hit you then–the moment he changed. The abandoned warehouse on 5th Street where you ran into one of his old colleagues, Daniel Callaghan. Callaghan’s department was also doing some investigating of their own, causing you guys to cross paths.

Callaghan was the type of man you were attracted to in your field. Tall, level headed, believed facts over fiction. He was everything Jake was not. Maybe in another time, you would have found yourself gravitating towards someone like Callaghan, but not this time. Instead, you saw him as arrogant, stuck up, and a misogynist when it came to his comments about you.

You had only responded to him with a scoff and the finger to which Callaghan found amusing. Jake, on the other hand, wasn’t as pleased and told Callaghan to knock it off. That made the tension between the two skyrocket, leaving you in the middle of what felt like a masculinity contest.

You were just about ready to leave, gently grasping Jake’s forearm and motioning for him to follow you out. The two of you were nearly out of earshot when Callaghan called out your name.

“Be careful with him out there, Pumpkin.” The way he says your nickname, the one only ever reserved for Jake’s lips alone, makes you feel nauseous. “They don’t call him the Hangman for nothing.”

Jake had tensed in your hold and since that encounter, he hadn’t been the same.

You wanted your bubbly and enthusiastic partner back, not whoever this was in his place.

You clear your throat in an attempt to catch Jake’s attention. His gaze stays concentrated on the ring of condensation forming around his cup.

You turn your body to face him instead. Reaching a hand out, you ghost it over his shoulder. You barely touch him when you’re pulling back like he burned you.

After a moment of deep contemplation you finally ask him, point blank. “What’s going on with you?”

He looks up, feigning confusion. “Nothing. Why?” His eyes darted back to the glass in his hand.

“Bullshit.” You take the cup from his hands, eliciting a gasp of surprise from him.

He knew you could be blunt when you wanted to be. Jake should’ve known you would notice something was going on with him. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Pumpkin.”

His words make you frown. Why was he so adamant on shutting you out after trying so hard to pry you open? “Hey, do you remember what you told me on the first case we worked together? You told me that we need to learn how to trust each other because we’re partners and partners have got each other’s backs. Always. This is me having your back, Jake.” You sigh, looking into his green eyes that looked glossy under the lights. “I’m not the easiest person to talk to or be around sometimes. But you’ve taught me that opening up to people isn’t the worst thing in the world. I know that you trust me out there, so please, trust me here too.”

Jake wished he could tell you he wasn’t acting the way he was because he didn’t trust you. No, that wasn’t it at all. He trusted you with his entire being. There was no doubt about that. It’s what was bothering him that had him drawing away from you. He didn’t want you to see him differently. He didn’t want you to think you couldn’t trust him anymore. The guilt that courses through him is overwhelming. When he told you to trust him on that first day together, it was because he didn’t want you to see him like everyone else did. He wanted to make sure that you knew, he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. If he tells you what’s on his mind, you’re going to doubt everything he ever told you.

The way you’re looking at him, with soft eyes and a gentle smile, makes his icy exterior melt. You always managed to make him feel like you could see right through him. After confessing what’s on his mind, things between you two might never be the same. Jake won’t blame you for it though. This was all on him. Him and Callaghan for opening his stupid mouth.

He knows he won’t be able to fool you. So he takes a deep breath, preparing himself for imminent loss.“I know you heard what Callaghan called me. Are you not wondering what he meant by that?”

The genuine confusion on your face makes his chest ache even more. “What, Hangman? I mean I heard him, but I didn’t think much of it.”

Jake won’t meet your eye, not when he’s making this part of him known. “Hearing that name, being called that again sent me back to a time I wish I could forget. Callaghan reminded me that no matter how hard I try, I’m still the guy I was four years ago.”

“Who were you, Jake?”

The rain still hadn’t stopped when you arrived at the motel. Even in his anger, Jake was ever the gentleman–opening the car door for you and shielding you from the downpour with his jacket. However, he hadn’t looked at you nor spoken a word to you once since the revelation that you may be transferring departments.

You hated yourself for keeping this from him. You swore you were going to tell him, you were just waiting for the right time. Unfortunately that time never came, and Pete beat you to it. The look of betrayal and hurt on Jake’s face upon receiving the news was enough to make you reconsider your decision. In all honesty, you were still undecided on where you stood with the idea of transferring. From Jake’s outright dismissal of your presence, you found it harder to decide.

The sound of someone calling your name, pulls you from your thoughts as you see Jake looking at you with a frown. You never thought it was possible to crave someone’s smile as much as you do now. You missed the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners and light up like a child on Christmas morning and the adorable dimple on the left side of his lips that you most definitely did not think about every single night before bed. A whole hour hasn’t even passed since the drive from the bar and yet you found yourself missing him as if he has been gone for months.

Instead he continued to stare at you with that stoic expression on his face, one you only saw once back when you were in Texas. There was only one other person you could remember that Jake faced with that expression and it made you sick knowing you might just be the second one.

All he did was beckon for you with a nod of his head as you quickly thanked the employee at the front desk, who barely acknowledged you, before scurrying after Jake.

Waiting for the elevator timidly behind Jake gave you a moment to fully take in your surroundings. You were so focused on Jake that you hardly realized he had already checked you both into the motel and that you had been in the lobby for a good ten minutes.

You’ve been to a lot of unsettling places since the beginning of your partnership with Jake. Each with their own feelings of heaviness, despair, and discomfort from the supposed entities that inhabited the space. You blamed it on your own psychological expectations of the places, but this time you had nothing to blame it on other than your own feelings of unease.

You shifted on your heels behind Jake, clutching your overnight bag tighter over your shoulder. The hairs on the back of your neck rose at the sudden chill that overcame your body. Strange that only the back of your neck felt cold, compared to the rest of you that was burning up. It was almost as if a hand brushed against your neck with ice cold fingertips.

Looking over your shoulder, you expect to see a fan or perhaps an A/C unit but you are met with nothing but the wall. You feel the prick at your neck once more, only this time, your heart rate begins to speed up as you suddenly feel like you were being watched. You shake your head, reminding yourself that it was just your imagination. With the way motel management clearly hadn’t bothered to renovate the place since the 60s, you forced yourself to believe that it was merely an old building. Nothing more.

Yet the itch to reach out and hang onto Jake’s arm for comfort didn’t cease, even as you reassured yourself that it was all in your head.

The elevator ride to the third floor was filled with heavy silence. The unease you carried didn’t leave you even as you left the ground floor. It seemed to have followed you into the elevator and all the way up.

The strength of the feeling made your arms prick with goosebumps as you followed Jake with your chin down, staring intently at the backs of his heels.

Jake makes an abrupt stop at the end of the hallway and if it weren’t for your hyper fixated gaze on his shoes, you probably would have ran right into his back. He takes a heavy sigh before turning to glance over his shoulder at you.

His green eyes, void of emotion, meet yours. “The concierge said they only had one room left for the night, so we’re gonna have to share.”

You swallow the urge to scoff at the blatant lie that the motel only had one room available, for it was evident that the place was hardly full by their near empty parking lot. You keep this thought to yourself and nod, not wanting to give Jake another reason to be upset at you.

Stepping into the room, your nose wrinkles at the smell of stale wood and moist mold. You’re hesitant to even lay your bag onto the armchair that sat in the corner of the room. That also looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

You hear Jake gently close the door behind you and take in the room as well. He has the exact same reaction as you–his face twisting into a sour expression before letting out a frustrated sigh.

An awkward laugh leaves your lips in an attempt to lighten the unsaveable somber mood. “At least you’ll have the bed to yourself.”

Jake’s brows furrow at your insinuation and he shakes his head in disagreement. “What makes you think I’m gonna let you sleep on the floor?”

You shrug. “What makes you think I would let you sleep on the floor?”

Sharing a room with Jake wasn’t unknown territory. Sharing a room with one bed however, was a different story.

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening. I’m sleeping on the floor and that’s final.” Jake’s hands rest on his hips like a mother scolding her children. His stance makes you giggle, pulling a small smile to his lips.

The previous air that surrounded the two of you seemed to dissipate, if only for a little bit. You would take what you could get, wishing what happened hours ago was magically wiped from Jake’s memory.

“Seriously? You’ve been complaining about your back hurting for weeks now! The floor isn’t going to make you feel any better.” You mimic his posture, desperate to get another smile out of him.

His lips grow wider. “Well, what do you suggest we do then? My ma would kill me if she ever found out I let a lady sleep on a motel floor.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you try your last attempt at extending an olive branch of apology towards him. “I mean, we could always…” You trail off, figuring that he would understand what you’re suggesting.

You regret the moment the words leave your mouth because the look on Jake’s face falls back into that guarded disposition.

The lightness of before disappears just as fast as it came, making the weight on your shoulders drop. You silently curse yourself, wishing you had just shut your mouth and kept quiet.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” His gaze darts to the floor. “Take the bed. I’ll be fine on the floor.”

You step forward, ready to argue once more, when he scurries quickly into the bathroom and shuts the door roughly behind him. You settled at the foot of the bed, burying your face in your hands in an attempt to stop the tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks.

In the end, this was your fault. You were the one who was a coward. The one who ran away when things got scary. When things got real. You’d think Jake’s withdrawal from you would be a good thing–that it would lessen the pain of you leaving. But just because you had wanted to leave did not mean you wanted to cut off his friendship. Now, you didn’t even have that.

You couldn’t sleep knowing that you were marked. You had stayed up all night last night just trying to put together some rational explanation for the sudden appearance of scars on the back of your neck but it was no use. Whatever this was, science couldn’t provide you any comfort.

Even so, you still wouldn’t believe in whatever it was that Jake thought was going around killing innocent women. He swore up and down that it was some paranormal entity with ill intentions. He even went as far as saying it might be a demon.

That made you scoff and roll your eyes until you woke up with the same mark that was found on the five victims’ bodies before their deaths. You knew a lot about coincidence, but this was a pattern. No matter how the mark had gotten onto your skin, the evidence just shows that you were next. You were going to die.

A soft knock on your door makes your heart jump out of its ribcage. You clumsily reach for the first thing you find to defend yourself and raise it over your shoulder. The paranoia was getting to you and you didn’t even think of checking through the peephole before throwing open the door and swinging at the person on the other side.

“Pumpkin, hey! It’s just me!” Jake stood at your door in nothing but an old t-shirt and flannel pants as he ducked and backed away from your swinging arm. “Put the lamp down, you’re okay.”

You hardly register Jake’s voice, keeping your arm raised trepidatiously.

His lips tilt down as he takes a step forward with his hands in front of him. “It’s okay, I promise,” he speaks gently. Jake nods, slowly reaching out to take the lamp from your grip.

Your hand tightens when he tugs on it and he nods reassuringly, using his other hand to delicately cup your cheek.

At the contact, you release a long breath, dropping your shoulders and letting him completely take your makeshift weapon away from you.

He ushers you inside and carefully closes the door so he doesn’t startle you. Jake felt like something was wrong with you after finding out about the mark. No matter how many times you reassured him you were fine, even playing the skeptic card didn’t stop him from seeing the genuine fear in your eyes.

Jake knew your relationship with the work the two of you did was complicated. Despite everything you’ve seen, you weren’t exactly a believer of the explanations behind the cases you solved. You helped Jake with the investigations and the small details he tended to miss, but in the end he was the one who called the case a supernatural occurrence. You balanced him out in a way, pointing out when he was too far gone and more logical reasonings sat right in front of him. Other times you challenged him and forced him to think outside the box. The two of you work in harmony together, making each other one hell of a team.

But not once since the start of your partnership, had Jake ever seen you this shaken up. He was afraid that you were going to shut him out again because of it. Jake knew more than anyone how paralyzing fear could become. He knew how lonely being afraid could be. Which is why he found himself knocking on your door in the dead of night. Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one experiencing fear.

When Jake found out that you were marked, he had never felt such intense fear and worry in his life. Hearing stories of being marked was one thing, experiencing it with someone he cared dearly about was another.

The dark purple hue beneath your eyes and your lack of attentiveness didn’t go unnoticed by Jake. No matter how much you tried to play off your worry, he could see right through you. Jake always could.

“Pumpkin…” he starts, eyes sad and full of concern.

“I’m fine, Jake.” You could feel his stare on the back of your head but you refuse to acknowledge him.

“It’s okay not to be, God knows I’m not,” Jake admits, taking another step closer to you. He needs you to know that you’re not alone in this.

That makes you scoff. “Why? You’re mark free. You have nothing to worry about in the first place. Being a man and all, because when do men have to worry about anything?”

Jake stays silent, letting you stew in your anger. You have every right to be angry, he doesn’t blame you for taking it out on him. In fact, he lets you.

You tighten your grip against the old wooden desk in front of you, staring at the makeshift evidence board you’ve created in your room. “Did you know that just because I’m a woman, I’m already more likely to be a target for a murder? And that’s discounting my occupation. Even now, whoever or whatever is leaving behind a string of bodies is targeting women. And we don’t even know what’s causing these deaths. It is so horrid just thinking that even these so-called supernatural forces, that we have no scientific explanations for, have some kind of vendetta towards women. So if you came here to sympathize with me and tell me some bullshit about understanding what I’m going through, you can leave. Because you don’t. You never will.”

Jake lets your words seep into him, trying to fully understand where all of your hurt is coming from. He has two younger sisters, both of which he loved and protected fiercely from the world because of the absence of his father. He knew how scary the world could be for them, but you were right, he would truly never understand it to the extent that you guys would. He wishes there was something he could do or say to make things better, but there’s not. There isn’t a thing in the world that would make any of this better.

Instead, he sauntered over to where you stand in front of the desk, eyeing your evidence board carefully. “There’s something missing here,” Jake taps the wall with the knuckle of his finger. “Between the woman’s time of death and when the authorities actually find the body. The body looks so… different from what’s actually described as her cause of death.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll be able to figure that out when it happens to me,” you grumble before running a hand down your face and collapsing onto the edge of your bed.

Your despair and hopelessness is what breaks him. Jake gets on his knees in front of you and pulls your hands away from your face, firmly gripping onto your knees. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare even think it. We’re going to figure this out, okay? You and me. I will figure this out if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Jake…”

“No, hey, listen.” He is stern. Stern, yet gentle in his words. “We’re partners and we’ve got each other’s backs, remember? I’m not just going to let you die. It’s you and me, always.”

Tired of fighting your exhaustion and denying just how terrified you are, your facade breaks–and so does the dam holding your tears at bay. Reaching to hold onto his hands tighter, you sob softly, “You promise?”

“I promise, Pumpkin.”

That’s all it takes for you to slide off the bed and onto your knees as you fall into Jake’s chest. Your shoulders shake in fear, but also relief from being in Jake’s arms. There was no certainty in his statement, yet you believed him wholeheartedly. For some reason you had faith that he would figure this out. That he wouldn’t leave you alone in this.

Jake shushes you softly, cradling your head on his shoulder and rubbing a comforting hand up and down your back. He meant every word he said. He would go through hell and back if it meant keeping you from harm’s way. Though neither of you would admit it, you guys needed each other. In the field and off of it.

Ever since you walked into his life, it was as if his career didn’t exist before you. He had no recollection of how he used to work when you weren’t his partner. The only thing he could see was you by his side for everything. Jake wished he could tell you this upright, but he’s afraid of scaring you away even more.

But with the way you held his shirt tighter, it gave him the slightest bit of hope that maybe you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You wake to the sound of thunder rattling the room. Out of pure instinct your hand shoots to the back of your neck, rubbing your thumb back and forth on the marred skin there. It was some kind of defense mechanism you had developed since the incident. A lame attempt at protecting yourself, you assumed.

Turning over onto your side, you blindly grab for your phone on the bedside and squint your eyes to view the time.

3:39am

A groan escapes you, as you roll onto your back and throw an arm over your eyes. Another crash of thunder makes your heart jump and you jolt up. You’re breathing heavily as you pull your covers up to your chest. It was just thunder. There was no need for you to be so afraid. After releasing a deep sigh, you lay back down on your side. Curious to see if Jake had woken up from the commotion outside, you peek over the side of the bed only to be met with Jake’s vacant makeshift bed.

The bathroom door was wide open and you doubted that he was out on the balcony. With your room key in hand, you don’t even think twice before bolting out of bed in nothing but your pajamas and into the hallway.

The yellow hallway lights are blinding at first glance and you attempt to blink yourself awake. “Jake?” You call out into the hallway, not caring for waking up any other guests of the motel. Worry for your partner clouded your better judgment and you found yourself running down the hall with no clue where you were going.

Movement in your peripheral has you swiftly turning towards the second outlet of the hallway where you see Jake walking away.

“Jake!” You continue to follow him. He doesn’t even flinch at the sound of his name, and your worry is quickly replaced with anger. You knew he was probably still mad at you from the sudden news of your transfer, but he was being an immature asshole for making you chase him down a hallway.

You pick up your pace, following after him with newfound determination. When you got your hands on him you swore you were going to give him a piece of your mind. No matter how fast you walk, however, the further it seemed that you got from him. It was as if the hallway was stretching in size, progressively getting longer the closer you got to Jake.

That feeling of dread, the one that prickled at the skin of your neck and made your hands clammy took over. That feeling that told you something was wrong. You were suddenly snapped into work mode, your senses more alert than ever.

Those eyes you thought you felt on you earlier in the lobby returned, causing you to turn around to look for the culprit when you are met with nothing. A chill from behind you makes you whirl around again. Still, nothing.

“You can’t save him.”

The eerie whisper in your right ear sends you running. It sounded as ordinary as a whisper during the game of telephone, soft and deliberate. But it made you feel so unsettled that you thought you might vomit from all the nerves it ticked off.

You don’t look back as you rush down the hallway, brushing your fingertips across the scratchy red wallpaper to keep yourself grounded. To remind yourself that you were here and not in some twisted dream.

Too caught up in your desperation to escape, you remember the reason why you were out here in the first place.

Jake.

On cue, that disembodied voice echoes in your mind. “You can’t save him.”

Was Jake the one the voice was talking about? That you wouldn’t be able to save him? Save him from what?

You’re stuck. You swore you were going insane. You let your imagination run wild and now you were imagining things. All of Jake’s crazy stories were finally getting to you. And yet…

What if this wasn’t your imagination? What if Jake was really in trouble?

He would believe the voice and find you. That is what he’d do. He would follow his gut, and if there was anything you knew about Jake’s hunches it was that they were almost always right. You had to find him, even if this was your mind playing tricks on you, you had to go after him. It’s what he would do for you.

_________

Jake woke up to the sound of his name being called. He shot up from the floor, immediately knowing that voice. It was the voice that echoed through his head in his nightmares, the one that haunted him in the middle of the night–and it was the one that was calling out to him now.

“Jake!”

He hears its pleas clear as day, begging for him to come save them.

“Jake!”

Jake scrambles to his feet, not caring about his shoes nor grabbing his room key because the second Jake walks out that door, he is no longer in the motel. Rather, he is in a place he recognizes all too well.

Riley Mulder, his ex-partner, was screaming at him from the depths of the underground subway tunnel system they were investigating.

Strange activity and a mysterious substance running down the cement walls wasn’t enough to get their team on the case, it was the murder.

The victim, petrified in fear, like a statue in Medusa’s garden, lay paralyzed on the abandoned train tracks and covered in that mysterious goo.

The sounds of his partner echo again and Jake finds himself running towards the sound.

“Riley! Riley, I’m coming!” Jake shouts in a panic, sprinting down the dark tunnel.

Jake curses himself for not remembering to bring a flashlight with him as he stumbles over another rail.

He could see Riley’s silhouette in the distance, yet no matter how fast he ran, Jake didn’t seem to be getting any closer to him.

“Riley!” He calls again, tripping and falling onto the ground in full force.

Jake lands on something sticky beneath him and he picks up his hands to wipe it on his shirt. His heart jumps out of his chest at the sight below him.

It was Riley. His skin was ice cold, and he was frozen in a state of fear. His mouth was wide open and his hands were blocking his eyes—his eyes that Jake was sure would be hollow if he could see them.

He feels like he’s going to be sick as he scrambled as far away from him as possible.

The shadow of a person behind him causes him to look over his shoulder. The sight before him fills him with dread. “No,” he mutters. “No, Pumpkin, you gotta get out of here. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m here because of you,” you hiss. Your voice is filled with venom, harsh in a way that isn’t yours.

Deep down, he knows you aren’t really here. That he isn’t really here. But everything feels so real, throwing all rationale out the door. You are here. He is here. And you were right, it’s because of him.

“Riley is here because of you. Riley is dead because of you.” You take a menacing step closer to him as Jake shakes his head in fear. “Because you were too much of a coward to stick around. You left him behind, left him…hanging. That is how you got your nickname isn’t it? Hangman?”

Jake pales. Hearing that name out of your mouth, a name that he detests more than anything, hurts him. He remembers the night he told you with a heavy heart the origins of his nickname. He wasn’t proud of it, and he expected you to hate him for it. He wasn’t expecting for you to give him your full and complete trust. That was the night the two of you truly became partners. No more secrets, well, except one.

“No, that’s not what… I’m not–” he stutters. His heart pounds in his chest, as he takes another step backward. Why were you doing this? Why were you hurting him this way?

“How does it feel to be the one left out to dry, huh? Sorry I didn’t tell you about my transfer sooner. I just wanted to hurt you just as bad as you hurt Riley because you don’t deserve me, Jake Seresin. Being your partner is only going to get me killed and I know that. So I thought I’d save myself before you could.”

Jake shuts his eyes, bringing his fisted hands to his temples. “Stop,” he pleads. You were right. He knew you were right. But he didn’t think he’d ever actually hear you say it.

“You couldn’t save him and you can’t save me.”

The two of you are on the roof of a building now, startling Jake slightly. He watches you take a step towards the edge of the roof and his heart jumps. “Pumpkin, what are you doing?”

“This is all your fault,” you whisper, taking another step back.

He reaches out desperately, trying to hold onto your hand. “Please.”

Your wide eyes meet his and for a moment he swears your fingertips touched his. He tries to grab you, but you slip right through his fingers and right off the ledge.

Jake can’t hear anything other than his own screams as his knees hit the concrete.

“This is all your fault.” He picks up his head to see Riley’s face, gray and jaw wide open just like it was in his last moments.

This time, he’s not afraid. A feeling of calm washes over him suddenly. Acceptance of his fate. You were right. He doesn’t deserve you. He couldn’t even save you in the end. Now you were gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He couldn’t save Riley.

He couldn’t save you.

And there’s no one to save him.

“This is all my fault.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” Riley comforts him. “You can let go.”

Something compels him to stand on the ledge where you once were. Jake nods, taking in a deep breath before stepping forward. He’s no longer afraid.

_________________

If the exit door leading to the roof had not been flung wide open, you wouldn’t have even thought to check up there. What would Jake even be doing up there on the roof? You had no idea. But your gut was telling you something about this place wasn’t right and that you needed to grab Jake and get out of there as fast as possible.

You curse softly to yourself for not bothering to put on any shoes or even throwing on a jacket as the rain continued to pour outside. Jake didn’t have any on either, making you feel even more on edge than you thought possible.

Jake was always particular about those things. He claimed to have sensitive soles and would never be caught dead walking around in bare feet unless he was at the beach. Even then, his toes would curl up uncomfortably at the feeling of the individual grains rubbing against his skin.

Everything he did tonight was out of character and you doubted it was still because of the news of your transfer.

A shiver crawls its way up your spine upon setting your sights on Jake and it was not just because of the rain. The state he was in pulled a gasp from your lips as you raised a hand to cover your mouth. His back was turned to you so you could see the outline of his muscles through his soaking wet white sleep tee. As you recalled, he was barefoot as he stood on the ledge of the roof.

You didn’t understand what he was doing there so close to the edge. One wrong step and he would fall. You didn’t want to startle him into accidentally losing his balance so you carefully make your way forward until you’re standing right behind him.

Jake was still unaware of your presence as he continued to stand still. You apprehensively wrap your hand around his wrist and gently tug him back towards you. His body moves like a rag doll, almost as if he were in such a relaxed state that he was no longer controlling his limbs.

“Jake, what the hell are you doing out here?” You ask him as you use your other hand to grab his other arm and bring him down.

It was like his body was on autopilot as he followed your guidance robotically. Your heart starts to race at the sight of him. His green eyes were looking right back at you, however there was absolutely no recognition behind them. Almost like he didn’t even see you.

“Jake?” You call out once you notice he has started mumbling something under his breath.

You could barely hear him over the sound of the rain but you caught a string of words that sounded like, Riley, my fault, and let go.

Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of his ex-partner’s name. You knew what happened with Riley and you knew that Jake still felt guilty about it no matter how much you tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault.

“Jake?” You say again, with much more force this time. Cupping his face in your hands, you lightly shake him, desperate to break him from whatever trance he was in.

You wracked your brain in an attempt to understand what was happening. Was he sleepwalking? Jake hasn’t had any previous history of sleepwalking but that was the only thing you could conclude with the way he was acting.

You rub your thumbs softly against the apples of his cheeks and his wet skin, frowning at how cold to the touch he feels. “Jake, I’m gonna bring you back to bed, okay?” You don’t know why you’re even telling him this since he can’t even hear a word you are saying. You grab him by the hand once more and turn around when you feel him tug you back.

You look at him over your shoulder to see his feet still planted firmly on the ground beneath him. He is still looking at you, but gone is that neutral look on his face. It was replaced with a look that made you feel uncomfortable under his gaze. He was smirking–a look that wasn’t uncommon on Jake’s face. The glint in his green eyes that seemed to have darkened under the pale moonlight held something more unnatural. A look you would describe as sinister.

His grip on your hand tightened and you had to stop yourself from squeaking out in pain. “Jake, what are you doing? Let me go, that hurts.”

Jake’s smirk grows. “Stupid girl, Jake’s not home right now.”

The voice that comes out of his mouth is hardly his. It’s low and unlike the Southern timbre you’ve grown so used to. It felt almost sickening to listen to. It made your heart race and tripped the danger signals in your head. “This isn’t funny, Jake.” Your voice fades at the end of your sentence despite how hard you try to keep your fear at bay. “Seriously, that’s enough.”

He laughs mockingly. The sound makes your skin erupt in goosebumps and you tug on your hand to try to get out of his hold. “What makes you think this is a joke? I told you. Jake’s not home right now. He’s busy. Busy letting go.”

You shake your head in denial. You know what this is. Jake has told you about this before. You’ve even seen it once yourself in a previous case that you concluded to be mass hysteria and sleepwalking. The word is on the forefront of your mind but you refuse to acknowledge it.

“Acknowledgement makes it real,” you could hear Jake’s voice in your head. “You’ve got to start working on that.”

You couldn’t. Acknowledging it made this situation real. It made everything you refused to believe in, refused to see the truth in, real. That just made this predicament ten times more frightening.

“What does that mean?” You conclude that you won’t acknowledge it, but you would play his game like you would with a perp in the field. Goad him on, keep him talking in hopes that you could figure out his motive.

“Jake is a suffering soul and you are the reason why his pain is too much to bear. He needs to let go so he can be free of the burdens you’ve placed upon him. I’m here to make sure he does without you getting in the way.”

Jake, or not Jake, uses one arm to push you back onto the floor with an inhumane bout of brute force that makes your back ache. Your mistake was trying to use your arm to catch yourself. As if the immediate burning pain wasn’t enough, the sickening sound of a crack echoes in your ears as you hit the ground.

You cry out before falling onto your shoulder and cradling your arm with your other hand. The tears that begin to gather in your eyes are from all the emotions rolling through you at once. Fear, regret, pain, but most of all, guilt.

“I have to free him, just like the others.” Not Jake speaks before turning around and robotically walking back towards the ledge.

You had to stop him. “The others? What others?” You call out, voice strained due to the feeling that your arm was on fire.

“The others that were suffering!” He turns back around to face you. “I had to take over and relieve them from the pain that has been inflicted upon them before I could take care of the source of their pain.”

“Take care of it, how?”

“You’ll see. You are next after all.” A menacing smile pulls at Jake’s lips and the reality of your situation finally sinks in.

There was not a single skeptic bone in your body as you finally accepted your job and what you do. Each moment of solving case after case with Jake became even more real as you thought of them one by one. You went through the catalog of supernatural explanations for each one before landing on the one that was being displayed right in front of you. Seeing it in the eyes of someone you loved was something you could no longer deny.

Possession. Jake was possessed. He was possessed by some sick spirit that thought they were helping rid Jake of his pain.

Your tears mix with the rain droplets on your cheeks as you beg for Jake to look at you. He couldn’t hear you, you knew that, but you had to do something to get his attention back on you. The spirit in Jake’s body was leading him back to the ledge.

Watching Jake take another step closer to the edge of the rooftop finally made you understand what the spirit was doing. Ridding them of their misery. The entity was going to make Jake step off the ledge.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Jake as you pushed yourself with all the strength you had off the floor with your good arm. What did Jake say could take victims out of a possession?

You stare at the pair of lovers with watery eyes as they embrace each other tightly. “How did he do it?”

“Do what?” Jake asks, looking at you with his arms crossed.

“Snap her out of it. I really thought she was a lost cause.”

He shrugs. “Easy. He just reminded her of who she is and what she’s living for. It’s cheesy but the power of love is not to be underestimated.”

You scoff with an amused smile on your lips. “Whatever, Celine Dion.”

You rush forward, grabbing him by the arm and forcefully bringing him back off the ledge to face you. “Jake, you are stronger than whatever this is. You’re Jake Seresin, FBI Special Agent for the X-Files. You are the smartest guy I know and maybe even the funniest, but don’t tell Bradshaw.”

Jake, or whatever is possessing him, contorts his features so Jake is smiling down at you in amusement. Not the playful kind that you’re used to, but a more unsettling one. “That’s cute, Pumpkin. But what you’re doing is not gonna work.”

You hold onto Jake’s arm with as much strength as you have, not caring if it might bruise him later. Bruising is the least of your worries. You ignore the bile that pushes itself up your throat at the sound of your nickname being tainted by something that isn’t even Jake.

“You are confident and a little too arrogant sometimes, but I wouldn’t have you any other way. You are my best friend and my partner.” You sniffle, as you look into his clouded eyes. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you about my transfer and I’m sorry for even doing it in the first place. The truth is, I did it because I was afraid. I was afraid of how attached I have become to you. I was afraid that at any moment something bad would happen and I would lose you. But most of all, I was afraid because I love you.”

You scan his features, desperate for a sign that he heard you.

“I love you, Jake Seresin and I was afraid that I do. I have never felt this way before towards anyone and I was scared. Working with you became too much and for a moment, I thought that transferring would save me from the inevitable heartbreak once I realized that you would never feel the same about me. But Jake, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.

I love you and I need you to come back to me because I realized, I don’t think I could really live without you in my life. I need you like I need air to breathe, Jake Seresin. You are everything to me. I need you to come back to me and when you do, I promise I’ll stay, even if you don’t love me back. As long as you’re still in my life, I’m good. That is all I need. So please, please be strong and fight this for me. I know you’re in there and that you can hear me. I know you can. Fight it, Seresin. Beat that old spirit’s ass.”

It feels like an eternity before he finally comes to. You had seen the shift in his gaze after the second “I love you,” but you still kept going. Just in case he needed reassurance. Just in case he didn’t believe you.

The moment was subtle, just as it had been the first time you witnessed a possession. It wasn’t anything flashy like the media portrayed it to be. There was no screaming, no bodies defying gravity, and no latin phrases or priests in sight.

It was the gasp of air Jake took before falling forward and into your arms. It was the cold of his skin turning warm again. It was the way he cried as his own arms wrapped around your body. He was here and he was home.

You are careful of your injured arm as you slowly lower the two of you onto the ground. The rain, you’ve noticed, had finally ceased to a stop leaving you and Jake sitting in a puddle. Though neither of you cared as you were both sopping wet anyways.

You cradle his head into the crook of your neck and sigh in relief with a cry of your own. Jake’s arms tighten around your middle and you kiss his wet hair.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. You’re here,” you whisper into his ear.

You don’t know how long has passed until Jake finally says something to you, but you don’t care. You’d hold him for as long as he needed.

“Did you mean it?” He croaks, looking up at you with sad eyes. “Did you mean what you said?”

You knew what he was really trying to ask. Were they not just empty words to get me out of my head?

You brush his cheek with your knuckle. “Every single word. I love you, Jake. I love you so much and I am so sorry for everything I have done to make you think otherwise.”

The smile that falls on his face makes the heaviness of before melt away. You no longer felt cold and damp from the warmth of his smile. One that was so unlike the one he had given you when he was possessed.

This was your Jake, the one you loved.

“I love you, Pumpkin. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say it,” he confesses.

“Are you serious?” You let out a watery laugh of disbelief.

He nods. “I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts sometimes.”

A smile of your own graces your lips as you lean your forehead against his. “Kiss me, Jake. Please, I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

The kiss is everything you thought it would be and more. His lips feel like home as they meet yours in a dance that shouldn’t feel as familiar as it already does. It felt like a dance you’ve done a million times before. It was a dance you would do a million times again.

“Please don’t transfer. Please don’t leave me, baby,” Jake begs as he releases your lips.

You could cry from how desperate he sounds. You did that. You instilled that doubt in him. So you’ll prove to him that you’re here to stay, no matter how long it takes. “I’m staying. I promise. Jake, I don’t think I could leave you even if I tried.”

That’s all it takes for Jake’s lips to meet yours in another round of passionate kisses.

You shift in his hold, whimpering when you feel a sharp pain in your arm from when you fell. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you can feel the ache of your split bone.

“Shit, Pumpkin.” Jake reluctantly pulls away. He looks down at you before making contact with your arm that you cradle back to your chest. “Darling, you’re hurt. We need to get you to the hospital.”

He must think you’re crazy by the way you shake your head and try to keep him down with you. “Not yet.”

“But baby, your arm—“

“My arm can wait,” you hum. “Let me keep you to myself for a bit. Just me and you.”

Jake nods, falling back against you carefully. “Just me and you. Hey, Pumpkin?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

Your smile is bright enough to rival that of the now rising sun. “Thank you for saving mine.”

Six Months Later

“I’m surprised you even wanted to come back here,” Natasha looks to the duo beside her with surprise.

You’re smiling proudly up at Jake who has his arm securely around your waist as he tucks you into his side.

“I needed to make sure that it was really done. That they really shut down for good,” Jake replies, looking out to the Motel California that was now officially closed for good after a thorough investigation by their department.

Turns out, over a dozen helpless travelers and fallen victims to the motel’s sinister spirits.

Dozens were found dead over the years by what was concluded as self inflicted injuries and unfortunate accidents.

Upon finding this out, you and Jake had set it onto yourselves to shut down the motel’s business in hopes that no one would fall victim to those spirits again.

Now, you could only hope that the spirits would stay contained in the now abandoned motel forever.

The motel held a bittersweet place in both of your hearts. It was the place where you first said “I love you,” but it was also the place where an irreversible tragedy almost occurred.

The motel served as a turning point in your relationship, but it did not define who the two of you were today.

“I’m surprised the two of you didn’t take one look at this place and know it was haunted,” Bradley retorts from the other side of Jake.

Jake elbows Bradley in the stomach causing him to wince over in exaggerated pain.

You and Natasha giggle at the boys’ exchange, rolling your eyes with amusement.

“Come on, Bradshaw, let’s give these two a moment of peace.” Nat pulls Bradley by the arm and towards the car.

Bradley huffs under his breath like a child but complies, dragging his feet behind her.

“You did good, Jake,” you grin at your boyfriend of six months.

“Oh, please, that was all you, Pumpkin. I just played puppet for the night.”

“Yeah, but it was you who pushed for this investigation and for the motel’s closure. That’s more than I did.”

Jake shakes his head with a laugh and presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “Why don’t we just agree to disagree?”

You smirk, gazing at him knowingly. “Don’t we always?”

He leans down to place a real kiss on your lips, one filled with love and a little bit of nostalgia. “That we do, baby.”

The two of you take a moment before walking back to the car hand in hand.

“Looks like we’re at it again, Seresin,” you praise.

He eyes you quizzically with a clear question written on his face.

“Jake and Pumpkin at it again. Solving cases one supernatural entity at a time.”

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @breezemood @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814 @hallecarey1 @averagereader35 @laneylovesglen @atarmychick007 @kajjaka @urfavelocagirl @clancycumber230 @memeorydotcom @kmc1989 @percysaidnever @thestarspangledcaptain @wkndwlff @shanimallina87

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sceletaflores · 4 months ago

Text

it’s the easiest thing (just love me and eat me)

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 6.1k

anon says: nat pls speak on sub!logan...people are hating on the sub!logan agenda and someone needs to show them that they're wrong and it can be done cuz if anyone can convince them it's you mommy!

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, crimson! again! she's back!, slight angst, swearing, violence, light gore, somewhat dark content, religious symbolism? (idk this one got weird babes), established relationship, lowkey a toxic relationship but you didn't hear that from me, sub!logan-ish, handjob, p in v, slow sex turned rough, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, pain kink, scent kink, blood play, blood...eating (drinking? idk), porn with a tiny bit of plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: anon i'm so sorry this took me so long...i hope it was worth the wait! it started as a short smutty drabble that somehow turned into…this? idk it got out of hand so fast. i am a proud member of the sub!logan nation but that's mostly because i think that ALL men have the potential for sub vibes like doesn't matter who he is if i want to fuck him he's probably a little subby. special shout out to my baby boo and fellow sub!logan truther @avocado-writing <3 tysm for sharing anon! xoxo mwah.

dividers by icon @saradika-graphics!

psst! want more logan and crimson? here's the to the bone au masterlist!

it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…

The team had a big scare earlier in the day.

It was supposed to be an easy mission, bust a mutant trafficking ring in Albany. You do assignments like these every week, and as sick as it sounds, it’s almost routine.

But this one was different. It was an ambush, and you were compromised.

Only humans, but they were smart. Waited until the team split up to attack. They had tech, things you'd never seen before.

Big guns loaded with tiny darts full of an ominous red liquid.

It was your fault really. You didn't clear your surroundings, so focused on getting to the kids that you let yourself get sloppy.

The tiny sting in your back barely registered, you don't think you would have even noticed if it didn't kick in so fast.

You'd never felt anything like it before in your life.

It didn't hurt. The rush of pain you braced yourself for never coming.

The sensation was strange—like your body was shutting down, piece by piece. You fell to your knees, shaky legs folding under you in less than a second.

You felt empty, wrong. An eerie silence trickling in to fill your insides.

Panic bubbled beneath your skin, but you were too numb to feel it. Trapped in the mounting weight of your limbs, the slow blink of your eyes, the shortness of breath despite hardly moving.

Your hand slipped across the gritty cement, reaching for support that wasn't there.

That was when you saw it, the shock of it was enough for your heart to drop. Your skin, blanched and sallow, the veins in your arms black and spreading like spilled ink.

You tried to fight it, tried to will your body to move, to react, to do something. You had to get up. You had to. The kids.

As hard as you willed yourself, there was nothing. It was like your body wasn't your own, like it had become something completely foreign.

You could barely make out the tiny voices calling for you. Pleading, frantic yelps of your name fading into a dull hum as everything went hazy. The edges of your vision blurring into a narrow tunnel.

He stepped in front of you, the same one who shot you. A cynical grin on his face and collar in his hand. You'd seen collars like it before, used on mutants to muzzle their abilities, to weaken them.

You tried, fingers barely twitching by your. Nothing. Just another shock of that cold, unfamiliar feeling shooting through your body.

“Got a big one, boss.” The man boasted into a comm strapped to his wrist, his voice sharp and grating. He took a single step towards you, smug grin still stretched across his face. “Yeah, real nice lookin' one too. She'll sell for—“

A muddy roar pulsed through the molasses filled haze of your ears, six claws flying through the air to embed themselves on either side of the man's skull with a wet, stomach-churning sound.

The collar dropped from his slackened grip with a dull bang, shattering into different pieces that slid across the floor haphazardly. A mess of wires and metal.

There were rushed footsteps before he dropped to his knees in front of you, his torso bathed in a dull glow from the overhead lights yellow shine.

There was blood splattered across the side of his face, slicking the front of his suit enough to reflect light off the leather.

Logan, perched in front of you like an angel.

Not one with a golden halo and a harp, but a indescribable mess of eyes and wings looming over you calling 'be not afraid'.

You'd never seen him so shaken before. All wide-eyed and pale as he checked you over for any major injuries. His breath coming in short bursts, hands frantic and shaky as they skated along your body for the viscosity of blood or uneven shift of a break.

He refused to let you even try and walk on your own, swept you off the floor and cradled your trembling body to his chest as he called for help. The beat of his heart was fast beneath your cheek, strong enough that you could feel it even through the thick leather of his suit.

You buried your face deeper in the crook of his neck, the pit in your stomach barely warmed by the feel of him. His scent is strongest there, so much so that in a room full of spilled blood, you could only smell him.

He was careless stepping over clawed up bodies littering the floor like a messy maze of twitching limbs and entrails. You didn't even know there was more than one guard in the room.

The evidence of his love for you, of his devotion, oozing red on the concrete.

Logan didn't even give the carnage a sideways glance as he raced you outside, back to the jet.

Trusting Scott and Jean to take over getting the kids out. The unsteady murmurs he pressed to the top of your head the last thing you heard before there was nothing.

You woke up six hours later.

The sterile hum of medical equipment was the first thing you heard. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nostrils, and the faint pressure of a needle in your arm confirmed that you were hooked up to an IV.

Your muscles felt heavy, like someone had filled them with lead. But you were alive.

You could feel your body working overtime, fixing itself. The sickening shift of your insides falling back into place.

It took a few more moments for you to realize you weren’t alone.

A low, familiar rumble caught your attention. You turned your head to see Logan slumped in a chair by the bedside, his face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was mussed, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion.

He looked different, smaller, as though the weight of what happened was pressing down on him, making him fold in on himself.

You’d seen him bloody, beaten, on the verge of death, but you’d never seen him like this–completely and utterly human.

Your throat was too dry to speak, but a small sound escaped you, and Logan's head snapped up. His eyes met yours, and in a heartbeat, he was at your side, his large hands hovering over you, unsure where to touch, like he was afraid you’d shatter under his fingers.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. His voice was hoarse, cracked with a mixture of relief and something else, something deeper. His eyes darted over your face, your arms, as if memorizing every detail just to make sure you were real.

“I'm sorry,” you managed, your voice barely more than a rasp.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed, the lines in his forehead deepening. "What the hell are you apologizing for?" His voice was gruff, but there was a tenderness beneath it. A gentleness he only reserved for you.

Your lips cracked into a weak smile. "It was my fault. I messed up."

A growl rumbled low in his chest, and you could feel the anger simmering just beneath his skin, not at you but at the situation, at whoever had dared to hurt you.

“Don’t,” he said, voice like gravel. “Don't start, none of this is on you.” His voice softened slightly as he leaned closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “What matters is you’re here.”

The reassurance wrapped around you like a warm blanket, grounding you.

Logan’s thumb traced the line of your jaw, his touch sending a spark of warmth through your veins. “When I saw you on the floor like that…I thought—” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he forced himself to meet your gaze again. “I thought I lost you.”

Your fingers twitched slightly, managing to catch his wrist, squeezing it with what little strength you had. “I’m right here,” you said softly, voice clearer than before. “I’m okay.”

Logan’s gaze softened again as he looked down at your hand, his rough exterior cracking just a little more. He gently pried your fingers from his wrist and pressed your hand to his chest, right over his heart. “You scared the hell outta me, you know that?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a breathless huff. “Didn’t mean to.”

He shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You never do.”

You were fine an hour later.

The color of your skin had returned, glossy and like new. The hollow emptiness inside of you long gone. Your abilities passed every test Charles threw your way with flying colors.

Fully recovered and finally excused from the med-bay after Hank and Jean checked you over one last time, you were given your strict marching orders in the form of extra fluids and bed rest, no matter how much you argued that you were fine.

Your health was the last thing on your mind, just a distant phantom ache each time your eyes would find Logan.

He was still shaken up, even after all the reassurance from Charles and Hank. He kept close the rest of the day, hovering, his presence more protective than usual, but he didn’t talk much.

You could see it in the way he moved, slower, less sure, like he was carrying around something too heavy to shake off. It lingered in the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands flexed as though still looking for something to fight, to protect you from.

It wasn’t hard to guess what it was.

You hated seeing him like this, burdened by a guilt he didn’t deserve.

It gnawed at you, that heaviness. The way he started to shut down, to close himself off in the face of fear. It was the only way he knew how to cope.

After seeing him like that, bed rest was the last thing on your mind.

You knew Logan. Knew what he needed when his thoughts got tangled up like this, dragging him under. He wasn't the type to sit and talk through it, not easily anyway.

And even though you know he’d never ask for it himself, you knew what he needed—to be reminded, physically, that you were still here, still his.

Later that night, when the mansion had quieted and the others were tucked away in their rooms, you found him exactly where you thought you’d find him—in the room you shared, sitting on the edge of the bed. The yellow light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face, the tension in his jaw still there.

A frown tugged the corners of your mouth as you moved towards him, catching his attention with the rustle of the sheets as you sat next to him.

“Logan,” you say softly, breaking the stillness. He doesn't respond, only the slightest twitch in his shoulders indicating he even heard you. “Hey,” you try again, your voice a little firmer this time.

He turns his head just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile, the crease between his brows, weariness etched into his features.

But he still doesn't speak.

You shift, moving closer until your fingers brush his arm, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt. “Look at me,” you whisper, and finally, his gaze lifts to meet yours, guarded and pained. “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Logan shakes his head, bringing a hand up to run it through his already messy hair. “You could’ve died,” he bites out, tone rough and low. “We should've never fuckin' split up. I should’ve been there faster, sooner. I should’ve–”

“Logan.” Your voice cut through his, sharper than you meant it to. You catch his hand in yours, thumb brushing against the pulse point of his wrist. “You saved me, I’m not going anywhere. I need you to hear that.”

He meets your gaze then, eyes dark with something vulnerable, something raw. He nods weakly, like he only half-believes it. You can still see the hesitation swirling through his eyes, the reluctance in the stiffness of his muscles against yours.

He needs something more than words, something to bring him back to you.

With that, you move to straddle his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. His body stiffens under yours, his breath hitching slightly as his hands fall to your waist almost instinctively.

“Hold on,” Logan starts, tone hesitant and hands light as they hover over your hips like he’s still scared to touch you. “You heard what Hank said–”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, finality lacing your tone and leaving no room for argument. You reach down, taking his hand in yours and bringing it up to press flat directly over your heart. The very same way he did your first night together. "Can you feel me?”

The question hangs between you, soft but weighted with purpose.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat, fingers splaying wider across your chest. The heat of his palm sinks through to your skin, lighting a fire in you.

The steady beat of your heart under his touch is an undeniable reminder–alive, strong, with him. You can feel him relax, just a touch.

The tension in his muscles breaking down beneath you piece by piece as the rhythm grounds him, helps to pull him out of his spiral.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, barely audible. His eyes drop to where his hand rests, his thumb absently grazing the space just above your sternum. “I feel you.”

“Then trust it,” you murmur. “Trust me.”

A deep, slow breath escapes him, and something in his eyes softens just enough. You lean closer, your fingers trailing up his arms, over his shoulders, until they thread into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You smile softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He sighs deeply, leaning into your touch like a dog starved of attention from its master. His grip on your waist finally tightens, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to feel that edge of need—the need to let go.

“You’ve been taking care of me all day,” you murmur, scratching your nails along his scalp softly. “Now let me take care of you.”

You feel him shudder, a weak groan escaping from his slack lips. His hazy eyes search your face, pupils blown out and seeping into the warm hazel color like an oil spill over a lake.

You tilt your head, lips grazing the stubble on his jawline, moving slowly, deliberately, until you can capture his mouth in a kiss.

It’s soft at first, gentle, but you feel him melt into it, the sharp edge of his restraint crumbling as he kisses you back with a kind of hunger that fuels you.

Logan’s hands slide up your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as you take control, deepening the kiss, coaxing him further into the moment.

His mouth is warm and wet and urgent against yours, the scrape of his teeth along your bottom lip sends a thrill down your spine.

His lips move over yours with a reverence that makes your chest tighten, as if each slick glide of your lips together is an apology, a promise, and a plea all rolled into one.

But you don’t want his apologies. You want his surrender.

His breath stutters in his chest when your fingers twist in his hair, tugging just enough to remind him who’s in charge tonight.

When your hand finds his chest, pushing him down gently, he goes without protest. His eyes never leave yours as he settles against the pillows, following your every movement as you crawl closer.

Climbing over him to perch on top of his thighs, you waste no time in reaching for the hem of his shirt, gently tugging on it in a silent question. Logan’s breath comes in shallow puffs as he nods, fingers twitching on your hips.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls under the tips of your fingers, the sharp intake of air when your hands ghost across the skin of his lower stomach as you lift his shirt up and over his head.

You toss it over your shoulder carelessly, it lands with a muted thump somewhere behind you, leaving his chest bare. His muscles taut and rippling as he forces himself to stay still, the dim light plays across his skin, highlighting the contours along his torso.

You take a moment to just admire him, trailing your fingers along the familiar planes of his skin. Your touch is feather light, tracing over the spots that should be littered in scars.

The place in his shoulder where he got shot two weeks back, or where the loose shrapnel that embedded itself in his side on the last mission should be, or the skin where his shoulder meets his neck after you dug your teeth into it hard enough to bleed a few nights ago.

The way his body responds to you makes your pulse quicken—the way he finally relaxes completely under your touch, melting into the mattress.

You continue your path down, fingers slipping through the ridges of his abs, scratching your nails through the dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his bottoms teasingly. The muscles of his stomach jump under your touch, the power of his need thrumming beneath your touch.

You drag your hand over the hard length of him, his cock thick and hot as it twitches beneath your fingers. There’s a sharp hiss bleeding through grit teeth as his hips twitch up off the mattress ever so slightly.

You lean forward, hiding a small smirk in the crook of his neck. “Logan,” you whisper, voice dripping with intent, “I want you to beg for it.”

A deep, guttural growl rumbles through his chest. It shakes your body like thunder, finding a home between your thighs. Logan’s head falls back against the pillows, exposing the tan column of his throat to your hungry gaze.

It’s almost immediate, your reaction, your bodies reaction. The pulse of your blood starts to simmer with that telltale heat, slowly bubbling beneath your skin in anticipation.

Your gaze traces along where the vein of his jugular presses against his skin enticingly, barely suppressing a full body shiver at the sight.

You slip your index and middle finger beneath his waistband, brushing against his hard cock with barely any pressure. His hips buck up again, seeking more friction, but you pull back slightly, making him chase it.

“I said beg, Logan,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, a sharp edge to it now. Your free hand comes up, gripping his jaw tightly, forcing him to look at you.

His eyes, dark and blown wide with lust, meet yours, and you can see the war raging inside him—the urge to dominate, to take control—but then he’s giving in to you, surrendering so beautifully.

“Goddamn,” he rasps quietly, his voice rough, broken. It’s barely a word, more of a growl torn from his throat. He bites it out, quiet and foreign sounding coming from his tongue. “Please, I need—”

“Good boy,” you purr, and finally, drag the soaked fabric of his bottoms down. His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach lewdly.

You moan softly, deftly wrapping your fist around him loosely. Logan groans, you swear you can hear his teeth grind together at the first feeling of your touch where he wants it most.

He’s scalding to the touch, velvety skin throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Rock-hard and flushed an angry red, darkening even more the closer you get to the tip.

You keep the pace of your strokes tortuously slow, letting him feel every movement, teasing him. It’s addictive, watching the way he starts to unravel beneath you at the slightest touch.

His legs kick out against the mattress minutely, hands falling from your hips to grip the sheets as hard as he can in a failing attempt to calm himself.

You lean down, slick lips brushing against his as you speak, your voice soft but commanding. “You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you tonight, aren't you?”

Logan nods, his breath coming in quick pants, his sweaty chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yes,” he chokes out, eyes brimming with need. “Fuck, do whatever you want, baby. I’m yours.”

The usual dominance he carries like a second skin has been peeled away, leaving him vulnerable, laid out beneath you, at your mercy.

Your hand speeds up, grip tightening as you twist your wrist over his leaking tip. Your knuckles shine with pre-come, slick from the gratuitous amount of wetness steadily drooling out.

“You’re being so good for me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice soft and laced with praise. “So good, letting me take care of you like this.”

His response is a loud moan, his hips arching up off the bed, but you’re quick to press them down with your free arm, your thighs tightening around him.

“Not yet,” you warn, strength on display as you stop his movements. “You’ll come when I say.”

A strangled sound escapes him, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and it sends a thrill through you. He’s right there, teetering on the edge, but he’s holding on—for you.

“Poor thing,” you mumble, idly pressing your thumb into his slit, gathering the precome there to spread it along the flushed crown. “So hard, so needy for me.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Logan whines, his head tipping back against the pillows a second times, eyes squeezing shut tighten enough to wrinkle the skin around them.

You smile, your nails digging into his chest as you shift, positioning yourself above him. The heat between your legs is unbearable now, slick all along your inner thighs as it pools from your aching cunt, drenching the soft cotton of your panties.

So desperate to be stretched around Logan’s cock, to be filled the only way he can. You roll your hips forward, the hard jut of his cock sliding through the sticky mess of your panties.

“Shit, baby,” he groans, loud and hoarse. “Fuck, give it to me, I’m ready–”

You press your finger to his lips, silencing him as you hover over him. “Not yet,” you whisper, a wicked grin on your face as you slide your panties to the side and take him in your hand, letting the tip brush against your soaked entrance, still not giving him what he craves.

Your own patience is starting to run thin, but the sound of his begging is too good.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” you say, your voice sharp and commanding as you rub the tip of him along your cunt, teasing. “Tell me what you need.”

He’s trembling beneath you, a soft whimper leaving his lips as you sink down slightly, barely letting him inside. "Please, darlin'," he groans, voice rough with need. "I need to feel you—need you so fuckin’ bad."

You finally give in, sinking down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.

His body jerks beneath you, a choked growl spilling from his lips as you take him in, inch by inch. You don’t stop until he’s buried deep inside you, your walls clenching around him as you settle into his lap.

The feeling is overwhelming, the stretch, the heat, the way he fills you completely.

You both groan at the same time, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you roll your hips, savoring the way he pulses inside you, how his entire body reacts to every little movement.

“God, you’re so big,” you whisper, your voice heavy with lust as you look down at where your bodies meet. “You gonna be a good boy and let me ride you?”

“Fuck,” he grits, voice like gravel crunching underfoot.

His hands slide up your back, desperate and needy as they cradle the back of your head softly. “I’d kill them all,” he pants, lips messily searching for your own, desperate for more frantic kisses. “Fuckin’ all of them, all for you.”

You moan loud and unabashed, eyes screwing shut as your nails rake down his chest hard enough to break the skin. The smell of his blood breaks through the air, heady and sharp. He throws his head back, a broken gasp dragged out of him as his hips speed up.

You think back to the room in the warehouse, the floor slick with stray remains and viscera. Think back to him lifting you to his chest, of the blood spattered across his suit and face slipping against your own clammy skin.

Flashes of Logan running to you like a loyal livestock dog, covered in the blood of any wolf that dares attack his precious sheep. Staining the white of your wool red with the righteous wrath of his sacrifice.

You roll your hips faster, bouncing with enough force to have you crying out. The tight suction of your walls pulling him as deep as he can get at this angle.

The coarse hair along his stomach drags against your throbbing clit, making white hot sparks of pleasure zing up your spine to light up each vertebrae.

Logan presses his forehead to your chest, hot breath puffing out over your sweaty neck. You tilt your head to the side almost subconsciously, bearing more of yourself to him.

“Can’t hold back much longer,” he admits weakly, blunt nails digging into your skin sharp enough to sting. “Feels so good, so fuckin' good."

He trails off, face pinched with ecstasy as he gazes up at you. You smile, rolling your hips slowly, tiny figure eights that let you feel every inch of him pressing against your walls.

“You're not supposed to hold back," you whisper, your voice thick with need as you lean down, kissing along his jawline. "I want you to let go, Logan."

His eyes snap open, the hazel gone wild and desperate, and it’s like you can see the exact moment he breaks. The tiniest shred of self control finally crumbling under the weight of his instincts. With a low, feral growl, he surges up.

You’re on your back quicker than you can blink, stomach surging with it. You hardly have any time to react, Logan punching all the air out of your lungs as he sets a brutal pace.

The sudden intensity has you gasping, your body jolting as he takes over, fucking you like his life depends on it.

Each thrust is hard and deep, hitting the spot inside of you, over and over again until you’re a trembling mess above him, moaning his name, your nails digging into his chest.

Logan’s grip on you is ironclad, pulling you back onto him harder, faster, his breaths coming out in ragged pants as he loses himself completely in the heat of your body.

"That's it," you pant, feeling the way your body tightens around him, the tension building deep inside you. "Fuck, Logan, just like that—"

He growls again, the sound vibrating through his chest as he slams into you harder, his pace relentless. You can feel the sweat slick between your bodies, hear the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies coming together as his control snaps completely.

“Mine,” he growls between thrusts, voice low and rough as he pounds into you, his eyes locked on yours, full of possessive need. "All fuckin’ mine."

Your body responds to his words, tightening around him as your orgasm builds, every nerve in your body on fire. "Yes," you gasp, your voice barely more than a broken moan as he hits that perfect spot again and again. "Yours—only yours."

Slowly, deliberately, you bring your hand to your mouth, biting down on the pad of your thumb hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

The scent of iron fills the space between you, mixing with the musk of sex and sweat. Logan’s nostrils flare as he takes in the scent, his pupils dilating further, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You raise your thumb to his mouth, sliding it along his bottom lip to leave behind a thin trail of red. “Suck,” you whisper softly, pressing your thumb into his mouth ever so slightly.

And he does, without hesitation.

Logan’s lips part, and he pulls your thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the taste of your blood. The look in his eyes as he does sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

The pure devotion of the act thickening the air around you to coil the spring of pleasure winding in your lower stomach tighter.

You groan, your own restraint folding like a house of cards as you drag your nose down the column of his throat, stopping right at the base. You press a quick kiss over the rapid fluttering of his pulse before you bite down, hard.

Logan keens around your thumb, teeth digging into your skin roughly as his blood floods your mouth.

You get lost in it, the familiar taste of him seeping onto your tongue as his cock jerks and pulses in your clenching cunt. Getting lost in the way you can feel the rhythm of his heart against your lips, each strong beat sending more blood pumping out to leak along your taste buds.

You press your chest to his, not leaving an inch of space between you. It’s still not enough, it will never be enough.

You need more, so much more.

You want to encompass him completely, to be encompassed by him.

You want to dig your hands into his skin–to peel back each layer of flesh and fat and muscle, snap each of his ribs back so you can bury yourself in the cavity of his chest before you bend them back into place. Burrowing yourself deep enough inside him to watch him heal all around you, to watch his skin stitch itself back together.

It’s a sick feeling, the need to take and take until he has no more left to give. Sick and all consuming, lighting you up like the raging flames of a forest fire that destroys everything in its path.

When you finally pull your hand away from his mouth, he lets out a breathless moan, and you lean down to press your lips against his in a bruising kiss.

The coppery tang of your blood lingers between you, mixing with Logan’s as your teeth clash together violently, as you devour him, pouring every ounce of your control into the kiss.

You press your palm to his chest, powers surging to life over his heart. You don't need to open your eyes to see what you leave behind, the red and blue pulse of his blood lighting up beneath his skin like the neon sign hanging outside his favorite bar.

Logan moans into your mouth, tongue dragging along the point of your canines. "Don't stop," he pleads, “Please, baby, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You can feel the energy coursing between you, a tangible thing that's threading itself between your fingers. It’s intoxicating, a connection deeper than flesh, a binding of souls fueled by blood and lust. You lean into the heat radiating from him, urging your energy to flow freely, wrapping it around his heart like a warm embrace.

“Logan,” you whisper breathily, breaking the kiss just enough to look into his wild, pleading eyes. “You feel that? You and me, we’re connected.”

“I feel it, honey,” he groans, bucking his hips, forcing you to take him deeper. “You’re everywhere. It’s all I can think about all the goddamn time, drives me fuckin’ crazy.” His words tumble from his lips, raw and unfiltered, sending another thrill of desire through you.

You whine, head tipping back to the ceiling. Drunk of the feeling of him, of his cock, of his blood on your teeth.

You've come to think that being in bed with Logan is like being in church.

There's a holiness to the way he holds you—like you’re the only thing worth believing in.

The familiar weight of his body pressing you into the mattress is the alter. The heat of him like laying in the burning flame of a candle. The strong planes of his muscles each a different scripture that you take in by touch alone, skating your hands over his skin with something close to worship.

Each bead of sweat on his skin feels sacred, a testament to the intensity between you, as though every part of him has been crafted for this moment of devotion.

The hard length of his cock carves a place for itself inside you, each heavy smack of his hips punching another desperate sound out of your slack lips.

His breath, deep and ragged, is a chant that pulls you into reverence. It puffs against the wild beat of your pulse, his lips brushing over the fever hot plane of your skin.

The sound of your name falling from his mouth sounds like a prayer answered.

You can’t help but close your eyes, not in exhaustion, but in a kind of spiritual surrender, like by shutting out the world, you can truly grasp the divinity of it. His blood, mixing with yours on your tongue feels like a sacrament—an unholy communion.

The air between you crackles with heat, your bodies moving together in perfect sync, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. Logan’s head tilts back, his mouth open in a silent scream as he claws at your hips, pulling you down harder, deeper.

“I’m close,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “Please—fuck—I need to—”

You reach up quickly, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at you. “Look at me when you fuck me,” you demand, your voice sharp, dripping with authority. “I want you to watch me when you come.”

That’s all it takes.

Logan’s entire body goes taut, a strangled roar tearing from his throat as he buries himself inside you one last time, the force of his release crashing through him. The hot spray of his come floods your insides, drenching your walls in thick spurts of white.

His hands grip you so tightly you’re sure there’ll be bruises blooming later, but you don’t care. You wish they wouldn’t fade. You want them. You want to wear his mark, to feel the evidence of this moment lingering on your skin long after it’s over.

His hips don’t stop even as he comes, a sharp cry ripping its way from his throat as he keeps fucking you, pumping you full of him like he can’t stop.

When you feel him start to lose control like that, feel the frantic twitch of his cock inside you, you finally let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. The force of it rips a scream from your throat as you clench around him, your body spasming with the intensity of it.

Your abused cunt gushes around his cock to seep into the mattress, soaking both the sheets and his lower body all at once as you let out a weak mutter of his name.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged, uneven breathing between you as you both come down from the high. Logan collapses on the bed, arms circling your waist to drag you along with him. His cock stays inside of you, plugging you full of his come.

Your body trembles with the aftershocks of your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Logan is warm and grounding under you, soft and lax. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your cheek, and you press a soft kiss to the skin there, a silent reminder.

His hand comes up to thread through your hair, his touch gentle now, his body relaxed in a way that it wasn’t before.

“I love you,” he whispers against the crown of your head, his voice soft, vulnerable in a way that makes your heartache.

You smile, soft and secretive in the valley of his pecs, “I love you too.”

It’s a quiet admission, the first time you’ve ever said that to each other with words. The first time you both felt the need to, because it’s nothing you didn’t already know.

Your blood dripping from his teeth lays the same claim over you as his come dripping down your thighs.

It means you're his, and he’s yours.

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