#x1 x reader

[halaboyz]

lost times, seungyoun

(ex) bf! cho seungyoun x gn! reader angst, breakup au wc: 3.3k warnings: none that i know of a/n: I MISS MY BABY AND I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANY ANGST FOR HIM SO !

"Youn, baby, what time do you get off work?" You coo through the phone, smiling as you fixed your things. "I just got off mine, I was planning on asking you out if you'll be out early,"

"Ah..." Seungyoun sighs, and you instantly knew what it meant.

"Overtime again?" You smile drops, pouting. "I can't do anything about that, then," You press your lips to a thin line, stepping out of the company building to look at the sky. What a waste, the weather was perfect today.

"I'm sorry. I'll be home late again, so make sure you lock the door and sleep tight," You nod at no one in particular, humming in response.

"Just make sure you have your Saturday night free for me," You remind, and you hear him chuckle.

"Of course, that's our fourth year anniversary. Would miss anything for that night,"

"Okay, then. Get working," You smile again hearing his response, bidding goodbye. "I'm going home now, I'll just send you a text when I do. Please get some rest when you can, and don't overwork! Just work how much you're paid," You joke around, ending the call after you get a response.

Your smile still drops after you hear the call ending, though. It was such a beautiful night, neither cold or hot, streets weren't as crowded as weekend nights, and you were still on your best condition.

But that's alright. For Seungyoun, it was alright. You understand that he's doing a lot more work than usual due to employee promotion right at the corner.

Yet you can't help the feeling of another night of surging in the loneliness as you walk home, wind gushing right through your face. It wasn't cold nor hot, but it was chilly for you. You had another night to yourself, with no one to hold on to, and no one to lean on to.

The feeling worsens when you realize that because of the good weather, a lot more couples were walking around, lovey-dovey and touchy while being in their own world. You can be like that too. You know you could be like that too.

If only he had given you the same amount of attention he did with his work.

If only he had prioritized you as well. You're not asking for much, you don't even ask to prioritize you more than his work. Just as much as his work. Just as much as he promised you when he gave you a promise ring.

To make you happy in all ways.

So how could you be so down now for a few weeks straight already?

Look, you're not hanging on him like he's your lifeline-- but who would be okay with only seeing your live-in boyfriend when you're lucky you're still awake by the time he's home? Or lucky when you wake up before he does to go to work? Or when the world's upside down and he actually has a day off?

"So... he's not your boyfriend." And when you actually, finally, open this up to someone, your bestfriend Yibo, he hits you with his words so bluntly.

"What part did you miss, Yibo? He's your friend too," You roll your eyes, not getting into his sarcasm.

"He's basically just your roommate," He scoffs, putting his drink down.

"I, for sure, shouldn't have asked you to hang," You mumble, nibbling your fries.

"Well, I guess the night was too young and pretty to pass up on," He gets one of your fries and pops it into his mouth, "If this was going on for so long, how come you're only telling me now?"

"It was our problem, of course we had to solve it,"

"How come you're solving it alone then?" He points out, grit in his tone of voice, anxious to make you get his point. "You see, what's the point of having a boyfriend if your life is as is? It's literally just more problems, isn't it?"

"Yibo," You sternly call out, making him sigh and nod.

"Okay, fine," He tries to calm you down, "I just don't really get it, y/n. He's not doing you any better. You try to work it out, but he's not even there! So what's the point?" His ted talk was short, but critical to you. It was what you needed, his bluntness. He wasn't going to sugarcoat things for you, to be able to lift yourself up from drowning. "You're my friend, he's my friend. I want the best for the both of you and if it means being better all together or not, I am going to vote on that,"

You were both silent for a few minutes before a call breaks it, vibrating in your pocket. You take it out to look at the caller ID, showing it to him.

"I'll go to the washroom real quick, take that."

You sigh, smiling at him then at the phone, actually wondering if you answer it or not. Your thumb glides to answer it anyway, whipping the phone to your ear.

"Hey, baby," You hum, ever so sweetly.

"Oh hey love," Seungyoun calls you through the phone, hearing papers being tossed. "I was just wondering if you're home yet. You haven't texted,"

"Oh, right. Sorry, I asked Yibo to hang tonight. The weather was too nice to pass on," You took Yibo's words to say and repeat, shaking your head. "Sorry. I forgot to send you a text. Are you done with work?"

"I actually am, where are you? Maybe I can drop by and get you," The slightest hope was what keeps you going. What keeps you holding. The slightest efforts, the slightest trying to make it better. You smile, now a genuine one, propping up your seat as you see Yibo walking out of the washroom and back to the table.

"Wait for me there, I'll go there." You mumble, not wanting Yibo to hear it but he had elephant ears. You hear Seungyoun chuckle when he hears your excitement, mumbling a "Love you, stay safe." before ending the call.

"Come on," Yibo grunts, seeing your smile slowly go bigger and bigger. "Okay, whatever. But don't tell me I didn't talk to you about this,"

"I'll make sure to talk to him about this, too, Yibo. Don't worry! I'll get going now," You rush out of the table, side hugging him. "This is my treat!"

Walking to Seungyoun's company wasn't long, but you sure took your time. You've thought a lot on the walk, Yibo's words lingering in your mind.

"Hey baby," You shake your head to forget all about it just this night, seeing Seungyoun patiently waiting for you outside his company. You hop to his side, giving him a big warm hug.

"Baby," Seungyoun whispers as he burrows himself in the crook of your neck, finding home in your scent and warmth. "Missed you,"

"Missed me? We brushed each other this morning," You chuckle, breaking the hug to take a good look on his face. Initially, you were still up in offering a walk down the road, but the tired look on his face makes you rethink.

"Literally. Brushed. When I was leaving you just got out of bed," Seungyoun pouts, squinting at you. "Don't tell me you didn't miss me,"

"I bet I missed you more," You challenge, confidently raising your shoulders. He laughs wholeheartedly, taking you into his arms again with a sigh of contentment. You caress his back, melting into his arms. "Let's go home?" You feel him shake his head, staying a bit longer in your arms as you both stay like that in silence.

"Don't you wanna go for a walk? Or do you wanna go somewhere?"

See? It's the little things, little efforts that Seungyoun does to keep you on your toes. That keeps you from leaving. The little trying to be better for you. You smile, cupping his red cheeks. You stare a little longer, slowly shaking your head.

"It's fine, we can go home now. We're both tired," You try and assure him, thumb rubbing his cheeks to keep it warm.

" Did you have too much fun with Yibo? Should I get jealous?" Seungyoun makes you snort when his reply leaves his lips, pressing his cheeks together as he raises his eyebrows.

"Are you crazy? I literally left Yibo for you." It was true. The moment his call connected, you knew you were going to come running for him anyway. "Besides, I don't wanna tire you out when we can rest the night as early as we can, right?"

Seungyoun smiles as he gently places his palm over your cheeks as well, rubbing his thumbs over it.

"Okay." He finally agrees, walking hand in hand as you walk down the road to your humble abode. You spent the night cuddling and sleeping in each other's arms, or at least he did.

You were up all night rethinking all of Yibo's words, and Seungyoun's broken promises.

You shuffle around your sheets as you stretch around your bed, trying to find some warmth that your sheets can't give you. When you reach out beside you, it was already empty. You sigh. Like any other day.

When you look at your phone, you realize you've only been asleep for an hour and had some time to stare at the ceiling once again.

"Missed him," Like, literally both meanings of miss.

Do you even deserve any of this? You ask yourself for the nth time. It wasn't even since last night, or since Yibo talked to you. It was since the day you first felt so empty. The day you were alone, lonely, and empty, and Seungyoun wasn't there to console you, comfort you. And not that he wasn't able to, he just chose not to. Picking work over you, that god time whoever even invented overtime, he did it again.

Do you deserve sitting alone in the corner of your shared apartment, feeling alone, lonely, empty once again, even though there were signs of life of Seungyoun every inch of the apartment? Where there were hundreds of picture frames either hanging or standing ever so proudly on top of tables, pictures of when you were both still on your prime time?

Do you deserve crying, oh so god help you, exhausted and unaware of the time quickly passing through the whole day of your day off?

Did you deserve it?

"Baby, I'm home..." You hear Seungyoun enter the bedroom doors, shuffling to finally get in bed after a whole (and extra) day of working in his office. You quickly shut your eyes to pretend sleep, feeling him squat beside the bed on your side and look at you.

His warm palm rubs your cheeks that were red from all the crying wiping you did all day, noticing your puffed eyes also. He sighed, knowing that there was something going on again and you haven't had the leisure to share it with him. Of course, he was unaware that it was because of his absence due to work.

Because if you had a problem, you wouldn't mind sharing it with him anytime, right?

"I love you baby, good night." He whispers, landing a peck in your forehead and heading to the bathroom to wash himself up before actually diving into your warmth.

But for some reason, it was too cold for the both of you.

You, having to skip bedtime due to your muffled sobs, hopping out of bed to avoid waking Seungyoun up and continuing your breakdown in the dark living room. And Seungyoun, having to reach at the side of the bed to continuously find your warmth.

Only did he realize that there really was something wrong when you don't come back to the bed and he wakes up groggy because of it.

Until he has to leave. Again.

He watches you stir in your sleep on the couch, hesitating whether to wake you up or just carry you to the bed without having to wake you. He decides on the latter and thankfully, you were on your deep slumber (you weren't) that he didn't need to feel apologetic waking you accidentally.

He sighs as he drinks his morning coffee, watching the dark skies form dark clouds as it prepares to greet the sun. Maybe you were just finding the right time to share everything with him. Maybe that was it.

Until he continues to hear your helpless sobs outside the bedroom doors for a few more sleepless nights, and he knew it. He finally knew, he finally realized.

Of course it was about him. About the two of you. That's why you weren't able to share anything with him at all, and how you avoided him for a few nights already by having to sleep early or continue to sleep unbothered when he carries you from the couch to the bed.

Or hasn't it been always that way?

That when he arrives home, it is always too late in the night that you don't have any other choice but to sleep, because how can you wait for him when you have your work yourself too? That when he has to leave at literally dawn, of course, you were still sleeping soundly until he's gone?

Has it always been this way? Has he? Was he prioritizing things wrong? Is he doing something wrong?

Is there something wrong?

But the fact that you knew that he knew you were sobbing endlessly at night when he feigns sleep, the fact that you knew that he knew that he was leaning just at the other side of the door of the bedroom, waiting for your sobs to stop and leave when he has to leave, the fact that you knew he knew there was something wrong, but did nothing but avoid it and avoid talking about it and avoid you...

Finally, was your last straw.

And it was your fourth anniversary.

For the first time in ages, he's left his office desk while the sun was still there, peeking at the horizon while it prepares to go down, and he's hesitant of how the rest of the night will become.

You haven't talked to him after that night you cuddled each other, but he had to leave early again, as always, and the next night was your absolutely not first night of crying of the many.

He dropped by somewhere before he had no idea where he was headed next, because oh god he didn't even have the time to plan anything, and you haven't even texted or called or showed your face to hi pm the whole day.

Okay, home it was. At least he was positive that you were going to be there.

Both of you should be fine by now, right? You could at least talk it all out tonight, right? Make things right.

He fiddled with the velvety box he had tucked so deep in his pockets, heading home with a heavy chest and a sigh.

"Baby," He picks up a smile, removing his shoes and heading inside to find you, only to be welcomed with the coldest air he has ever felt in his life. His eyes wander around, feet busy to search every room for you, until you are both in the kitchen, meeting eye to eye.

You had a glass of water in your hand, puffy red eyes and dressed up. Oh, you weren't dolled up for a date. You were just... simply dressed up, like, about to leave.

"Y/n."

"Seungyoun, can we talk?" You try to pull a smile, which ends up being way worse than you could imagine as it immediately drops, sitting at the four seater dining table that felt so much longer and far away from Seungyoun.

Finally. A talk.

"Happy fourth year anniversary, baby." Seungyoun starts, trying to reach for your enclosed hand on top of the table but your hands timidly retreat before even falling for his warmth all over again. He feels discouraged and embarrassingly draws back as well, heaving a sigh as both of his hands intertwine in shame.

He knew what was coming and was afraid of it. It wasn't what he was expecting, if he could be in denial of it until his last breath, he will be.

Silence. there was nothing between you, no exchanged words but longing stares, enveloped in silence, and foreseen tension.

"Youn," You call out, but rather than his eyes staying at you, it goes down to his hands. He cannot see you like this. It breaks him how much it breaks you to even open the conversation up. "Youn..." You whine, tears already forming and quickly escaping your eyes in vain.

"Do we really have to talk about this now? Tonight? A special night?" He exasperatingly sighs, frowning and almost scowling at you, yet he still denies any eye contact.

"Would you even have any time for that? When you don't even have time to ask me if I'm okay?" You rebut, voice slightly raising. "I've been having sleepless nights, drowning myself in my own tears and my own thoughts every night you're soundly sleeping, and you don't even ask how I am?"

Exhaustion was evident in your eyes as you begged for an answer. Sobs were already heaving out of you, but it doesn't make him budge.

"Let's..." You sigh out, realizing he's not even putting up a fight. You ease the promise ring out of your finger, setting it gently on the table. "...stop whatever this is, Cho Seungyoun."

When you played around with your finger and got the ring out only did Seungyoun look at you in horror. He thought he could talk you out of this. He was doing all of this for you now, wasn't he? Wasn't he doing enough? Didn't he show you enough?

"I don't see any reason in staying, Seungyoun. If I said I'm sorry for leaving like this... then it wouldn't prove anything I thought and did for you so I'm not going to ask forgiveness at all." You have finally calmed down, but your tears haven't. It was falling continuously like a river, and you were too tired to even wipe it.

God knows how much Seungyoun wanted to wipe it off himself. The last thing he wanted, the thing he'd beat anyone to a pulp if you did- cry, was something he'd take to the grave. It would let him haunt himself through his remaining years because he did that.

How could he even?

"Baby..." He tried, a late cover up for all his shortcomings, finally giving up his ego and trying to reach for your hand. You let him, caressing your hands in desperation. You both cry in anguish, in pain. Like the both of you were set up in torture the next day.

You sob helplessly, letting your head drop to try and catch your breath to no avail.

"Baby please," He calls out, "Hmm?" Trying to convince you with a death grip and a smile, but you shake your head.

"I should go," You stand up, letting his hand fall to the table with a thud. When his hand met the table, he knew it indeed was the end. "I wish you the best, Youn. You've been great, we have been. It just fell short,"

He looks down in shame, letting his hand stay in place where you left it.

Because maybe, maybe you'd come back, right?

You will, right?

But when he realizes that he was waiting for nothing, hours passed and in the middle of his lonely, cold night, he wakes himself up in reality.

He's done you wrong, and you made the right decision leaving. You didn't deserve that, but did he?

He reaches for the envelope and the velvety box in his pocket, staring at it.

A promotion letter and a notice of increased pay, and of course, an engagement ring.

He now had everything he wanted- for him and for you. But at what cost?

[restlessmaknae]

journey of heartbreak // woodz

The greatest muse of all is heartbreak.

➳ Characters: singer & songwriter!Seungyoun x female reader/you

➳ Genre: angst, heartbreak au, slice of life

➳ Words: 1.7k

➳ Warning: - (let me know if there are any!)

➳ A/N: I know this is my second angst WOODZ story and overall my third story with him, but I feel like angst really suits him because of his songs. Major inspiration for this was the mentioned songs at the beginning of each part and his Paris vlog. ❤️

Also, this is just a work of fiction, the Seungyoun in the story isn't the same as the Seungyoun in real life despite portraying him as a musician.

➳ Taglist: @dat-town, @s00buwu

Drowning

“Do you believe in loving someone forever?”

“I believe in it, but I don’t believe that it always means staying together forever. Love changes, its quantity, its quality, the way you love someone, and sometimes loving is letting go, sometimes loving is holding on.”

Seungyoun recalled your conversation with him, swimming into his unconscious, as he was looking out the window of his studio, wondering where you could be and what you could be doing. While he was stuck on the first chords of a new song, you might be finishing work, you might be doing grocery shopping, or you might be holding another man’s hand while walking under the blanket of freshly fallen snow.

The latter thought stirred up some ugly feeling inside of him, and as it was twisting, turning into something that resembled missed chances and gawking regret, he was drumming on the notebook with his fingers, trying to pacify his ever changing thoughts and contrasting feelings. One moment, he was absolutely losing his mind, the lack of your presence killing him from the inside, squeezing his heart and burning his lungs. A second later, he was raging, mad at you for leaving him behind, your usual ray of sunshine only bringing a cold shower on him ever since.

How could you leave him? How could you walk away from him while wishing the best for him, saying that he would be better off without you? You still loved him, you told him yourself, and he still loved you, so why couldn’t it be easier to stay?

“Believe me, it’s been really hard for me to come to this decision, but I can’t keep on doing this. As much as I love when we can spend time together, I can’t forget about the times we’re apart, and it’s been killing me,” you had told him with tears streaming down your face, and Seungyoun had felt himself tearing up.

He knew that he couldn’t ask you to understand the world he was living in with the messed up tour schedules, the nights spent in his studio whenever inspiration hit him, the irregular texts and cut off calls, sometimes being half a world apart and other times being snuggled up against his chest in your apartment, listening to the cacophony of his heartbeat. He knew that he couldn’t, and yet… wasn’t he trying his best, wasn’t he trying enough to make it work whenever you had the chance to be together?

Seungyoun was sitting there in his chair, windows closed, doors closed, heart closed, and felt like he was drowning. That feeling when someone was fighting for air when their lungs were on fire, that feeling when someone wanted to reach the surface of the safe and sound and the known, that feeling when gravity was pulling them downwards but they wanted to fight to stay upwards… he was feeling all of this, all at once, magnified by the serenity of the world around him. How could everything be so serene and picturesque when he was in the middle of a storm?

He grabbed the page of the notebook he was working on and tore it off. Then, he crumpled it and threw it into the trash bin, becoming yet another victim of his lack of inspiration. More precisely, his overwhelming frustration. One paper followed another, and just like the snowdrops that were accumulating on the ground outside of the building, his crumpled pages were soon piled up and covering one another.

He wished he could just hide under them forever.

Picasso

“Where do you take inspiration from?”

“I take inspiration from everything, basically. It can be a movie, a quote that popped up on my social media one day, a couple I saw strolling on the streets or my own feelings that I’m trying to decipher.”

Even if Seungyoun was going through one of the most transformative phases of his life, inspiration just didn’t come to him. Whenever he tried to pick up a pen and write a few lines of lyrics, he got stuck and it made him so mad that he immediately crumpled the paper and threw it out. Whenever he tried to go back to an old song of his, he just wasn’t feeling it anymore, so no more words were written for them either.

So after two months of not being able to start or finish any song, let alone continue writing a song about how good it felt to be in love when he was the furthest from that feeling, he decided to have a little change of scenery, and booked himself an impromptu trip to Paris. He hoped that it would help to be away from the city he knew all too well, from the streets where he used to stroll with you, from the cafés where you used to sit. He hoped that by going somewhere far away, he would stop thinking about you, and how much he missed you, and how much he wished he could turn back time because he knew he had been at fault, too. He couldn’t just continue blaming only you. It would have been easier, of course, but now he was trying to see things from your perspective instead of his own, and he started to realise where it had gone wrong.

So off he went. He had been to Paris a few times before for concerts, but he had never stayed too long. This time though, he didn’t buy a return ticket, he just went. As he was sitting in a café, slurping on a way too hot espresso, he suddenly remembered that you used to say that you would love to visit Paris one day, but it had never worked out when he had been touring there.

“Sitting in a place that we would have wanted to visit together alone…” Seungyoun mumbled to himself, watching the city wrapped up in its rain coat, sunshine hardly peaking through the clouds, his heart shivering with the cold temperature.

Then, he grabbed a pen from his bag and got out his notebook, quickly scribbling down the sentence he had just said out loud. Then another and another… He stopped to take a few more sips from his coffee, but he kept going, feeling this surge of energy going through his body, his brain working super fast, his hands even faster. He wasn’t even thinking about the words anymore, he just kept going with his feelings, and they took him to his first song in months. His first, finished song in months about how you could turn his pain into art, and how he wished he weren’t your muse.

Raindrops accumulated in a pebble under his feet while working, but Seungyoun didn’t care. Even though winter never seemed to last as long as the last one did, now, he felt like spring was oozing out from underneath him, and he yearned for the change of scenery, for the change of weather, for the change of his feelings.

Even if it meant that he had to write all of his feelings into songs to get over you, he wanted to keep going. He would have even run through a burning building for you, so what were a few songs?

He wished he could get lost in them forever.

Happy For You

“Why did you title your new album ‘Journey of Heartbreak’?”

“It’s because I’ve realised that heartbreak isn’t like happiness. You can’t just accept it and feel it, and then move on. Heartbreak is a journey, and even acceptance is difficult, moving on is even more so. Overcoming heartbreak can be a few days for some people, but I think more people need many many more days to overcome it.”

“What’s your favourite song on the album?”

“ ‘Happy For You’. It’s the last song on the album, and it’s about wishing someone happiness even though you ended things. It’s about realising that there comes a time when you’re happy for them, and don’t wish anything bad on them.”

“Your fans absolutely love the new album, and the critics praise the clever structure of it, the songs corresponding to the phases of heartbreak. There’s just one question on everyone’s mind after all this: was this album inspired by your own love life, or was it just inspiration from many other things?”

“Well, I will leave that up to everyone’s interpretations.”

As much as Seungyoun struggled to come up with any song after your break-up, the album was put together in merely three months from the first song to the showcase stage. Once he got started on it, he couldn’t stop. It seemed like he had an awful lot to say that had been weighing down on him, and with his forever companions - music sheets and notebooks -, he got them off his chest. One by one, he went through regret, disappointment, fury, guilt, acceptance and even happiness.

He put the songs on the album in the same order he wrote them, that’s why ‘Happy For You’ concluded it. Because when he once saw your smiling picture on social media, announcing that you were promoted at work and had the chance to relocate, he was happy for you. He truly was. On top of that, he also knew that you had previously turned down another relocation offer because you had wanted to stay in Seoul for him. Something that he could never promise you was to stay in one place, yet you were willing to do the same thing for him.

You deserved it, you deserved it so much that he really hoped that you would meet someone new there, and have the life that you always wanted to have.

And right then and there, he realised that he didn’t wish to be a part of it, not anymore, he was fine with being a memory instead.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story! I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think in the comments or as reblogs. I always read them and react to them. 🥰

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for WOODZ or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! *-*

[robo-writing]

How different Logan’s would eat you out <3

X1, X2, and X3

✦A mix between ravenous and romantic. He wants you to know just how much you’re loved, and he expresses that by how long he can eat your pussy without stopping. savoring each and every movement from you, he actually enjoys when you lose control and tighten your legs around his head, moaning something along the lines of you’ll be the death of me as he laps at your cunt.

Your thighs quake around his head, hands in his hair as you look down at him. He’s having the time of his life, licking at your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll do in this life, pulling you down and forcing you to sit right on his face.

“Don’t need air, stay,” he mumbles, eyes looking up at you. “Just stay here for me sweetheart.”

You want to protest but goddamn does he make it hard for you, especially when his hands grip the fat of your ass and grind you onto his lips. Higher and higher, you feel your orgasm taking hold with each movement.

“Logan, gonna come,” you whine, and he pushes you as far down as you can go.

“Come on my face doll,” he groans, tonguing at your shaking entrance. “Get my face nice and wet, yeah?”

Origins Wolverine

✦Lovey dovey sickeningly sweet romantic sex; down for anything as long as you’re involved. Sit on his face? Gladly. Pull your legs over his shoulders? Just say when. The kind of lover whose heart skips a beat every time he sees you naked like it's the first time, despite the fact that you're married with a house. Speaks to your pussy as if it’s separate from you.

“How’s my girl doing? Doing alright?”

Your answer is a moan, your pussy clenching around nothing. Logan smiles at your response, thumb stroking up to press against your sensitive clit.

“Yeah, doing just fine ain’t you?” He breathes, kissing the hardened nub before returning to suck on it, your legs shaking in response. “And my other girl’s nice and ready ain’t she?”

“Baby,” you whine, desperate to cum. He’s edged you for as long as possible and you’re almost certain if you wait any longer you’ll actually die. Thankfully Logan grants you mercy, tightening his hold on your thighs as he focuses all his effort into making your pussy leak on his face.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he groans, and you do. Fingers digging into the sheets, you feel your orgasm take hold as Logan wrings every ounce of pleasure he can, kissing at your thighs when your overstimulated pussy can’t take any more.

You barely catch your breath before he speaks to your cunt, admiring how your come trails down your thighs.

“There she is,” he chuckles, index finger slowly collecting the remains of your juices, admiring how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. “Nice and satisfied, ain’t she?”

DOFP Logan

✦Second biggest munch. Running from danger constantly doesn’t make a lot of time for sex so whenever he finds the rare opportunity to do so best believe he’s jumping at it. Likes to joke that he’s started to go grey because he can’t fuck you as often as he likes. Truly eats you out like he needs your pussy more than he needs air.

“Need to be quiet baby,” he growls, pinning your thrashing hips against the wall. “You’re going to get us caught.”

It’s one of the rare days when you’ve found a safe house, even rarer that it’s just you and Logan alone for once. One look at his face and you already knew what was running through that adamantium skull of his, dragging you away to the nearest closet where you’ve been for god knows how long—the concept of time always seems to leave you wherever Logan’s talented mouth is involved.

You’re biting at your hand to muffle your moans but it’s still not enough, free hand tangled in his graying strands as an anchor. You can see his eyes roll back at the feeling, sloppily kissing up your pussy.

“God I wanna hear you,” he moans. “I’d give anything to fuckin’ hear you baby, but you’ve gotta behave for me. Don’t want anyone else seein’ this.”

The scene is something straight out of a porno—your legs hooked over his shoulders as he eats your cunt feverishly, the filthy sounds he makes with each movement, your hips desperately chasing his mouth—you wish this could never end.

70s Logan

✦By far the most selfish, he eats you out for his pleasure alone. He doesn’t give a damn if you’re crawling away, he will pull you back and lock his lips around your clit until you’re damn near thrashing in his arms, grinding against the mattress because that's just how hard he is. He won’t apologize for making you pass out, nor will he stay the night, but if he likes you enough you might find a card on your nightstand with his number hastily scribbled onto it.

When you decided to bring tall, dark, and grumpy home you didn’t expect it to end with tears running down your face, practically begging for a reprieve that won’t come. His hands lock together, forcing you still as he eats you out, not giving a damn about how pathetic you sound.

“Quit fuckin’ squirming,” he grunts, nosing at your pussy. “Lemme enjoy this.”

The man is talented, that’s a fact. Knows just how to push your buttons in all the right ways, but the problem is that he’s pushed your buttons nearly three times already and you’re almost certain his beard is going to give you the worst rash you’ve ever had.

But damn it if he isn’t responsible for some of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

“Logan, fuck—lemme take a break,” you’re begging at this point, slapping at his shoulders when he doesn’t let up. Your breath catches in your chest when he smacks your thigh roughly in response, smiling against your pussy when he feels you clench in response.

“Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself,” he mocks, showing just how true his words ring when his fingers rub circles against your clit.

You swear you can feel any coherent thoughts leak out of your ears, focused solely on coming. It’s embarrassing how well he plays your body like a fine tuned instrument, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you’re squirting a mess onto your mattress.

“There we go, ain’t that a sight?” He laughs, pulling you closer towards his face. “Now, be a good little slut and behave while I enjoy my meal, okay?”

Old Man Logan

✦#1 munch and it’s not even close. When his job leaves him tired and his body is sore he finds comfort between your legs, it’s the only time he can turn his brain off and drown himself in you. He’s so fucking starved that he’ll genuinely get lost in his own headspace and ignore your thrashing and whining just to wring another orgasm from your tired body. Kisses your labia and mutters how she's such a pretty pussy as you're trying to catch your breath.

Logan didn't even bother to shed his clothes, making a beeline directly to you the moment he stepped inside your shared home. Dirt still settled on his skin, his head nestled into the crook of your neck as your bodies sway within the closed off kitchen. "Missed me, huh?" you ask, his sigh answer plenty. "Always miss you princess," he whispers, pulling you closer. He lifts you up with warning, sitting you down on the countertop, kneeling between your dangling legs. His beard tickles your bare skin, pulling you close enough to place a kiss onto your pussy, right over the fabric of your panties. "Fuck," you sigh. "You really missed me." His smile is infectious, nuzzling against your fabric-covered core. He kisses you through it for a while before peeling off the moistened garment, thumbs reaching to stroke your pussy. The sight makes your skin hot, hands tangled in his hair. "Been waiting all fuckin' day for this," he moans, spreading you apart and indulging in your juices. "Can tell you were waiting for me too." You feel your body melt with every touch, Logan's hands an anchor as he makes out with your heat, nose bumping against your clit with each movement.

Worst Logan

✦Still trying to wrap his head around you wanting to be with him, but goddamn if he isn’t grateful. Reverent, like a sinner at an alter. Your word is law, likes it when you pull him by the hair and show him where you need it, loves it when you tell him how good he’s doing, presses himself further into your pussy when you’re ready to come. It's all about you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You lovingly stroke his hair, back arching when he kisses your clit oh so gently.

“Lemme take a look at you,” you ask, and the sight of him is enough to make you come.

Face red, blushing so hard it reaches his chest, eyes so glazed over with lust his pupils leave nothing but small rings of green in his eyes. You cradle his face and the weight of his head falls into them immediately, chasing your touch.

“Gonna make me feel good, aren’t you?” You ask, and he nods his head, kissing your palm.

“Lemme taste you baby,” he whispers. “Swear to god I’ll make you feel good.”

“Never doubted you for a second Logan,” you whisper back, tugging his head back to your soaked cunt. He breathes in your scent, fucking groans at the sight of your pussy before he descends on it, noisily showing you just how much he meant his words.

“Fuckin’ delicious baby, so fuckin’ wet,” he moans. “Can’t get enough of you.”

He only gets louder when you pull him forward by the hair, rough hands leaving a mark where his fingers grip your skin.

[theclowningbusiness]

A Necessary Conversation

Pairing: Logan Howlett (X2) x Reader 

Tropes: Shy girl, flirty guy

Warnings: Kissing

Other tags: Logan being hot, reader is a mutant but there are no details about what her mutation is/does, nobody good dies bc I said so, fuck Stryker tho, mention of reader almost falling off the Statue of Liberty in X1, mention of reader shaving her legs (is that even something I need to add HELP LMAO), Logan being vulnerable

Background: You’re a mutant living at the x-mansion and you’ve had eyes on Logan ever since he first arrived.

Description: Logan returns from his solo trip to Alkali Lake and you greet him at the door. You manage to embarrass yourself, but thankfully you get interrupted by Marie. Later, you run into Logan again, but before the conversation can go too far, you’re interrupted by Stryker showing up at the mansion. When the dust finally settles, you and Logan finally get the chance to talk.

    You’d been waiting for Logan to come back since the day he left. He’d given you his dog tags the day he left, asking you to keep them safe for him. Since then, you've carried them with you everywhere.

    While you were in your room working on something that Charles wanted you to take a look at, you swore you could hear the sound of Scott’s motorcycle outside. That couldn’t be, Logan had taken it for his trip. There was no way.

   Getting up from where you’d been sitting in your bed, you made your way over to the window and peeked out. When you saw Logan climbing off of the motorcycle, your eyes lit up. Unable to help yourself, you rushed out of your room and down the hall. As you reached the steps, you went down two at a time.

    By the time you made it to the front door, Logan was standing there, his bag still slung over his shoulder. He looked just the same as he had when he left, which was really no surprise. When he spotted you, he gave you a small smile.

    You ran towards him, nearly tackling him in a bear hug. Your arms wrapped over his shoulders, while his responded by wrapping around your waist. Not wanting to be clingy, you let go before too much time could pass.

    “You miss me?” He asked with a smile, which, knowing Logan, was really more of a smirk.

    “We all did,” you replied, not wanting to make it seem like you had missed him any more than anyone else, even if you had.

    “How have things been here?” He hummed, tilting his head as he waited for your answer.

    “Same as always, chaotic,” you joked. “Last week, a kid blew a hole through the wall in the kitchen by accident when he sneezed. How was your trip? You find what you were looking for?” You asked curiously.

    “Kinda,” he shrugged, “I’ve gotta talk to Chuck about it. How have you been?” He questioned.

    “I’ve been alright,” you replied. “I’ve been working on something Charles wanted me to take a look at. So far, I haven’t been able to get too far with it, but I’ve got a few more ideas to try before I give up.”

    Logan nodded as you spoke, seemingly interested in what you were saying.

    “Oh, before I forget,” you hummed, “I have something for you.” Before he could ask what it was, you raised your arm and smacked him on the chest. You tried not to let your thoughts linger on how much muscle was there. “That’s for being gone so long.”

    “That your way of saying you missed me?” He teased.

    “Okay, maybe I did miss you, just a little,” you relented, crossing your arms.

    “Just a little?” He raised a brow. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

    “Fine, maybe more than a little,” you huffed. “I even started missing those little tufts of hair that look like cat ears,” you joked.

    “I’ve been here for less than ten minutes and you’re already insulting me,” Logan sighed, feigning offense.

    “I’m just messing with you. Your hair is fine, Logan. It’s honestly more than fine, it’s good, it suits you,” you began to ramble, as if you couldn’t stop yourself from letting the words come out of your mouth. “You look good, too, not just your hair. I mean, you’re a good looking guy-” Before you could continue, Logan cut you off by clearing his throat.

    “Are you flirting with me right now?” He grinned, exposing the sharp points of his canine. That just shouldn’t be allowed when you’re already flustered. Not when his smile looked like a smirk and it basically invited you to kiss him.

    “What?” You asked, trying to seem nonchalant. You could feel your cheeks heating up from his question. “Psh, no,” you shook your head. “Me? Flirt? No, not at all.”

    “Maybe you should,” he shrugged, once again tilting his head.

    You didn’t even have time to process his words- nevermind reply- when Marie made her way over, greeting Logan. You took that as your opportunity to excuse yourself, running off to your room to try and sort out what Logan must’ve meant.

================

    For the rest of the day, you hadn’t seen Logan again. But he had said he needed to talk to Charles, so you were sure he was busy with that, along with unpacking and being greeted by everyone.

    That led you to now. You sat in the kitchen eating some Doritos when Logan walked in. He wore a tank top and some jeans, and you decided that there really should be a law against his arms being exposed.

    “Hey,” you greeted, nodding your head at him as he took a few more steps into the kitchen. 

    He gave you a grunt in reply, which wasn’t all that unusual. He certainly wasn’t the most talkative man. You watched as he started looking around in the fridge.

    “If you’re looking for a beer, there isn’t any,” you chuckled. “This is a school,” you reminded him. “There’s some Dr.Pepper in there, though.”

    Logan sighed, but grabbed a bottle of the soda and closed the fridge. He turned towards you and leaned against the counter, popping the bottle open.

    “What’re you doing down here so late?” He spoke before taking a sip from his soda.

    “Didn’t feel like sleeping,” you hummed, then nodded to your laptop that lay on the counter next to you. “Plus, I was still working on that project Charles gave me until about ten minutes ago. I realized I was too tired to make sense of anything. What’s your excuse?” You joked.

    “Couldn’t sleep,” he answered, reaching over to take a chip from your bowl and eat it.

    “Can I ask you something?” You started, leaning your head on one hand.

    “Shoot,” he replied with a small nod.

    “What did you mean earlier?” Your voice was small, nervous. “When you said I should flirt with you?”

    Instead of replying, Logan held a hand up at you. He furrowed his brows and you could see his ears perking up. You’d seen him do it before, and you knew he must hear something that he was concerned about.

    Next thing you knew, you were ducking behind the counter while a gun went off overhead.

================

    You were relieved that things were over. You’d found out a lot, about Logan and Alkali lake, about Stryker. It was just a weight being lifted when the dust settled. Now, you took the chance to relax a little. You’d found a nice tree outside the mansion and laid a blanket down to sit on. It was peaceful, and that was what you really needed right now.

    As you sat with your back against the tree, you caught movement out of the corner of your eyes and turned your head to see what it was. It was Logan, walking towards you with his hands tucked in his pockets.

    “How’d you know where I was?” You asked curiously once he was close enough to talk to without shouting.

    Instead of replying with words, he just pointed to his nose.

    “Right,” you nodded with a smile, “Can’t hide from the guy with the nose of a bloodhound.”

    “That, and Scott told me when I asked if he’d seen you,” he smiled, sitting down next to you on your blanket and leaning back against the tree.. “What’re you doing out here alone?”

    “Trying to decompress from all that shit we went through,” you answered honestly.

    “How’re the cuts healing?” He asked, leaning in to get a better look. 

    During the fighting, you’d managed to cut open your forehead and the bridge of your nose. Luckily, that was the worst of your injuries. 

    “I’m fine. They’re just superficial,” you shrugged.

    “I should’ve killed Stryker years ago, then none of this would’ve happened,” he sighed, blaming himself for the entire situation, along with the cuts on your face.

    “Lo, really, I’m fine,” you assured. “Everyone is fine, this isn’t your fault.”

    Logan nodded and leaned back again, looking out in the distance in front of the two of you. You did the same, smiling. It was a beautiful day, perfect for relaxing.

    “Y’know, we never got the chance to finish our conversation,” Logan stated.

    “Yeah, we kinda got interrupted,” you chuckled, trying to ignore the pit of nerves growing in your stomach. “We have time to talk now.”

    “You asked me what I meant when I told you that you should flirt with me,” Logan began, turning his head to look at you. “I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to flirt with me. I’m into you.”

    “Oh.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Logan ‘emotionally stunted’ Howlett was confessing his feelings for you, even if he didn’t use so many words to say it. You turned your body so you could fully give him your attention.“I feel the same,” you admitted, your cheeks warming, “I was just too nervous to say anything.”

    “I know,” Logan smiled at you, “That’s why I decided to make the first move, even if it did end up making you get a little flustered and run away.”

    “In my defense, I didn’t know if you were serious or not. Didn’t know if I should think anything of it, or if I should just brush it off as you teasing me,” you reasoned.

    “C’mere,” Logan hummed, gesturing for you to scoot closer to him.

    You did as he wanted, and his hand reached up to hold the side of your neck, his fingertips resting in the hair on your nape. His thumb ran over the hinge of your jaw slowly. Using his gentle grip on your neck, he carefully led your face closer to his. His grip was light enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but there was no way you wanted to.

    You weren’t sure how long it took for him to pull you in, but then his lips hit yours. The taste of his cigars was still on his lips as they moved smoothly with yours. He was surprisingly gentle, as if he was trying not to spook you.

    One of your hands lifted to hold the side of his face. You smiled softly, feeling the hair that covered his jaw under your fingers and palm.

    It was too soon when he pulled back just enough to speak, but he had no chance to get a word out before your lips were once again covering his. Now that you’d had a taste, you couldn’t get enough. He was surprised, but chuckled. He kept his lips moving with yours as he grabbed your hips and led you to straddle his lap.

    When you were comfortable on his lap, you slowly pulled your lips away from his.

    “Someone’s eager,” he teased, letting out a content hum when both of your hands settled against his chest.

    “I’ve waited long enough for this,” you defended with a small smile. “I’ve had eyes for you since you first came here. Then you left, and I had to pine after you the whole time you were gone,” you sighed dramatically, but the smile never left your face.

    “You poor thing,” he gave you an overdramatic pout.

    “But, that does remind me, I do have something for you,” you hummed.

    “If you’re about to hit me again, can I get a warning?” He deadpanned.

    “No, I’m serious this time,” you laughed, reaching into your pocket and pulling out Logan’s dog tags. You grabbed one of his hands and placed the chain and tags on his palm. “I believe these belong to you.” You closed his hand and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles.

    “Knew they’d be safe with you,” he smiled, not his usual, teasing, grin. It was soft, warm. It felt like the smile came straight from his heart.

    He opened his hand and looked at the dog tags. Then, he seemed to make a decision and grabbed them, removing the dog tag attached to the shorter chain. He clasped the shorter chain back together and held it out to you.

    You took it, confused on why he was giving it back.

    Logan picked up on your confusion- of course he did, the man didn’t miss anything- and spoke.

    “If you’re gonna be my girl, I want you to have it,” he answered your confusion as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Want you to keep it safe for me for a while longer.”

    “I’ll keep it with me all the time, I promise,” you grinned, unable to resist leaning in for another soft kiss. “I’ll keep it safe.”

    “And I’ll keep you safe,” Logan replied, pecking your lips. He then placed a gentle kiss to each of the cuts on your face.

    “You always have. You did kinda keep me from falling off the Statue of Liberty once,” you joked.

    “But I didn’t this time,” he cringed as he looked at the cuts on your face.

    “Logan, I’ve had worse injuries from shaving my legs,” you laughed softly. “I promise you, I am absolutely fine.”

    “Okay,” he nodded, relaxing as you pressed your forehead to his. “I trust you.”

    Logan’s hands on your hips lifted you off his lap and sat you on the blanket next to you. He laid down fully on the blanket, using one arm to prop his head up. You had no time to question it before he opened his other arm for you.

    You smiled and laid down on the blanket next to him, tucking your face into his shoulder. In response, he wrapped his arm around you to hold you close.

    “I’m glad we talked,” you said softly, tracing random patterns over his chest with your fingers.

    “Me too,” he agreed, giving you a squeeze with the arm that was around you.

[colorfuleclipse]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 + 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘦

genre; smut

word count ; almost 400

warnings ; hair pulling kink duh, mention of minhee with ugly green hair LMAO, indication of minhee with a praise kink, mention of drugs (as an analogy)

if there was one thing about minhee that always remained the same it was his hair. though not the color, not the style, not even the length; it was the way it felt in your hands.

no matter when or where or how hard or how lightly you pulled on his hair it was always the same soft feeling, the type of feeling that made you weak in the knees and made him let out a shaky breath.

it always tempted you, the way it frames his face so perfectly that you can’t help but stare. from short and black to long and blonde to honey brown to muted pink; it never looked bad, hell he could probably dye it the ugliest green you’ve ever seen and still manage to pull it off.

he wouldn’t admit it out loud but he loves the feeling of your fingertips against his scalp, whether it’s brushing it out of his face or mindlessly braiding it; but he always has one goal when it comes to your hands in his hair.

since the first time you tugged on his hair during sex he aims for your hands to find their way to his head every time you get intimate. it fuels him to do more, like a silent praise that motivates him to make you feel good.

tug on his hair while his head is between your legs and he’ll lean in closer like he’s suddenly starving, pull on it when you’re making out and he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth without giving you a moment to breathe, or when he’s inside you? good luck walking tomorrow.

like a drug he dives in deeper every time he feels that pull on his head, the feeling haunting him during even the most mundane tasks such as washing his hair or moving it out of his way. suddenly he’s plagued by the craving for your touch, like going through withdrawal he can’t stand being away from it for too long. 

running your hands through minhee’s hair is like digging your own grave and when he tries to get you to pull at his hair in pleasure; rest assured he’ll get what he wants. 

[hyper-fixates]

i fear that x1 logan would love to call sex “pound town”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan In Love

Yknow, I'm very torn with writing Logan being in love. On one hand, I feel like Logan would have a hard time accepting and being in love, I feel like he would be so hard- so used to being alone. The moment someone (you) would come along, stirring up those feelings he thought were honestly dead, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Maybe he'd lash out, maybe he'd pull away, telling himself it was for your own good to not be around some like him. (and maybe he's protecting himself too in what he believes would be inevitable heartbreak)

BUT

BUT

Then I think, Logan has been around, lived long enough to be sure of his feelings, to not beat around the bush when it comes to dealing with things and Logan is very good at dealing with things. He's always been straight forward in his goals, his feelings. If he thought something was stupid, he'd say it. (I'm sorry I still can't help but giggle when I hear him call Xavier "Wheels" bc of the superhero names) For example, how he feels for Jean (think the X movies), he wasted no time in flirting with her, and honestly if Jean had any interest in him (Fuck you Jean Logan IS a good guy and he's the goodest and sweetest boy ever) and her and Scott weren't a thing, how quickly do you think they would have been together? bc Logan didn't seem to have many qualms about them being together at all and by the third movie (I mean, the time span isn't really that long, what, the three movies stretch 6 months to a year maybe? If even that? Honestly they felt like an extremely bad 3 weeks the gang had), he confessed he loved her (then had to kill her oop)

So maybe, when you come around (lets say your own special timeline, not the x movies or whatever) and you and Logan meet for the first time, Logan knew someone was it for him when he saw you. Something about you drew him in, the same way animals seem to know they met their mate. There was no doubt he liked you on a physical and emotional level, and soon after building something of a friendship with you- he knew he loved you. In something like the X-men, you build trust with each other, from having to live together, to dangerous missions, it was going to happen. What you and Logan gained together though, was something much more than trust and friendship.

Logan was sure of his feelings. His past, the fact that he had been roaming for the last 10-15 years alone, didn't matter in this equation. He knew what he felt and goddamn he was going to hold onto you and never let you go because you had become the best thing hes ever gotten in his life, especially after he gains his 200 years of memory back- he becomes even more sure in his decision that you weren't going to leave the adamantium grip he has on you (I mean, really, good luck getting out of that. Not that you would want too). He would protect you and keep you safe. He knew he could make you happy, and give you anything you ever wanted because honestly that's all Logan wants himself.

Logan was extremely observant, and he learned your quirks, your flaws, and all the sweet things he'd pick up over time. Maybe you thought he was just flirting with you, being Logan and everything, but no. Logan was dead serious about you, and he would wait for you to notice-and when you begin to notice that no other lady would turn his head, even the other ladies of the team, beautiful and strong that would turn the head of any man didn't have an effect on him. His eyes was always on you when you were in the same room. He always checked on you, concerned if you seemed tired, upset, angry, trying to get you to open up to him because it's not just him knowing how he feels about you but he desperately wants you to feel the same for him, to feel close to him the way he feels to you.

Maybe Logan does worry if he's right for you. Maybe he doesn't consider himself a good guy. With the things he's done, how could he be, surely he isn't? Its the X-men, and YOU, mainly you honestly, that makes him think that maybe he could be the good guy. Maybe he can make up for the mistakes he's made in his long life. Maybe, his sins don't matter because now he's in love, he'd found someone he wants to be better for, and no longer does he feel the need to let that weight sit on his shoulders because you were there and you made his world feel less bleak and hopeless. (Remember when he tells Jean "I could be the good guy" in that cute little way? the way he was desperate for her approval....I STILL HATE YOU FOR BEING MEAN TO HIM JEAN (okay but maybe logan should have backed off a woman that WAS taken and said no...gotta love me a stubborn man I suppose...)

It wasn't until a particularly dangerous mission that he finally breaks down, he's checking on you and you just can't handle it right now, trying to get him to just let you rest but he so desperately needs you, and needs you to be okay that he grabs you and kisses you. (Think of him and Jean in X2. He's just desperate for you.) He needs you to see how he feels about you before it becomes too late. It took you by surprise and took you a minute to even register what just happened but you kissed him back. He tells you he loves you, he's in love with you and he needs you. Things get heated after that, and afterwards you ask him when he began to feel this way for you, in which he'd teasingly say

"You got your heads in the cloud sweetheart. I've loved you the moment I met you."

[themareverine]

Only When It's Right | Logan Howlett x fem!OC

synopsis: "Does it always feel like this?" He chuckles, "Only when it's right, honey," dips low, worships her like every fucker in Alberta only prays to. "Only when it's right."

warnings: X1 Logan, mentions of noncon touch, gunfire, Logan being a little toxic.

a/n: DON'T ASK ME WHERE THIS CAME FROM IT'S JUST HERE, OK YOU'RE WELCOME. I’m going back to DOFP!Logan, now, byeeee.

He finds her underneath the stars. In the shimmer of a trying drizzle, between two headlights milking out a backdrop of what appear to be stacked logs. Sleeping giants in the ghosttown the lumberyard has become, dead with afterhours asystole. Chill in the air shows him his breath, and Logan can see the air through the high lamps on her parked Wrangler.

Guiding his truck along washed out ruts and lumberyard paths better navigated with heavy machinery, he pops the gearshift into park.

Sees her standing between the two milky swaths of light that cut across witchy darkness, legs akimbo. Arms drawn out into a diamond in front of her, hands wrapped around the fat grip of what he thinks is a Glock 43, but won't know until he eyeballs it, close and personal.

Figures she'd be somewhere, off alone. Probably to think. Girls don't claw through incidents like the one he'd witnessed hours before and get out without thoughts spinning their pretty little heads, and — he hasn't known her long, hell no. Doesn't have to. But what he knows of this particular case can be boiled down to two very simple little things.

She's a runner, and she's an overthinker.

He slaps the truck's door closed with a thunk, rattles the whole damn thing as he leans back through the open window to flick on high beams. Slips hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, retrieving a cigarette and his light. Probably mostly pointless, since it's trying to rain, but — Logan's never really cared.

The end of the cigarette smolders to life in a plume of fierce amber as he comes up on her, carefully. She's noticed, of course. Clocked him the second his headlights cut up next to hers, a quick glance over the shoulder. He'd never be able to miss those sapphire eyes for anything, even in the blanket of night.

Pop pop. Two shots, right after the other. Pause, follow through, recollect. Logan can see her take a breath, watches how her shoulder ripple with the muscle movement. Notices the exhale, watches how her wrist flicks with just the tiniest effort to pull the trigger back — click.

Empty. "What are you doing out here, Logan."

It isn't a question as she turns on her heel, pistol coming to her side. Mostly-wet curls hang loose, frizzed from where she's attempted to tie them back under the ballcap. A ratty Wyoming homage that's darkened with rain and wear, she wears it when she doesn't want to muss with hair, which is all the time.

A coveted possession, really, Logan's seen her change it out with others it a handful of times, but it's her favorite.

Girls. "Gotta have a reason?" He shrugs a shoulder and slips into one of the cuts of headlight, following her to the hood of the Jeep where she's got the pistol's case and a box of rounds perched in the wet air, "Just in the neighborhood, kid." Watches her pluck the greasy cleaning rag from the case, skip it over the water pooling along the blued steel.

Her ocean blues cut up to him like they are hot knives, slicing through butter his flash has become — the corner of her mouth ticks up, just so. Cheeks a pleasant red from the snap of cold in the air, a dewy film has risen up on her glasses, glistens as the light catches it at the right angle on the high of her cheekbones.

And she almost looks like creamy starlight, fading in and out of midnight smoke in the air that signals fire.

Logan decides immediately that she is definitely not a kid. The name no longer sticks.

"Ain't really a neighborhood," her hand gestures beyond, a nod of her head following to the darkness beyond the headlights spotlighting them, "but whatever. If you came to talk, don't bother. Heard it all before."

And she thinks she knows. Maybe she does. There's really only a handful of things you could ever say to a soul that's been publicly castrated, humiliated and backed into a corner. He'd seen grown men go weak in the from less, but women — women. They were a different breed. Stand there and let you skin them alive without so much as a flinch, probably smile. Offer you the knife.

She'd simply just stood there, quiet, and managed to gracefully change the subject like some untouchable thing.

Clearly, she isn't as untouchable as she wanted everyone — including him — to think.

"Not here to talk, champ. There a law against checkin' in on people?"

She snorts. "This is Canada, right? Ya'll have more laws than God." It takes work not to smile, and Logan fails, managing a smirk. "And after what just happened in there? Yeah, there is." Her eyes lift to him, icy flash arctic enough to stop his blood. "Don't bother playing dumb with me, Logan, I know you ain't stupid."

"Never with you, darlin'." Pausing, her hand stops mid-air. Logan watches her weigh the weight of the world in her eyes, fighting the urge to look at him. Loses, she does — she sums him up, quickly.

Popping out the magazine, she begins loading. Falls back against the brush guard of the Jeep, booted feet crossed at the ankles as she works bullets with raw, chilled fingers.

"Just further evidence to me that it doesn't matter how hard you work, how much you change, it's never enough for them."

The way her eyes move beyond him, into the ether — he gets it.

Vitriol snakes in and out of her words from her back teeth, which, if clenched any tighter, the bones of her jaw would rake together in a song that would wake the dead. Taking a drag on his cigarette, wishing to God it was a cigar, he nods. Understanding. Because if anyone understood what trying to be different — with living among the unlivable — means, it's him.

Wolverines, after all, don't exactly live in society. "He was an asshole," coming up beside her, he kicks back against the brush guard himself, cigarette hanging low in the corner of his mouth as his hands slip into his pockets, this time his jeans. "Most men are, you probl'y know that."

Snapping the magazine back into place, her head doesn't lift from considering her boots, strewn with mud and water stains from the wet dirt. "Yeah. Just didn't appreciate the way he grabbed me, either."

That was news. How'd you miss that, Logan? "That asshole touched you?"

"Mhm. Hips. It's whatever."

His brow snaps up. "It ain't whatever, sweetheart. It's fuckin' pathetic," the edge of his tone is almost bitter, like the cold blade of a knife. "I would've seen 'im, would've driven him through the fucking floor."

Another long drag on his cigarette does little to soothe the itch in his blood, instead just sends his pulse pistoning between his ears. Kicking his foot over the other, he settles against the Jeep a little harder, feels it sway with his weight.

Color creeps up her neck, her eyes drag away down to the toes of her boots in the mud, playing with a little stone. "Nobody's ever done that for me, Logan," she chuckles, looks beyond the headlights, to the log backdrop before them, "but the thought is nice. Thanks."

Pushing herself from the Jeep, she moves back between the cuts of light, not giving him room to respond. And he isn't sure if he would, should. They're friends, colleagues.

She works the cage, ringmaster and snatching cash from easy-as-candy-from-babies gamblers and the entertained.

He takes the hits. Watches her parade around in her jeans that fit tight and fucking amazing, cowboy boots, and that ratty ass ballcap. All moxie and gusto, she was born for a stage, he thinks. Recall reminds him that she naturally belongs in places he only tolerates, everywhere he's fought tooth and claw to struggle.

Effervescently, she does it with an air that's almost sick. And she's never made a big deal of sexualizing her way in and out of pocketbooks — came with the gig, the cage. Even for an unconventional, curvy little thing like her.

Hammed it up, actually, stuffing money in her tits, in painted-on jean pockets that cut her curves like a damn roadmap. Had become a persona, a sort of calling card — you bet right, you get to choose where your cash came from.

Like some all-curves, sapphire-eyes fucking ATM.

Her alias. It wasn't supposed to work for him.

The guys around the cage had started calling her the Honeybadger — because while she was sweet to look at, sweet to touch, there were teeth. Claws. A ferocity that trembled beneath the surface like spidering ice.

More than once, Logan had seen her shove off over eager hands. Threaten a man within an inch of his dick.

Honeybadger and the Wolverine. Pff.

Sounded fuckin' ridiculous, like some circus sideshow. People liked it, though. Rolled off the tongue good. Made him a shit tonne of cash, she never complained about her cut, either. Her theatricality cocktailed with his unbeatable, unkillable mutation made for one hell of a gig.

Half the time Logan wasn't sure if crowds were betting to see him throw cuffs, or because she was so damn pretty. Ultimately it didn't matter, the circumstances.

What mattered was the way he almost came un-fucking-glued in that damn bar, watching that fuckin' toad make eyes at the sweet little thing he'd been dreaming about for four fuckin' months.

Her, someone who, over their knowingship, had become his friend. An unlikely ally in the fight to outlive this Canadian log town and its phantom populace. Somewhere along the lines of her life, God had taught her to hang the moon and stars, stop the world every time she smiled. And she was a prized student, he knew — divine, probably.

Aphrodite waters of a kind he'd never tasted, but thirsts for. Enough to make his heart stop, his lungs more adamantium than his bones.

Logan didn't usually go for girls like this. Sweethearts. He went for the poisonous, the dangerous. Ladies of the neon, the women who lurked on corners or hung on your arm, drunk and doe-eyed in that fuck me kinda way. Not the soft and sweet honeychilds of the sunkissed morning, who looked good in sundresses and lipstick and challenged the glory of the very stars.

Always a man who could never burn, he didn't mind the taste of the hot and heavy, the pits of the noncommittal.

Liked the quick fucks and heavy makeup of drunken nights and neon, the veil that hid away the person, instead just another nameless, same-face Barbie doll to ease his desires.

Vixens and painted women tasted a kind of good that he'd learned to crave over the long, cold years of outliving. A stable sex diet, for sure. Where there was one, there would be another, and the universe never stopped churnin' out tit.

He'd be fucked before he ever considered anything lasting. With someone worth a shit, any of his tries. Questions if anyone like that even exists on this rock, anymore.

And Logan shouldn't be so pissed at how nonchalant she is about being touched, but he is. Feels his guts fill with that molten hot rage that gets him in trouble, that stokes the fires of his mutation like a damn forge. All he can think about is hammering that fucker through the damn floor, send him to hell in tiny little pieces the devil wouldn't even know how to sort.

Crushing a mental picture of that asshole's hands on her, in all the wrong places that guys know, his jaw tightens. Only a little, only to the point of boneshattering.

Pretty sure he could rip the brush guard right off this Jeep and eat it for breakfast and not even feel it.

Beyond the reach of headlights, Coke cans and water bottles lay littered along the muddy earth before the backstop of logs, a handful or so still propped up in various places. Challenges. Thinking about her crawling up there to place empty cans and other trash pieces for target practice eases some of the roil in his blood, the rage creeping up in scarlet at the corner of his vision.

It takes her a minute, but she spends another twelve rounds, hot brass kicking to the ground at her feet. Pop pop pop. One by one, shots ring off aluminum cans, crumple plastic bottles. Sends them to the earth in a rain. Others hit the logs, hard thwacks that bury deep.

She ain't a tough shot, by any means. He'd seen a lot of gunfire in his years, fucking centuries, knew men who weren't as precise. Had watched them die.

She sends the magazine out of the grip, back into her hand as she turns around, smiling at him a little crookedly as she looks up over the rim of her glasses, almost coy. As if she's proud of herself.

His brow lifts, amused. Mostly impressed, a little turned on.

She comes back to lean against the Jeep, closer this time. Close enough that he can smell the tinge of sweat lingering under her clothes from a night of work. If he's careful, he can taste the salt he knows skips around her tongue, from a let's do shots, Lo! tequila. Unmissable, that perfume she swears to God never stays around but is triggering every animal instinct he has.

Turning, she gently tosses the pistol back to its case. Flips the lid closed with a flick of her fingers. Crossing her arms over her chest, she props one foot back on the grille of the Wrangler, head angled just enough for Logan to catch sparkling traces of the air's moisture on her cheekbone. It's almost fantastic, he thinks. Fairytale. That shit they put in movies.

It goes straight to his cock.

"I've never been touched like that before, Logan," and it couldn't be more out of nowhere if it materialized right in front of them. Blinking, Logan finishes his cigarette. Outs it on the heel of his boot, flicks the end away as if it's plague. It isn't far removed, but she doesn't seem to care.

It's probably more information than he needs to know. What did they call it? TMI. Yeah, too much information. But somehow such a turned stone leaves him curious, like a cat with a mouse. Could beg at her feet like a slavering dog for more, if she'd be willing.

For months he'd watched her, trailblazing up and down the floorspace of his cage like some kind of goddess, deserving of high worship. Figured it came natural, because for someone like her, it should.

What a fuckin' shame. "Yeah?" God, the things he could do to her.

"Mhm. And now I'm not sure I want to be, if — if that's what it's like."

And all at once, the air is sucked out of the world that's opened up between them. She's quiet and small, shrunk into herself with hunched up shoulders and lowered eyes, like some kind of whipped dog that's done inexcusable wrong.

It so isn't her.

Supposed to burst with life, make him question the cold black void in his chest. She's supposed to sing when the earth sits at her feet, like spring waits for the cold of winter to flatline into a dead carcass of itself. Should light up the room with her all-sunshine, big voice that shakes him all the way down, makes him forget his own fucking name.

Whatever this broken, insecure shadow of a thing she is, it's — it's a crime against the world.

Makes him want to fillet any single soul that would even fucking breathe in his direction.

Brow cutting into a hard line, he reaches between them and takes her chin in his hand. Forces her attention on him.

He's done this before, from place of posturing, hamming up audiences and getting her to simmer the fuck down, doll! when she's too deep into the booze or angry, feasting on souls.

But now, it feels different — his fingers burn with a fire he's never really understood, the stuff they write about. He can feel electricity in her blood, the painful thud thud thud of her heart against the bones in her chest.

But she doesn't make to move away. Doesn't even fucking flinch.

Interestin'.

"That ain't what it feels like," his tone drops to that whiskey dark that tastes good, that rattles up his chest. Echoes off bone, had gotten him more than one fuck in his life. And it works, too. Always has.

Will it work with you, honey?

Swallowing a little breath, "It isn't?" slips off her tongue like wet sin. Compliments the little flutter of her eyes, how she shifts nervously under the weight of his attention.

The long column of her throat constricts on the words, like a serpent squeezing for purchase any sense of the moment, anything to hold. Punches him in the gut something beautiful. And if he were a lesser man, he'd throw her right up against the fucking headlights of this Jeep and show her what he means.

But that would defeat his whole damn point. Easy, Logan. You sick fuck.

But she looks so good, standing there. In comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt and jacket, slick with the attempts of rain hanging in the air. That Wyoming cap that blocks out the night, casts long shadows over her eyes. Somehow darkens the depths of sapphires that already don't have ending.

Lifting his other hand, he rubs a fallen curl between his fingers before the pad of his thumb gently skips over the curve of her bottom lip. Chapped, like his. Plush. Fucking edible.

Managing a chuckle, she shifts on her feet at the low of his tone. Nervous. It's delicious.

Leans in close, and Logan can almost feast on the dew of her skin. And he knows exactly what he's doing, what they like. Whether they're a siren of the night or Sunday morning's pretty skirt in church, women really just all want the same damn thing. To be chased. Desired, lusted for. The hunt.

It's all part of the chase, honey.

"Mhm-mhm," off a chuckle, one that ticks up the corner of his mouth into a keen, quicksilver smirk. "Not when it's right, when you wan' it. Feels good." Drinking in the design of her face, every lash and little thing that makes her her, his head angles just enough. Oh, just enough —

"So fuckin' good, honey." Fuck, he is breathless. That never fuckin' happens.

Logan expects her to pull away. But her pupils dilate to the wide of the moon, drinking in light like thirsting men on the Sahara. He's never seen such visible lust in the face of the opposite sex, hasn't ever felt its jaws snapping the air like hungry wolves.

Pretty sure this is as close to being eye fucked as it came, but he wasn't complaining.

She should walk away, the way he's looking at her. Like her soul is on sale, like she's the last fucking pair of tits the world will ever produce. And Logan would encourage her, any other time, to leave his sorry, lustful ass in the mud and go on with her life. Find someone worthy of everything God's given her. But at his base, he's a selfish man. Greedy. Hungry.

Too busy being split open by her eyes, sapphire knives that cut him between the ribs and drive a stake straight to the heart like the fucking Dracula he is, trying to suck the life out of her.

Waiting for the impact of the moment to lay her out like a stoned Goliath, he doesn't realize his breath comes shallow and heavy. Doesn't bother feeling the snap of cold wind chasing the heat off his skin, how her eyes skate over his features. Or even how she's managed to turn into his touch, how she's pulled to his side like an adrift little thing on cosmic shores.

And if she misses the let me show you pacing the lines of his better judgement, she's got one hell of a poker face to take to Vegas. He can feel the little shifting of her jaw in his fingers. How her tongue skates along her back teeth, her breath catching in the back of her throat. The pulse in her blood spins like a wicked thing, heart jackhammering through her ribs as if it's trying to cut to hell.

She doesn't feel cold, but her eyes snap with a fierce chill he's never seen before. Isn't sure if it's confidence, or fear. But he likes this look on her, this feral little thing so worthy of the name every man this side of Alberta wants to fuck into her.

Honeybadger. It's so ridiculous that he'll fuck the name out of her himself.

Sweet like smooth, golden honey from the vine. Forbidden fruit in the Eden he would move mountains to taste.

And just as damn savage.

For what he assumes is the first time in her life, she doesn't say a word.

Instead, she lifts a hand to snag nails through his facial hair, eyes traveling the planes of his face like he's something to remember. He might be, for the first time in his life. And it feels like white-hot fire, the slip of her skin against his, such perfect fire that he would willingly burning at the stake of her feet without hesitation, fight. Keening into her touch, his hand slips down the column of her throat, to tip her chin up just enough to compliment the angle of his.

Her other hand pulls him closer by the front of his jacket, her melding against him in that perfect way God had in mind when he created Eve straight out of Adam's marrow.

You could stone the crows, she kisses him first. Tentative and slow, like milking starlight out of the hand of God. And he was fucking right how she tastes like salt and tequila and sweat, her scent so overwhelming that he could drown in her and die a happy, fucking thrilled, man.

All the way down to this core he feels her, almost chokes on just how fucking far her tongue shoves down the back of his throat.

And if he could feast on it the rest of his living days, he'd still starve to death.

World spinning by in a haze of color and lust, he isn't thinking clearly when he pins her up against the grille of the Jeep, pelvis to pelvis, every ounce of blood in his body rushing straight to his cock that's already hard enough to drive her to God. Grips the slick cool of the brush guard with all the resolve of the world, absolution a thin veil between right and wrong, black and white and oh my God, how she tastes.

His arms haven't visibly shaken with restraint in any sort of timeframe that he recalls, most certainly not in the arms of a woman.

He'll take back everything when she pulls at his hair, nails all but driving canyons into his scalp.

It comes naturally, his fingers burying into the thick flesh of her thighs. Hauling her up to the hood, the Jeep racks with her weight, headlights swaying as she reaches for him like he's the last hold on the crumbling rock of resolve, of composure.

And the poor thing shakes, hardly breathing — any second now he could expect her to burst, but instead, she takes his face between her hands, nails biting into his facial hair as she leans down to brush foreheads with him, taste him. He lifts his head, brushing hot breath against her racehorse pulse, the nuclear explosion of her lungs battering against his ribs a delightful way to wonder about the grave.

Pulling back enough to look her in the eye, he smiles. Cool, cleancut. Enough to rip her heart out, he sees it. It's balanced and bleeding between his fingers, his own plaything. Wolverines and Honeybadgers — it's laughable, really. If it wasn't so right.

"How's it feel?" It may as well not even be there, almost carried away by the little hitch of her breath when he skates his mouth against her jaw, bites softly at the pulse in her neck. "Feel good, honey?"

Her nose nuzzles his facial hair. "So many feelings, Logan," and it's barely there, a whimper. A hint of an idea. "Does it always feels like this?"

Lacing fingers through hers, he presses a kiss to the heel of her hand, slow and deliberate. Relishes in the faraway taste of steel, bullets. Gun oil and sin. Props a foot up on the Jeep's guard, steps up like it doesn't even matter.

And oh, if she doesn't know what she's doing she'd burn in hell for lying, the way she leans back on her elbows, like a graceful little thing. Staring up at him like he's heaven descended.

A rush of power he can't explain fills his blood, before he drops low and crawls over her. Chases her up the hood until they're both at the windshield's glass, breathless and hazy.

He chuckles, "Only when it's right, honey," dips low, worships her like every fucker in Alberta only prays to. "Only when it's right."

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

[woongisi]

Girl Dad // Lee Hangyul

Lee Hangyul x fem!Reader // SMUT

WC// 2.59k

Synopsis// Hangyul's the hot new date you'd found. DILF by definition, and one you had to have.

Warnings// dom!Hangyul & switch!reader, breeding kink, initial use of protection, removal of said protection, mating press, brief talk of custody and separation

Author's Note// @gothlcsan you're welcome <3

---------

Lee Hangyul. You’d only known him for a couple of weeks, yet you’d already seen him covered in fruit juice, absolutely smothered in messy makeup, and doubled over due to an unfortunately placed kick. You’d met at the library, browsing in the same section of novels. He may have been looking at murder mysteries, but his arms were chocked full of children’s picture books. Barely above a whisper, you had huffed and playfully asked if the brightly colored stack was for him. He smiled and politely declined, telling you he was just gathering them for his daughter. You both laughed just a little too loud, earning a stern look from the librarian.

After you both had checked out all your books you decided to dip over to the coffee shop just down the road. The interactions you shared in the library were small but enough to leave you wanting to know more about the newfound stranger. He held the door for you, he tried to pay for your coffee, and he pulled your chair out… everything he did had you pondering whether chivalry was really dead or not.

The man’s looks were truly striking, donning clear-framed specs. His hair was a warm brown and parted down the middle, falling neatly to either side of his face. His white button-up was loose and partially unbuttoned while his darkly colored slacks were quite fitted.

You learned a lot about one another in the hour you shared, chatting over your drinks and overpriced snacks. His name was Hangyul, he’d been single for a few years now. He had a daughter who was 7 and lived with him. She seemed to be the center of his entire world. He was kind and funny, and you could feel his genuine interest in getting to know you. You were both comfortable with silence between topics, and the conversation flowed easily. Before you parted ways, his gaze lingered on you for just a little too long after you exchanged phone numbers.

Over the following weeks, you met up plenty of times whether it was his place or some little activity his daughter so badly wanted to do. He was empathetic, unafraid to do things that would’ve been considered feminine, and put his kid before all else.

**

A quiet Tuesday night, you mindlessly browsed the channels of your TV in hopes of finding something to watch. Every show seemed the same. You huffed and powered it down, almost jumping out of your skin when your phone began to ring. A smile covered your face when you grabbed it to see the characters “hangyul <3” splayed across the screen.

“Hello?” You tried to contain the excitement in your voice.

“Hey, what’re you up to?”

“I just gave up on the television… you? You sound kinda down.”

“Oh…” The line was quiet for a few seconds. “Just feeling a little lonely. That’s why I called, felt the need to chat.”

“Where’s this kiddo at?”

“It’s her mom’s week to have her. I have primary custody, so she stays with me most of the time as you know, but she sees her mother every handful of weeks.”

“Ah, must be quiet. Enjoy your relaxation time.”

“Actually… the silence is kinda driving me insane,”

You could practically hear Hangyul pouting. You understood, he spent all day in the company of others whether it was his kid or at work.

“Do you want to come over?” He continued.

“Oh? Are you sure? It’s pretty late.”

“No, no! You don’t have to, I know it might be kinda weird to be at my house when it’s just us… only if you want to.”

“I’ll be there, give me half an hour. “

You hung up, springing off the couch and flinging open your closet doors. Even if it was simple, you needed a better outfit than a massive shirt and granny panties.

In no more than 10 minutes, you started your car, plugged his address in the GPS and were on your way.

**

Walking up to the door of his apartment, you shot him a text to let him know you were there, as it had become a habit to do so you didn't wake up the kid… even if she wasn't there. Fumbling with the lock, Hangyul pulled the door open and greeted you with a big smile.

“You made it!”

“I said I would, idiot.”

Hangyul moved to the side and invited you in, offering to take your jacket for you.

You both sat on either end of the couch, almost awkward without the continued presence of his daughter. The room was quiet, cool lit, and vaguely scented like mahogany. A basket of gaudily hued kids toys rested to the right of the television.

“So, what do you wanna do?” You looked over to him, noting how he sat so daintily with his knees together and arms crossed.

“Ah, whatever you want. I'm just glad to have company. It's been a long time since I've been able to just hang out with someone this way.”

“Do you, uh…” Suddenly you felt vulnerable, embarrassed with yourself. “Do you want to cuddle?”

He nodded eagerly, silently scolding himself for being almost a little too excited.

You scooted over on the couch, positioning yourself between his legs and resting your head between his head and shoulder. Hangyul hesitantly wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His free hand came to run through your hair, his fingers carefully removing any knots he got caught on. He took a deep breath, resting his cheek against you.

“I've missed this.” He muttered under his breath. “You’re so warm.”

“Mm.” You nuzzled into his neck, urging him to place the softest kiss on the top of your head. “You're always so gentle with me, Hangyul.”

Hangyul hugged you firmly, taking in the scent of your perfume. “Couldn't imagine hurting you. Not ever. Too precious to me.”

“Precious? Me?” You tried to hide the giddiness laced in your voice.

“Mhm. You know how many dates I've been on in the past few years? Too many. People tend to find it odd that I’m parenting on my own. Turned off by the fact I let the kiddo dress me up and do my makeup or pissed off with how I have to spend most of my time with her. Things like that.”

“It's endearing, I think. You're a wonderful father to her. Can't imagine thinking that's not hot.”

Hangyul’s hands fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, pondering if he should even follow through with his next move. Ah, screw it. It was worth a shot.

“Can… Can I kiss you?” In that moment he was glad you couldn't see his face, surely he was blushing. In a split second you pulled back from him and nodded eagerly.

“Of course.”

Hangyul rested his hands on your waist and took your lips into his own. He tasted faintly of coffee, you thought. Soon, his glasses were discarded to the side. Each of his small gasps made your stomach twist. Even now, he was gentle with you, only ever following your pace.

Everything about him was intoxicating to you, from his voice to his taste and everything in between. In a way you knew he was holding back. He nipped and tugged at your bottom lip, silently begging for access. Yielding, you allowed his tongue to slip between your teeth. Your tongues mingled, filling the air with wet noises and the occasional clack of your teeth brushing against his. Hangyul moved his hand to cradle the back of your head to keep you close to him. Your breath was unsteady, hinting to Hangyul that he was doing something right.

Hangyul disconnected from you, panting against your skin. “Can I be completely honest with you?”

“Duh, what is it?”

“I want you.” He swallowed his breath. “Really.”

You balled your hand into a fist, feeling your mind short circuit for a moment.

“Yeah?” You purred. “Then I’m yours.”

A shiver ran up Hangyul’s spine, giving himself a silent pep talk. He hadn't had sex in 7 years and he wasn't going to let this chance slip. He'd never felt enough chemistry toward past dates to get truly intimate… Now he was ready. The two of your scrambled to his room and climbing onto his bed.

His fitted black turtleneck highlighted the contour of his muscles. His chest, his arms, his abs. Crossing one arm over the other, he pulled the shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the corner of the room.

“May I?” Hangyul grabbed the very end of your shirt, helping you to remove it once you gave him your approval. His eyes flitted from your face to your chest shyly.

“Beautiful…”

You granted Hangyul permission to touch you, impressed by how easily he reached around you and unhooked your bra. “Black lace,” Hangyul murmured. “You were hoping for this, huh?”

“Maybe…” Your face flushed red, subconsciously positioning yourself onto his lap and grinding absentmindedly. Hangyul flinched and let a whine fall from his lips. He’d expected to be sensitive after so much time but every movement set him on fire in a way he hadn’t felt for far too long.

“Gyul,” You sighed. “I hate to be impatient, but I’m so fucking wet and I think I might die if I don’t get you inside of me right now.”

He was quick to oblige, hopping up to rummage through the side table next to the couch. Placing a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube to the side, Hangyul invited you to undo his belt buckle. The sound of the metal clanking was like music to his ears. He removed his slacks, revealing his dick.

“Hey, who are you to tease me? You were commando under that!? Guess I wasn’t the only one who was hoping for this. “ You taunted, ridding yourself of your own pants.

Hangyul was quite big, thick and adorned with fine veins. He tore open one of the condom packs, rolling the rubber down his length slowly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hangyul cupped your check in his hand. You nodded eagerly, telling him you couldn’t possibly be more sure. You propped yourself up against the headboard and cushioned your back with a couple soft pillows.

Hangyul leaned over you, placed a kiss on your forehead, and helped you slide off your lace lined underwear. You spread your legs wide to allow Hangyul’s large form to fit between. Words of praise fell from his mouth haphazardly as he rubbed the tip of his cock through your folds. His brows furrowed at the sensation, using one hand to grope at your thigh.

“Are you ready, my love?”

“Mm, please.”

Hangyul poured a generous amount of lube onto both his cock and your pussy, allowing no chance of any painful friction. He pressed into you slowly to allow you both to adjust.

“Shit,” He grunted once he completely bottomed out. “So tight, baby, so warm.”

You whined, biting onto your hand to suppress your sounds. “You’re so big, please just fuck me.”

Hangyul started slowly, rolling his hips rhythmically back and forth. He let out a choked moan, nails digging into your thighs. His hips snapped against yours firmly, eventually locating the most sensitive area of you.

“Oh, fuck! Daddy-“

Hangyul stopped dead in his tracks, trying to process what he’d just heard. You frantically apologized, claiming you hadn’t meant to call him that way and praying he wouldn’t be freaked out.

Hangyul had never really heard or so much as considered the word in such a context. After all, it's what he was used to being called by his daughter who only recently stopped because she was “too cool” for it. Something was different when you said it, something that made him feel powerful.

“No, no,” Hangyul took a deep breath. “Say it again.”

“Oh, so Daddy likes it?” You smirked, yelping when he thrusted sharply into you.

“That's my girl.”

Despite the situation you'd found yourself in, the possessiveness behind his words almost made you feel shy. Hangyul leaned over you, propping himself up on one arm so he could look in your eyes, brushing the hair out of your face with the other. His eyes were dark, brimming with adoration, conveying a soft expression despite how he was slamming against your walls. You gave maintaining eye contact a valiant try but soon found yourself losing yourself to the pleasure, opting to clasp your hands on the back of his neck and kiss him instead.

A small sob escaped your throat, clenching tightly around Hangyul’s cock. “So full, fuck, want you in me forever.” Your quickening breath betrayed how close you were to coming undone.

“W-wait, off, take it off-” You cried and weakly attempted to push him off of you. Hangyul took the hint and pulled out, quickly discarding the condom and moving to press your legs up against your chest. His own legs over yours in a mating press.

“100% sure, baby?”

You nodded frantically and practically begged Hangyul to bury himself back into your pussy. The pace he took up was brutal, fast, and deep with his cock reaching places you hadn't felt before. Each filthy noise that accompanied every thrust pushed you both closer and closer to the edge.

“Please, Hangyul, fill me up- please, please, please,”

“Who? Who do you want to stuff your pretty little cunt with cum?”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, feeling far too good and far too spent. “You, Daddy, please breed me-”

In a few more aggressive thrusts your orgasm hit you like a truck, the tightness of every contraction sending Hangyul over the edge soon after. His grunts bordered on animalistic and in stark contrast to the filthy words spilling incoherently from his mouth, his motions were soft and loving, holding you flush against his chest as he pumped every last drop of his seed into you.

Coming down from your eyes, you both panted with exhaustion. Hangyul had nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and begun to leave light kisses along the expanse of skin.

Hangyul whispered sweet nothings into your ear, mumbling about how gorgeous you were, how much of an amazing mother you'd be, and accidentally confessing to just how much he loved you. Through your little gasps, you told him you loved him too and that if you were to carry anybody’s children you'd want them to be his.

Hangyul's eyes brimmed with tears, overwhelmed by the entire situation. When he went to pull out of you a noise of protest stopped him.

“No, stay, please, too good.”

Blinking away the tears that started to brim at his waterlines, Hangyul squeezed you tight as if you were going to evaporate.

“You… You're not gonna leave me after this, right…?”

“Of course not, silly, could never.”

A twinge of sadness caught your heart at his question, realizing his breakup had really affected him deeply. Unanimously agreeing you could clean up later, you drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, you still stuffed with Hangyul's cock and seed.

His heartbeat thudded rhythmically against his chest which only lulled you farther to dreamland, your last thoughts filled with joy at how you'd gotten so lucky to find someone like Hangyul and how much the future held.

[rawchae]

TEMPORARY PINNED

Hi! My name is Chae! This is @charredchae 's writing account.

dividers used: enchanthings , cafekitsune

The following groups I may write for (They are ordered by debut, I think)

STRAY KIDS

ITZY

STAYC

AESPA

This is only a fraction of what I can write. I have not yet look into which members and groups I will be mainly writing for. This vlog is open to requests for fluff and angst.

I have no confidence yet to write requested smut, however, this does not mean that the blog will not tackle so. Other contents unsuited for minors will be present.

Viewer discretion is advised.

[themareverine]

it's me, i'm not subtle

ੈ♡˳ 'the animal in the cage' - 18+ logan x gn!reader

summary: you return each week to watch the stranger in the cage, desire swirling in your mind. there's no way he'd ever look at you too. . . right? (830 words) tags: suggestive, set during the x1 cage fight scene, short one that might branch out, reader pov, reader is kind of obsessed with logan, for the 'cage-fight' prompt for logan promptober.

you return to the man in the cage every week, watching him from behind a glass, arriving a few minutes late this particular evening. you watch as his chiselled form moves with practiced ease, tight fist connecting with skin, his abdomen tensing with every blow while your mouth subconsciously waters in response.

he's like an animal, almost, in the way that he snarls and bares his teeth and prowls. his shoulders tense, eyes sharp, pacing the cage as though it were his own domain. and in a way it is, he owns it in his presence alone. the stage is his. and you lap it up from the audience, every. damn. time.

it's the same routine each week, albeit altered slightly for returning customers, but no one is as loyal to the show as you are. his number one fan. you watch as he's beaten to a pulp initially, before destroying his opponent in the second and third rounds.

he must plan it this way, must enjoy the feeling of pain. or perhaps he simply endures it for the sake of his identity. can't let them know he can take more than just a few punches.

you know what he is, a mutant. but that doesn't scare you. it excites you.

and so you watch from beyond the cage, safe in your little wooden seat as he prowls behind the metal, circling his prey.

it could be considered an obsession, but you'd prefer to label it a curiosity - a longing to know the beast in the ring. just how dangerous can he really be? is this just a means to an end? there's a sadness that flickers behind his eyes that tells you he craves more, something, anything more than this.

you know you could give him what he wants, or maybe that's your delusions talking. nevertheless, it doesn't stop you from fantasising each night, alone in bed. you find yourself calling his name in a desperate cry, gripping your sheets as you come undone, visions of him tangling in your feverish mind.

but his eyes never settle on you, not even once. his focus is sharp, mind steady and you find yourself pleading silently, willing his eyes to land on you just for a moment. you'd be content with that, you think, just for a second of his time.

yet it never comes.

you sigh as you find yourself at the bar, ordering another drink. perhaps it's time to give up the chase, give up. . . whatever this was. the situation has taught you nothing but how deprived and filthy you are - pining for the snarling beast in the cage who couldn't care less about the hopeless little bird on the other side. not worth the time. right. . .?

right.

rising from your seat, you head for the door, pulling your jacket around your shoulders in preparation for the winter chill. the air hits you like a truck, shivering on impact.

"i've seen you, y'know-"

you freeze in place at the voice.

"watching me. . ."

the voice purrs from your left, fire blazing in your cheeks as you attempt to calm your breathing in the hopes he won't notice. but it's too late, it's already painfully obvious how it puffs out quickly in small, light clouds in the icy atmosphere. you're almost too easy to read.

his gaze flits up and down your form, taking you in as your head turns, meeting his dark and soulful eyes. you swear you feel your heart stop as his eyes finally land on you. it's just you, and the animal from inside the cage, out here in the cold open air. there's no metal to separate you now.

"you're not as subtle as you'd like to think," he mumbles, stuffing a cigar between his lips. you watch on in awe, tongue instinctively swiping across your lips. you're hungry, hungry enough to ignore the insult he just threw your way.

there's a pause as he lights his cigar, tension so thick you can almost taste it. it tastes good. so good. almost as good as all those sinful thoughts begging to be acted upon inside your mind.

the silence envelops you, makes you feel like you can't breathe. you want to say something, anything to defend yourself. 'i'm not usually like this', or 'it's not what you think', some bullshit excuse like that. but no words come, just the pounding of your heart in your ears as you stare at him before you.

then his lips part once more, you're sure he's going to tell you to get lost, curse you out.

"see you next week, don't be late this time." is all he says, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts as your eyes watch the trail of large bootprints he leaves in the freshly fallen snow.

so wrapped up in your own head, in your daydreams that you failed to notice the animal inside the cage. . . had been watching you, too.

[restlessmaknae]

dating (hypothetically)

One helpful act on a stranger’s part leads to a headline article the next day, and in 24 hours, your whole life takes a turn when the stranger is revealed to be the heartthrob rocker, Cho Seungyoun.

➳ Characters: solo rock singer!Seungyoun x female reader/you

➳ Genre: comedy, fluff, showbiz au

➳ Words: 7.3k

➳ Warning: mentions of paparazzi, crazy fans and therapy

➳ A/N: Dedicated to @lily-blue

➳ WOODZ taglist: @dat-town

➳ Check out: my WOODZ masterlist

Straight out of a kdrama: WOODZ is pulling his alleged girlfriend out of harm in new pictures

One of today’s hottest items, Cho Seungyoun (also known by his stage name WOODZ) was seen in a rather intimate position with his alleged girlfriend on 20th May at around 9pm in Sogong-dong. In the pictures, we can clearly see the heartthrob rocker and a mysterious young lady talking in front of a 7-Eleven store, the girl reaching something out to him, then the multitalented singer-songwriter pulling her towards him - out of harm as a motorbike is seen passing by. The close scene is making fans swoon worldwide as it looks like a scene straight out of a kdrama.

However, some fans expressed their disappointment that their favourite singer is seen around a young lady as he has not announced that he was taken. On top of that, just a month before the incident, WOODZ was quick to reassure fans at his latest fansign that he was single, and went on to explain that his songs were mostly about searching for one’s self-identity, telling his haters off and raging about today’s society because he did not have a lot of experience in love.

Meanwhile, WOODZ debuted as a solo rock singer in 2021, and is one of the emerging artists of today’s music scene in South Korea, shaking up the hearts of young girls with his aesthetic and high-energy MVs, head bobbing songs and even his not so secret tattoos (which you can see in this previous article).

Check out the pictures of WOODZ and his alleged girlfriend below!

What do you think about the news? Are you happy for WOODZ and his alleged girlfriend?

Most of the time, you would not read such articles. You didn’t care about celebrities’ rumours, you watched their movies, shows and listened to their music, but you couldn’t care less about whom they dated and whom they didn’t. You knew that it was usually fake either way, or if it was actually true, then it was disgusting that paparazzis could put pictures up on the Internet, and the celebrities in question would be the ones receiving all the hate, not the ones who took the pictures without the others’ consent.

However, now, you were the one involved, you were the one seen in the pictures, and given the location, given the unmistakably hanging 7 on the sign behind you, anyone who frequented this particular area knew that it was this specific 7-Eleven, not somewhere else. Your boss had been meaning to fix the hanging 7 that was pretty much a safety hazard now, but to your luck, it was caught on camera just like your work outfit and your dyed blue-black hair even if your face was blurred out. Anyone who could put two and two together would know that you were working here, not just being here on a casual date with this so-called heartthrob at 9pm.

“This is just unbelievable, who do they think they are?” You exclaimed angrily as you tossed the phone showing the article back to your co-worker, Yohan. He was the one who had brought up if you had seen the article published early in the morning after you had asked him why there were more people here than usual, and why they were giving you odd glances. So while Minhee was taking over the counter, you and Yohan were in the staff room, away from the curious eyes. Who knew when paparazzi would show up here at this rate?

“I thought the same. You and a rock singer dating? Please,” the younger boy huffed as if he had any right to talk about your non-existent love life like that when he himself wasn’t any better. When a pretty girl showed up at the counter, he basically malfunctioned. He could only be bratty to girls who treated him like a younger brother - yourself included.

“We are not dating. I was just giving his wallet back because he had left it on the table inside the store, then he thanked me for it, and then, the motorbike guy came, and yes, he did pull me towards him, but it was anything but romantic. I felt so awkward, I wanted the ground to swallow me up.”

“But why? You are the one who always complains that chivalry is dead!” Yohan pointed out with a raise of his eyebrows, and you had to give it to him that he was right.

“I don’t know, it was just… weird. He’s practically a stranger!” You reasoned as you leaned onto the shelf with the uniforms, your head throbbing ever since you had laid your eyes on the article. This could not be happening… This had to be a dream… You were the most ordinary person on Earth, why did you have to get caught up in a dating rumour with a rock singer?

“So you didn’t even exchange numbers that would mean you could contact him now?” Yohan broke the momentary silence, his face pondering. You, on the other hand, gave him a deadly glare as if he had asked if you had killed a person.

“No, of course not. I’ve told you there’s nothing between us.”

“It’s not too good then. How are you going to discuss what to do about the whole situation?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if celebrities discuss these things when they are rumoured to be with common people,” you reasoned, letting out a huff of air at the end of your answer. You ran a hand through your hair, not caring about the mess you would leave behind because it was a mess either way. Not just your hair but the whole situation.

As if it could get any worse, the door of the staff room flung open, and your manager walked in with his hands on his hips.

“Would anyone mind telling me why people are asking ME if the girlfriend of a certain singer is working here? And by anyone, I mean you,” he said as he pointed at you. Oh, come on, could this get any worse?

“Look, there’s nothing going on between me and that certain singer, I swear. I just went after him last night because he left his wallet behind. That’s all.”

You tried with your most confident tone and your most convincing puppy eyes, but you should have known that didn’t work on your manager. He wasn’t a bad manager, if anything, he was a reasonable boss. However, what he hated the most was drama, and if anyone caused trouble, he would go absolutely feral. Good thing that he hadn’t yet done so.

“This is still not good. People are flooding the store, and they don’t even buy anything. How did they even know it’s our store?”

“It’s because of the hanging 7 above the door,” Yohan chirped in, and even though he wanted to be helpful, it didn’t work because your boss just became even angrier.

“Fine, then I’ll fix the sign now, and you should take the day off while we figure out how to keep the peace of our store.”

“But-” You tried to protest, but your boss didn’t let you, and told you firmly to take the day off. He even mentioned that you should try to dye back your hair in case that would help with people not recognising you around here, and whilst it was reasonable on his part, you felt like a child being reprimanded for something you hadn’t even committed.

May it be your fury or the fact that you had the whole day to yourself afterwards, but you had a plan: if you didn’t know how to contact that so-called singer, you should find out where his agency was, and maybe, they would help you settle the case if you were cooperative.

Or so you hoped.

When you let Yohan know about your plan before leaving the store, he insisted on accompanying you. He came up with sillier and sillier answers as to why (what if crazy fans would flock you? What if someone would throw eggs at you? What if they wanted to throw you out of the agency when they got to know why you were there?), so you told him you would wait until the end of his shift, and then you can go together. In the meantime, you looked up this so-called WOODZ’s agency - it was his own agency according to the articles which made everything more and less intimidating at the same time -, and spiralled down into the hellhole of the internet, seeing too many versions of the story of last night, but none of them were true. Some even went as far as to say that you had been kissing after this singer had pulled you closer to him, and one commenter even said that she saw you leaving the store with the celebrity. Absolute nonsense, absolute bonkers. If you hated gossip before, now you absolutely detested it.

Getting inside the agency was no big deal as it seemed that there was an exhibition part of the building about the artist’s life that fans could visit, but getting through the receptionist to talk to Cho Seungyoun himself was more difficult.

“We can’t just let anyone inside that says that they are the girl in the articles.”

“Do you think I would come here for fun if I wasn’t that girl?” You counter-attacked the receptionist dude who couldn’t let you in for safety reasons which you could understand, but still, his explanations were getting on your nerves.

“Crazy fans do exist,” Yohan blurted out absent-mindedly beside you, totally not helping the situation. You gave him a deadly side-eye before turning back to the receptionist.

“Do they even dye their hair to the colour of my hair?” You threw the question at the dude behind the desk, then threw your hands up in the air out of frustration. “Then, what can I do to meet him? Can’t you just tell him that I’m here, and he can see for himself whether it’s me or not, then problem solved,” you suggested as your last piece of hope, and that seemed to spark something in him.

He gave you one long stare before picking up the phone and calling someone (hopefully the so-called heartthrob), then randomly took a photo of you, and when you asked what it was for, he explained that it was for identification to send to Mr Cho as he called the artist. Yohan mumbled something along the lines of ‘how cool’, and before you knew it, you were given a visitor’s pass, and told to go to the fifth floor.

“And what about me?” Yohan puckered his lips at the receptionist who seemed to be on the edge already.

“And who would you be?”

“Her colleague. Her emotional support colleague who wants to make sure that she’s treated right,” he answered all too seriously, and if you didn’t know him, you would say that he was overreacting, but you knew that he could be very adamant when it was about people who were close to him.

You two had been on good terms ever since he had started working at the convenience store and given that you were older and had worked there already, you had been the one to show him the ropes, and you had developed this sibling kind of relationship quickly. He and Minhee could talk about all the boyish topics they wanted while you gave him life advice when he needed it and got him out of trouble when he messed up an invoice or clumsily broke something.

“Fine. But no pictures or videos, either of you,” the dude warned you both before giving out a visitor pass to the younger boy as well who giddily followed you through the gates, and eventually to the fifth floor.

As soon as you stepped out, there was a 30-something guy waiting for you two who introduced himself as Han Seungwoo, WOODZ’s manager. Then, he led you to a meeting room after a few empty corners, and when you stepped inside, the rock singer was already there, looking up from a bunch of documents when you stepped inside.

Last night, the singer had been wearing a casual grey hoodie, similarly plain sweatpants and no make-up. He had looked like your typical boy-next-door, although he was far from a young boy now, and you had no handsome neighbours like him. Even though you would have wanted to deny, you couldn’t deny that he was attractive, not in a pushy way, not in an overwhelming way, but there was a certain degree of boyishness mixed in with his muscular features, and he just looked nice, even as a casual visitor last night.

Now though in a chic white shirt pulled up until his elbows, sliced back hair, slight dark make-up, he did look extra fine. Damn it, it would have been easier to shout his head off (to find a solution to the problem at hand, of course) if he hadn’t looked like that.

He stood up, bowed at you two before signalling to the chairs on the other side of the table.

“Good afternoon! Please, take a seat,” he greeted you two politely, and you exchanged a glance with Yohan beside you. Was he always extra nice, or was it because he didn’t want you to get more frustrated because he believed that you weren’t in the best mood? Either way, he was like a real gentleman, and even his voice was gentle (was a rock singer allowed to have such a gentle voice?) as he introduced himself officially while all of you were taking a seat at the table.

The artist’s manager sat beside Seungyoun himself (he mentioned that he preferred his real name, not his stage name) while you and Yohan were on the other side, introducing yourself quite clumsily, to be honest. However, Seungyoun didn’t give you an odd glance when Yohan introduced himself as your little brother-like colleague who was definitely not your boyfriend before he wanted to know.

“Well, thank you for the information,” Seungyoun chuckled hearing the younger boy’s words, and his eyes turned into little crescents as he was laughing. That was really cute or something, but you weren’t here for that. You were here to get out of this mess.

“So uhm… I don’t know how people do this usually, but can’t you release an article saying that there’s nothing between us, and explain what happened exactly? It’s giving me a hard time at work, people are flooding the store and asking questions. My manager is also quite agitated,” you explained in one-go, hoping that all this newfound information will make him empathise with you enough to agree to your plan.

There was a few seconds of silence when Seungyoun and his manager exchanged a glance, and you felt your heartbeat picking up its pace. What if they thought you were crazy? What if they didn’t want to stir up even bigger of a mess? Such thoughts crossed your mind, but the casual way they gave in eased your worries.

“There’s no guarantee that the public would believe you two, but we can try with an official release on the agency’s side,” the manager articulated solemnly, and you nodded immediately, knowing all too well that the public could think whatever they wanted despite the truth being far from the situation.

So you got started on putting together a statement, and since you were already there, Seungyoun wanted you to have a say in this. Not because he didn’t remember what had happened the night before (you couldn’t have wiped the memory from your mind even if you had wanted to), but because he wanted your consent as to what they would put out. Yohan nudged you in the side hearing that, and you mouthed a why, but he just gave you a smug, boyish grin in return. What was he up to, jeez?

The statement took longer than you would have thought so, and Yohan got so bored in the meantime that he started scrolling on his phone. Thank god he did though because another mess was on its way, it seemed.

“Oh… Ooohh… This is not good,” he vocalised while you were doing the finishing touches on the text, and all eyes were on him now. He pushed his phone to the middle of the table, an anonymous post with the title ‘WOODZ’s alleged girlfriend is seen at the artist’s agency' open on it. You immediately snatched the phone and scrolled down to read what they had to say.

“I saw WOODZ’s alleged girlfriend entering the boy’s agency earlier today, about an hour ago. She was seen with another guy who seemed like her brother or something… Either way, here are the photos I’ve taken… You can clearly see that it’s her, and now we can be even more sure that he’s dating her,” you quoted from the post, your mouth hanging agape at the end as you looked at the photos taken of you and Yohan entering the building. Even though you both had masks on, your dyed hair was still the same, and it seemed that it was enough for the eagle-eyed fan to spot you and make it into an announcement.

You felt like the ground opened up beneath you. Just how… Why… How did this even happen? How could showbiz be like this? When the rumours and drama were far away from you in magazines and on online boards, it did seem bad, but not this bad when you were directly the target of these rumours. It was one thing that you had gotten swirled up in one rumour, but to be caught up in another one? Sure, you could have been more careful when you had entered the building, but should you be paranoid from now on?

“I think at this point it would be easier if you two just… dated,” Yohan blurted out casually, and you felt your eyes widen as you gave him a glare.

“He has a point,” Seungyoun’s manager, Seungwoo, voiced out his opinion as well, and given the singer’s solemn face and lack of response, you had a feeling that he felt the same way.

“That does not solve the problem of me not being able to work because of what’s happening at the store.”

“You can work here. We have some vacancies,” the rock singer suggested seriously, his eyes boring into yours. You could tell that he was being genuine, and since he was the CEO of his own company, he could make it work, but still…

“Wouldn’t that make everything worse?”

“Well, that depends on how you see it. If you work here, we can give you a piece of mind as no one will bother you here. You can also come in from the back or from the garage which are for staff only, not through the main entrance which is for the general public. We can also appoint you a security guard if you would like to. It’s my company, so we could also make adjustments as you see fit. You wouldn’t need to feel like you inconvenience anyone because this is what we do here, that’s our job,” he announced confidently as if he had practised it already. Maybe it wasn’t a surprise that he could lead his own company, he seemed to take everything into consideration while speaking eloquently about a matter.

“We can’t do that elsewhere, but I also understand that you have your own job, your own goals, your friends and colleagues there, so it might not be your first choice,” he added a bit belatedly when you still didn’t speak up. He kept the eye-contact with you, but that just made everything worse because you wanted to believe him. You felt like you could believe him when he looked at you like that, but it was still so sudden, so new and so… scary.

“I… I think I need a bit more time to think about this,” you concluded when you found your voice, and the artist and his manager both nodded.

Seungyoun asked his manager to give you a pass if you needed to come by in the future, you also exchanged contacts, and you also decided to drop posting the official announcement for now. The singer told you to contact him anytime you felt like you needed it because of the situation, and before you would have left, he even apologised for the trouble.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t change the fact that you are a celebrity,” you responded out of empathy, and you saw hurt flash across his orbs, but you didn’t want to ask about it. You were sure that he had his fair share of hardships while being in the spotlight even without articles being written about him.

Maybe he was going through one right now as well.

Working at Seungyoun’s agency seemed like the most reasonable choice given the circumstances, but it took you a whole bunch of supposedly helpful things - such as writing a pros and cons list - and totally unhelpful things - such as tossing and turning in bed at night for two days in a row to make that decision. In the meantime, you went to dye your hair to black and cut it jaw-length short - shorter than it had ever been - so as to at least confuse the paparazzi or fans if they passed you by or came by the store. You still got odd glances, but at least you could have some peace of mind before leaving the store - and your lovely coworkers - behind. Your manager let you quit immediately given the circumstances, and Seungyoun let you join a few days later when you felt ready and had enough of being scooped up at home. You were more nervous about going outside when you were alone at home than when you were actually outside.

It didn’t mean that it wasn’t scary, but they were really nice at the company, and apart from Seungwoo, the artist’s manager, and Wooseok, the receptionist (you got to know his name later on), no one knew who you actually were, which was a relief. You had your own pass, your own duties as an assistant in the production office, and since you were a newbie (and that’s how you had been introduced to everyone on the first day), no one looked at you weird or deemed you incapable. They showed you the ropes, and soon enough, you were sucked into the world of album production, concept making, marketing plans and merchandise distribution. In the meantime, the rumours died down a bit though it didn’t mean that you were 100% rid of your fears and slight paranoia whenever you stepped outside.

Seungyoun, on the other hand, was kind and polite like the first time you met him - to be precise, the second time, but the first one at his company -, and when you bumped into each other in the corridor, he frequently halted to ask how you were doing and what you were up to. He did that with other employees as well, so you weren’t an exception, but it felt nice that he cared nevertheless. Especially because you knew that he was super busy recording for a new album, and he had his own company to run, so he had a lot to do.

You did look him up in the meantime, listening to some of his songs, and actually found yourself growing fond of his own style, especially when you felt like you could conquer the world while listening to a few of his angriest songs (they were great for singing in the shower when the stress got to you).

However, you didn’t really look up his stages and such, so when you were in a meeting to decide on his outfits for his next comeback and they were showing old press and stage photos and even videos of past performances, you were taken aback to see more revealing clothes on him such as sleeveless shirts, blazers without anything underneath and tank tops. You hoped that no one noticed that you were visibly shocked because you sure were. Seeing him in his usual cardigan and cotton pants combo or elegant, usually loose shirts were common, but seeing him like that on stage… well, that made you feel a bit uneasy because he seemed to know the power he had on his fans.

Days went by, the comeback was closer, and days got longer as everyone prepared extra hard. So after a long day when you wanted to have some time to yourself before leaving for home and joining the hustle-bustle of the commuting city centre, you went up to the rooftop of the company building. You looked at the buzzing city beneath you with all its sparkling city lights while taking a few sips from your carbonated drink and trying to ease the headache that was creeping onto you.

However, when the door to the rooftop flung open, and Seungyoun himself walked out, you felt uncharacteristically bashful as if you had been caught red-handed being here. It was common for colleagues to come up here during breaks, you just happened to be here on your own now. Well, he didn’t seem to mind your presence either, just asked if he could join you.

“Sure. It’s your company after all,” you told him semi-jokingly, and he reciprocated your smile as he stepped beside you, leaning onto the rail just like you did. He had a really charming smile, you had to admit, and it was lovely when his eyes turned into little crescents because he was someone who had that typical cute eye smile that could make girls swoon.

“Sometimes I still find it hard to believe that it’s mine,” he admitted as he looked at the city. You had read that he had been writing and producing songs, even being a back-up vocalist for a lot of acclaimed artists before creating his own company and debuting as a solo artist. You didn't know before that people could be paid a lot from royalties, but he sure had his name on a lot of different artists’ songs, and he had also been working part-time before becoming a full-time musician. So he had absolutely worked hard for it, that was one for certain.

“Is it better or worse to have your own company?”

“In a lot of aspects, I think it’s better because I have a lot more freedom, I have a lot more say in my artistic direction, but on the other hand, if I get into a scandal or my sales go down, the whole company could suffer the consequences including the trainees and solo artists that are here now,” he concluded as eloquently as always, and you couldn’t help but think of the dating rumour that you two had been a part of.

“I’m sorry that-”

“You don’t need to be sorry for that. I didn’t mention the scandals because of that,” Seungyoun cut you off before you could immediately go full-on regretful mode. Then, he gave you a soft, gentle smile, and continued slowly yet confidently. “Part of being in this industry is about dealing with the rumours and groundless accusations. They are pretty much inevitable, so one needs to work on themselves to withstand it. I also did that through counselling, and I still see a psychologist from time to time. They’ve helped me a lot at the beginning of my career, and it’s good to have those sessions to clear my mind and give space to more important thoughts and ideas.”

You heard of the free psychological consultation artists, trainees and employees under the company could sign up for, and you applauded Seungyoun for the initiative and also for speaking up about the matter. It must not be easy for him with the stigma around mental health in the industry, but that was just one more reason you looked up to him.

Since he shared something more vulnerable about himself, you decided to do the same. So after a long breath, you shared with him that you had also seen a psychologist when you hadn’t gotten into university upon graduation, and you had believed that all of your dreams had been crashed and taken away from you. It had been such a dark time for you, something that you didn’t like talking about, but it led you to start working at the 7-Eleven and make friends with your colleagues - something that you had never taken for granted afterwards.

“What would you have wanted to become? If you don’t mind sharing,” he inquired after sharing your sentiment that reaching out to a professional in times of need isn’t unnecessary, but rather brave.

“You’re going to laugh-” You started tentatively as the young man turned towards you to give you a semi-offended glare.

“I won’t, I promise.”

He looked at you like a puppy that was waiting for a treat, eyes all shiny and bright under the dim lights around, and after a long sigh, you gave him your answer.

“I wanted to be a journalist. Not the gossip magazine type, but maybe writing about hidden gems in Seoul, travel content and interviewing people about their life stories.”

When you finished, there was a moment of silence before the boy erupted into laughter. You almost threw hands at him because he had promised not to laugh, but before you could do so, he justified his action, still giggling.

“I thought you would say something like… I don’t know… astrophilosophy, and that’s why you said I would laugh.”

“What? Would you have laughed if I had told you so?” You raised a challenging eyebrow, but in the next moment, you also found yourself laughing along with him.

Gosh, it seemed so easy to be around him like this, it almost seemed easy to imagine that it could always be like this with him despite you two having quite a bit of a history yourselves. You didn’t even want to think about the what ifs regarding your future, you just enjoyed this moment and the conversation you were having.

You didn’t know just how crazy a comeback season could be until you found yourself in one, but it was super busy, everyone was doing a lot of work, and although you were only an assistant, not the ones actually making decisions and tracking sales and engagement, you were always on the go as well. It kept your mind occupied, so you didn’t have to worry about your paranoid thoughts that actually easened a bit once Seungyoun made his comeback and mentioned that the truth wasn’t what was written in those articles once asked about it at a fansign.

He didn’t outright deny anything, he shared only this much, and asked fans to understand that if he didn’t come out with a story on his own, it was to protect the privacy of the person involved (aka you), and he wanted to be as considerate as possible in such an intrusive situation as it was. It seemed to calm the nerves of the fans, and since the boy didn’t post anything suspicious on social media or said anything that could indicate more, the rumours died down. Seungyoun even won at music shows and his album sales were solid, so the rumour didn’t seem to affect his comeback (thank god).

Yohan was having the time of his life in the meantime though, watching variety shows of Seungyoun during his breaks at work because he was loving the idea that you were now working for the singer (he said it was like a fanfic coming true). Instead of you, now he had Minhee and Hyeongjun - the new employee to replace you - to chat to, and as quiet as Minhee was, Hyeongjun was a chatterbox, so these three really gave you a headache with all their questions in the groupchat Yohan made for you all. Somehow it seemed that you adopted these boys as little brothers, and they were living their best life being your adopted siblings.

Thankfully, your parents were also reassured that even though you changed jobs so quickly, you managed the new tasks and responsibilities well, and despite them not having heard of your rumour before, you came clear to them, and explained everything. As expected, they believed you over the rumours and were extremely happy to see that the singer protected your privacy, yet stood up for you (and himself as well).

However, even with a pretty successful comeback season ending, work didn’t stop, and it was true for you and Seungyoun as well. You needed to ask him about some materials, but when you asked his manager, he told you to check his office first. The singer wasn’t there, so Seungwoo suggested his studio.

As you got closer to his recording studio, you could already hear an unfamiliar melody in the hallway. Not that you had listened to all of his songs (okay, maybe you had done so a few times), but you knew most of his songs, so you guessed that he wasn’t practising but rather working on new songs. You decided to ask about it once you knocked on the door and he let you in.

“Are you working on a new song?”

“Yeah, work never stops, and it’s good when inspiration hits,” he explained as he looked up from his keyboard, a weary albeit gentle smile playing on his lips. Even though you were here to ask a work-related question, you couldn’t help but pry a bit. You knew that he was always so enthusiastic to talk about his music to anyone, so you hoped he wouldn’t mind.

“It sounded a bit different from what you usually put out. Are you venturing into something new?” You quirked an eyebrow, curious and genuine as usual. He dropped a shy smile, scratching the back of his neck as if he was unsure what to call this new song.

“I want to, but I’m just experimenting for now,” he reasoned almost timidly, and this was the side of him that you usually didn’t see in a work setting. You saw clips of him being shy when fans complimented him or when other musicians called him their role model, but he was usually this confident, ever-so-ready-to-take-on-the-world kind of artist and CEO at the company, so it was rare to see him in such a state. 

“Do you want to have a listen?” Seungyoun inquired as he kept the eye-contact. There was no challenge in his eyes, no fear, no pressure… He was just there, suggesting something that you didn’t know whether he suggested to a lot of people, but you didn’t have any reason to say no.

So you took a seat beside him while he was clicking something on his computer, then the first few accords of the song started slowly, calmly. It was like walking on the beach, by the ocean, reminiscing about the past while getting lost in the crystal clear water peacefully reaching for the sand under your feet. Then, the song gradually picked up its pace, and the waves started crashing down on the shore, unpredictable and hard, like a sudden rainpour that brings heavy winds, dark clouds and unforgiven rain.

The song went back to a more tranquil pace after the first chorus, but the waves hit again at the second chorus, and the water kept coming and coming through the bridge, and with one last burst of rage, it came to an end.

You felt like the air was sucked out of your lungs when it ended, the song felt so personal and raw. Just like how in those movies, you see all these flashbacks while the character is rushing to turn their life around, this is how you felt when you were listening to this song, and when it ended, it seemed like there was an intersection where you could choose where to go, what to take away with you.

“Wow… that was… amazing,” you jumbled the first words that came to your mind because truly, you were very positively taken aback.

“Did you really like it? You can be honest-”

“I really liked it. It was really heartbreaking though…” You admitted as you turned your head to look at the singer. When he was all scooped up like this, many empty water bottles on his desk, bright, wide eyes waiting for your answer, he seemed more like a school kid hoping that you liked the idea he had or the small thing he had put together than the CEO of this very company.

However, there must have been a reason he let you listen to this song, and even though you could have easily dodged the question, you decided to ask about it.

“Was it inspired by real life? You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t comfortable…”

“Yeah, it was,” he told you directly, cutting you off. There were a lot of instances when you could feel the emotion in a singer’s voice, and Seungyoun’s song had to be the prime example of that. It was like he was bleeding through the syllables, that’s why you had such a gut feeling. 

You didn’t even want to push for more because he seemed to be zoning out after his answer, but a few seconds later, he started sharing the story behind the song.

“I had a relationship before I became a solo singer, and part of why she left me was because of me potentially becoming famous. We kept getting into arguments, and I knew I couldn’t ask her to stay because I understood a part of her reasoning, but after a while, she always found something to nitpick, and nothing I did seemed to please her. It just got messy, and I didn’t really write love songs because it was difficult not to be reminded of the whole experience. But now the inspiration just hit and this song was born in three days,” he shared without batting an eye.

The more he talked, the more your heart churned, and you wondered if it were to ever be released, how would this particular girl react to it. Seungyoun wrote in the song that he was madly in love, but he was tired of the arguments, and how she always left him first, leaving him behind, bleeding and badly hurt. It might have been even messier than you could have imagined.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled tentatively, though you wished you could have said more, said something better. You knew that relationships could be messy, but hearing about someone’s experience who was this gentle and who had such a big heart, you had this feeling that you wanted him to have the best possible relationship he could have. You wanted to see him happy, you wanted to hear his love songs that were more joyful. Was that weird?

Seungyoun’s raspy voice was the one that brought you back to reality.

“I just don’t know if I can ever ask anyone to give up a part of their privacy to be with me,” he shared like a sorrowful plea, and this time, you didn’t need to search for the words. You were ready to give him your point of view.

“Look, you made it happen in my case as well. I think you’ll be able to work it out if both parties want to.”

“Would you really let it?” Seungyoun inquired, and you didn’t have to ask him to specify what he meant. You knew that he was asking about you agreeing to a public relationship, and given that you had that experience or semi-experience, you knew that it was both easier and more complicated than one would think. Yet, it wasn’t the idea that surprised you, it was the way he asked about it. As if he was asking about it in your case as well. As if he was asking about it because…

“Like hypothetically, of course…” He added belatedly when he saw you gaping at him like a fish, unable to blurt out any coherent words.

“Of course…”

“If we actually dated, would you really be willing to give up a part of your privacy for me?” Seungyoun asked head-on, and though you were dancing along the lines of the hypothetical-not so hypothetical question, your heart was bouncing like crazy.

“Yes. You’re a great person and you deserve it. I mean, if hypothetically I was in love with you, I would feel that even more intensively. It might not work out, but at least I would want to give it a try,” you confessed straightforwardly, each and every one of your words genuine. From what you had seen and what you had experienced beside Seungyoun, you had a feeling that he would be the most caring, most considerate boyfriend who would want to do nothing but protect and cherish his significant other, and even just the thought of it sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

His lips blossomed into a coy, yet joyous smile, and you had to look away for a few seconds to be able to think straight. Afterwards, you tried to divert the topic to the actual question you had come here to ask regarding work, but even after you dealt with that and left his studio, you had this fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

Oh boy, were you in love?

You didn’t mean to, but somehow you blurted out what you had talked about with Seungyoun regarding you two hypothetically dating, and Hyeongjun went crazy in the groupchat. He said that it was a sure sign the singer was in love with you, but you shrugged off his words.

Nevertheless, the more you tried to pay attention to Seungyoun’s actions towards you, the more you realised that despite him being a very polite person in general, he wasn’t like that to other employees; he didn’t get them their favourite brand of fruit juice at the end of long days, he didn’t have hour-long conversations with them on the rooftop of the agency, he didn’t share more and more songs with them in his studio after working hours, he didn’t offer them to give them a ride home, and he most definitely didn’t fall asleep on their shoulder once he pulled an all-nighter in his studio and was tired the next day.

On the other hand, with him, it wasn’t like crashing and burning, it was a gradual landing, not an instant fall. You both needed time to open up, to be more sure about the other’s intentions and feelings, and slowly yet surely, you walked towards the same direction. There was no grande scene either when you confessed, it was just like any other day, it was just like any other recording studio session when he showed you one of his songs, and somewhere along the lines, he admitted that his question wasn’t about hypothetically dating, and you admitted that you knew.

Afterwards, you were both smiles and giggles, and nothing really changed, except that there was an even more peaceful air around you two. Apart from that, everything was the same, you still kept things professional during working hours, but one thing was for sure: at least you could tell Hyeongjun that he was right: Seungyoun’s question wasn’t actually about hypothetically dating.

You didn’t even mind though.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for WOODZ or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

[lostalioth]

𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡

→ premise: logan was obsessed, he was from the moment he met you. he didn’t get crushes, but you’ve turned the big bad wolverine into a depraved puppy and he’s had enough.

→ pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

→ warnings: 2k words, smut | 18+, obsession [not dark, just like a big crush, idk how to actually write obsession well], belly bulge, unprotected sex, nicknames [baby, princess, pretty girl], creampie, I visualized like x1-3 logan when writing but you can imagine whichever logan era.

→ a/n: kinktober 09

Logan was utterly obsessed, entranced by your entire being. If he didn’t already know what your mutation was, he'd swear you were a witch that cast a love spell on him so he goes starry eyed and dulcet when you walk in a room. He wasn't the kind of man to get crushes, he did one night stands to satiate his needs and yet now he can't bring himself to want anybody but you.

You and your pretty eyes that sparkle when you look at him and flutter your eyelashes to get what you want. You and your tendency to brush against him or run your hand down his arm when you walk around him making his brain go fuzzy and getting him all flustered. The whole team could see how smitten and enthralled he was with you, mocking him and calling him a love sick puppy especially when you go away on mission and he mopes around the mansion. He’s had enough of the little flirting back and forth and nothing coming of it, he was desperate for you and his crush was only getting stronger as the months went on.

You had just gotten back from a short mission with Storm and Jean when before you could even say hi to everybody Logan is grabbing your hand and pulling you away down the hall. “eh- hey! Lo slow down” you squeal out as he drags you along behind him, heart racing at the feeling of his fingers intertwined with your own. The nickname you've resorted to calling him as the two of you have gotten closer makes his ears ring. He loved when you called him Lo you were the only one allowed to, anybody else who tired got glared at.

“Need to talk to ya’ now, right now” he grumbled out, his signature, you swore permanent grumpy scowl plastered on his face. He continues to tug you down the long hall towards your bedroom. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion at where he's taking you. Pushing open your door, he turns around and yanks you inside. Shutting the door, his body now facing you. His grip on your hand is still tight, he didnt wanna let go especially not when you haven't said anything about the fact he’s practically holding your hand.

“What is it? Is everything okay Lo?” You question in that sweet concerned voice you give him when he tells you he didn't sleep well because of another nightmare. “Do you want me?” He blurts out so fast the words practically blend together. You think you hear his question and it makes your head spin in more confusion but you needed him to repeat it. “What’d you say” you question as your gaze stays fixed on Logan, his own glued to your face watching for reactions. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves he starts again “Do you want me?” He questions in a slower softer tone.

Now your head really was spinning and slick settled in your core at his wording, he wasn't asking if you liked him, no he was asking if you WANTED him. your eyes that were on him are now darting around the room like it's the most fascinating thing. Through the fogginess of your brain all you can manage to eat out is a “What..?”

Pushing forward Logan backs your body up against your shut bedroom door, his frame looming over you and blocking you in. The hand that is not entangled with yours comes up to your chin to grab it and make you look at him. “Do. You. Want. Me? I'm not repeatin’ myself again pretty girl” he growls out, punching out each word of his question. He was losing his patience especially after the sweet scent of your arousal fills his nostrils and makes his cock twitch. “Cause i want you princess, have wanted you for fuckin’ months. And it's killing me, you’re killin’ me pretty girl” he groans out in frustration.

“Do you even know what you do to me? What my crush on you is doin’ to me princess? All our flirting and lingering looks, everybody always mocking me for how I act round you” he continues to ramble on, pulling your face closer to his as he waits on an answer to at least one of his questions.

“Yes..i want you Lo” you mumble out breathlessly and low. A big lopsided smirk spreads on Logan’s face as your words register in his head. “What was that baby?” He teases, needing you to repeat it just so he can hear it again.

“I want you Logan, really fucking bad” you whine out as your core aches for attention, your hips gravitate towards his to push against him. “Shit- fuck it” he groans out and grabs ahold of your waist and crashes his lips agaisnt yours, he knew the two of you should’ve gone back to the team. You needed to give Charles a debrief of the mission but Logan could care less at the moment. You kiss him with the same amount of passion and fever as your arms wrap around his neck pressing your chest to his. You hum and moan into the kiss sending vibrations through Logan’s body and straight to his confined cock that was begging to be released. “Jump and wrap ya’ legs around me baby” he instructed, his words mumbled against your lips but clear enough for you to understand. Jumping up a bit, Logan catches you by grabbing onto your ass as your legs wrapped around his waist. “Atta girl princess” you smile against his lips at the praise while he walks the two of you over to your plush bed.

Laying you down on your back, he keeps his body between your spread thighs as his mouth pulls away from yours and drifts down to kiss at your neck. His hard cock pressed right up against your leaking cunt in this position, his large hands rubbing and groping all over your body. Running over your hips and waist, palming over your tits and grabbing at your ass, anywhere his hands can reach, indulging in the fact you're allowing him to touch you like this. “Mhmm Lo, baby please i need you” you whine out and buck your hips against his, grinding your core against his bulge. “Yeah? Whatcha need baby? Huh princess? Use your words” he doesnt pull away from your neck, continuously kissing it and along your collarbones and chest as you were wearing a low cut top, even sucking and biting at your skin to form hickeys.

”Need you, need you to fuck me Lo please” you whimper out and tug at the wasit band of his jeans as well as push up at his white tank top. “Yeah i can do that baby fuck” he grunts out and sucks in a breath, a shiver going down his back when you strach at his lower stomach and happy trail. The feeling of your hands on his bare skin makes his body tingle and skin feel on fire.

His movements are frantic as he is quick to strip off his shirt and yours. Pulling your pants down and off your legs alongside your panties, leaving your bare pussy exposed to the cool air. “Oh fuck~ shes so pretty” he mumbled out under his breath seemingly to himself, you werent sure if it was aimed at your cunt or you. in his haste he just barely pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to free his cock. His throbbing cock springs free, making you gasp at his size, he didn't feel nearly as big when it was hidden as he looks now. His cock long and so deliciously thick that it has your mouth watering wanting a taste. You knew your jaw would burn to accommodate his size; you couldn't imagine your cunt fitting him. “Lo i don't know if it’ll fit” you whine out, looking into his lust blown eyes with concern.

“Pretty girl if you’re as wet as ya’ smell i’ll slip right in” he chuckles softly, grabbing himself at the base and nudging his mushroom tip to open your slit and rub it through your soaked folds. Your slick collects and mixes with the precum leaking from his cock lubing up his shaft and tip. Your hole clenches around nothing everytime he brushes over it making your hips twitch and thrust up trying to get him to push inside already.

“Mmm Lo..please just fuck me already” you whine out and squirm. His brows furrowed in concentration, gaze locked on where your bodies meet, trying his hardest not to already blow his load as he lines his tip up at your entrance. Just rubbing over your pussy with his cock was causing his balls to tighten, your pussy felt heavenly and addicting. This moment was 10 times better than any of the hundreds of wet dreams he had late at night where he’d wake up with a wet spot forming in his sweats.

He lets out a broken gasp that morphs into a string of curses when he finally slowly pushes into the wet heat of your cunt. “Oh fuck~ shes already squeezin’ me so tight baby” he grunts as he finally bottoms out buried to the hilt, his hips wasting no time in finding a rymth and thrusting deep inside you. the sting of your pussy stretching to take his cock makes your head go hazy, eyes screwing shut in bliss.

You clench around him and Logan cant stop himself from thrusting harder and faster, a slurred pussy-drunk mess of sentences fall from his mouth.

“Fuck youre so hot princess, s’good for me” “Cant believe ya’ letting me do this to you, fuckin’ you like this” “Dreamt’ bout’ this for so long, been fuckin’ obsessed with ya’ for forever” he whines out in a long run on setenace as his hips slam against yours, the filthy squelching sound of your cunt and your moans and whimpers fill the air in your room. You didn't care that you were being loud enough that anyone who walked past your door would definitely hear you and know what was going on. the knowledge of that seemed to be spurring both you and Logan on more.

His eyes are locked at where your bodies are connected, his cock creating a bulge in your lower stomach every time he thrusts all the way in. “Fuck baby, look at that, my cock s’big its making a bulge when im buried inside” he groans out and presses down on your lower stomach making your cunt clench down harder on him, your body trying to milk his release out of him. Tipping your head down you open your eyes to watch as his cock thrusts in and out of your throbbing pussy, his tip driving right into that spot deep inside you making you see stars. That spongy spot that your toys could never reach just right when Logan would get you all worked up with his flirting, not like his cock currently is.

“M’gonna cum Lo- baby, Fuck- mhm~ wanna cum with you please” you moan out, your sentence coming out broken up as your climax was teetering on the edge. “Im gonna cum too baby don’t worry pretty girl” he hissed out as his fingers dig into your hips, his own flattering in there thrusting as his cock twitches inside you. “Cum on my cock princess, gonna fill this pretty up makin’ it all mine-” you cut off his sentence by grabbing ahold of the back of his neck, pulling his face down to kiss him desperately.

“Already all yours Lo, i been yours the whole time” you whine against his lips as your high washes over you, cumming on his cock as his thrusts speed up one last time.

Your cream coating his cock acts to further lube up his thick cock as it jackhammers into you, before your cunt milks Logan’s cum out of him in thick ropes that fill you. “Ya’ 100 percent all mine now baby” he hums into your mouth, lazily kissing you while he catches his breath, your hips grinding on his cock as you both ride out your highs.

→ a/n: fully meant to post this yesterday but i barely had anything written for it then and couldnt bring myself to write more. Im doing better than I’ve done the past 3 years with kinktober tho, gotten further than any other times.

[strwbrychffoncke]

"baby ,i care for you,, 2.6k words synopsis: caleb nurses you back to health contains: fluff! lads caleb x f!reader (caleb calls you "good girl" + "silly girl" x1) ,established relationship! ,just some self-indulgent fluffy sick comfort ,chef!caleb ,kind of stern!caleb (he's just worried) ,caleb makes u take medicine ,two suggestive jokes (cause its caleb) ,like one second of angst ,one single use of "gege" ,he carries you to the couch ,he pats your head/gives u a massage ,lulls you to sleep ,one head kiss ,i think thats it note: not proofread! its 5 in the morning when i post this so forgive any mistakes i just needed this out of my system i need him to take care of me so baaad :x enjoy

-

for some reason, you woke early for someone who didn't sleep till the late hours into the morning last night.

what you'd gotten couldn't even be considered proper sleep, more like just a nap, but somehow your body wasn't too keen on slipping back into the grips of slumber that easily.

and somehow, you woke up feeling even worse than you had for the past two days.

even if your sore throat was mostly gone, you heaved out a couple of dry coughs as you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket, shivering in the cold that surrounded the room (courtesy of your comfort, unable to sleep comfortably otherwise even if it worsened your current condition), and on top of that your head was softly throbbing. not wanting to deal with it, you decided to lay back completely to soothe the pain.

your nose was stuffy and runny at the same time, reaching for some tissues on the bedside table to wipe away at it, not before sneezing a couple of times and sniffling afterwards— it was so sensitive today for some reason.

you let out a deep sigh, soft breaths escaping from your mouth as you couldn't breathe comfortably from your nose.

how did it get worse? sure, you only took medicine once yesterday instead of every couple of hours like you were supposed to, but seriously, it was just a sore throat and a small fever!

you sighed, irritated that you were still sick. weren't you supposed to be the one with a good immune system? you and caleb often argued about it, and if he were here, he would surely use this as a point that his was better.

the yearning for his presence bit into the silence of the room as you laid comfortably on your back, shutting your eyes once again as your shallow breaths evened out.

you thought about getting up, washing your face and then making your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, and then something to eat so that you could take your medicine and then proceed to rest- something caleb would already be doing for you the moment he'd realize you were sick.

but he wasn't here right now, and even though you'd seen his moments posts about being out with friends, you had no plan to worry him when this was just a little cold.

you thought about it- you were hungry after all, and you wanted something warm to soothe your throat, but just the idea of going all the way down and doing all of that at the moment in your state was tiring.

but, you had taken care of yourself for the past two days like this. what was another?

you opened your eyes, pulled yourself up with a groan, swung your legs over the edge of the bed to slip on your slippers, slipped on the closest sweater and slowly padded your way to the bathroom, leaning against the wall for balance as your headache and sick haze had you dizzy and unsteady on your feet.

you washed up without much of a hitch, and when you exited the bathroom, you thought you heard a door close.

huh?

you thought it might be your mind playing tricks on you. after all, you were at home by yourself and weren't expecting anyone (even if you yearned for someone, the stray thought of him being here leaving you as soon as it came), and you couldn't think of anyone that would stop by on a random wednesday who also happened to have a key to your place.

you shook your head, pocketing your phone as you padded down the way towards the living room, pausing at the faint sound of the television being on- had you left it on?- before proceeding towards the kitchen.

you froze at the sound of light humming coming from your kitchen, feet subconsciously carrying your slightly swaying body closer at the pleasant smell of food wafting towards your nose, completely disregarding a certain bag laying at the end of the empty sofa.

your footsteps must've been heavier than you thought because before you could fully enter the kitchen, the person in question turned around, staring straight at you, spatula in his hand and smile stretching across his face.

"morning, sleepyhead."

you tilted your head.

"caleb?" you whispered.

"surprised?"

you took a few steps closer, heart pounding with excitement but managing to keep your distance due to your illness.

"what are you-"

"hey."

his playful smile quickly morphs into a look of concern as he studies your face, noticing your shallow breaths, quiet voice and slightly-swaying body.

"pipsqueak, are you sick?"

you jolt, looking off to the side.

"not really, its just—"

you startle at his free hand brushing your bangs from your head and resting on your forehead.

"hey! i don't have a fever, i'm fine—"

"your voice is mostly gone," he deadpans.

"that's—"

"how long have you been sick??" his look is full of concern, voice laced with worry.

"just the past two days.."

"two days? and you didn't think to tell me?"

"it was just a sore throat at first!"

"and you're telling me this is still just that?"

before you can answer you're interrupted, bringing up your sleeved arm up to cover the lower half of your face to sneeze twice into it before sniffling.

you put your sleeved arm down and sigh.

"bless you," he says, taking a once over if your state before placing a hand on your lower back.

"here, i made you breakfast, just- sit down, i'll get you everything."

"that's okay, i wanted to—"

"i have water ready for tea if that's what you're after, just sit down, i'll bring it to you."

he says it in a way that almost feels like he's scolding you, and you can't help but to obey and trudge over to the closest seat at the dining table, secretly grateful since your head was hurting more now.

you momentarily rest your head on the cool surface, missing the frown that adorns caleb's face at seeing you in such a weakened state.

he knew how prideful you were when it came to your wellbeing, and he also knew how, for as little as it happened, sick you got when you did succumb to illness.

luckily, from a surface level it didn't look too bad, and the duration wasn't anywhere near severe-level yet. he was sure it was something plenty of rest and medicine would help with.

which is when he vowed, while filling your plate and pouring the steaming water into your favorite mug with a green tea bag resting inside, that he would be the one to nurse you back to health himself.

just like he used to.

-

"that's way too many, caleb!"

"i'm not letting you leave until you take em' all."

"is this really necessary??"

"lingering sore throat, mild fever, headache, stuffy and runny nose, sneezing, dry cough. did i miss anything?"

"no.."

"then yes, this is all necessary. it's not even that much!"

"caleb, there's five different pills sitting in front of me. i am not swallowing all of that!"

"haven't you swallowed more than just this before?"

"caleb!"

you smack his arm and he lets out a hearty laugh— one that you're grateful to see (despite it being at your expense), given he's mostly been overcome with concern— before looking over the medicines again.

"fine, fine, here."

one hand drags an orange pill away towards him.

"how about now?"

you deadpan.

"you're joking, right?" you sniffle.

"that's the best i can do, pipsqueak. now hurry up and take them."

you let out a groan, but reach for the largest pill first.

"do i really—"

"yes," he crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. "i won't say it again."

you sigh, taking a small sip of tea before slipping the pill between your lips, tipping your head back before taking multiple large gulps of your tea to help its descent.

caleb nods, uncurling his hands and reaching for his utensil to grab some rice.

"good girl, now eat some more and take the rest," he instructs, shoving the rice into his mouth.

you're about to speak but are interrupted by a small sneeze.

"bless you."

you pout at him.

he points to your plate with his chopsticks.

"eat."

"you're lucky your food is so good..." you trail off, shoveling some eggs into your mouth, delight quickly filling you at the flavor of such a simple food item.

the cycle repeats: caleb watching you take sips of your tea and shoveling small bites of food into your mouth before pushing the next pill towards you until they're all gone.

in no time at all, both of your plates are empty. he takes yours from in front of you as you sip on the remainder of your tea, nodding when he asks if you're finished before taking them away to the sink.

you watch as he rolls up his sleeves and makes quick work to wash the plates, utensils, and the kitchenware he'd used, mesmerized by the familiar movements but willing to watch again and again all the same.

once he was finished and the dishes were properly put away, he dries his hands, walking back over to you and feeling your forehead again.

"hmm.. not too warm. how are you feeling right now? are you cold?"

you nod your head, and he gently pats the top of it. you close your eyes in response, the gesture soothing to you.

he grins.

always so cute...

"we should get you back to bed," he murmurs, bending down to your level. "want gege to carry you?"

you crack your eyes open and shake your head, prompting him to tilt his in question.

"i don't want you tripping on the way to your room if you're still dizzy, pipsqueak—"

"i don't wanna go to my room," you cut him off.

"can't i rest near you?" you peer up at him, hope filled in your droopy eyes, and something about that hits him.

you'd been on your own feeling like crap the past two days (now onto the third) and, knowing you, haven't been taking proper care of yourself, prompting the sickness to become what it is now.

no one could guarantee that you'd been eating properly, taking the proper medicine and on time, and most of all, not trying to work while in this state.

his heart feels heavy at the thought, but at his prolonged silence and hard stare, you shift your gaze behind him, embarrassed, and speak up again.

"or— i've already caused you enough trouble, right? this is supposed to be your time off and i've worried you enough... so i'll go back to my room! i wouldn't want to get you si—"

"no, no, no," he quickly cuts you off, swiftly shaking his head before grabbing onto your shoulders.

"pipsqueak, when have i ever denied you of your wishes?"

you sniffle. he did have a point...

"and besides, it's my job to worry about you, ya know?"

"so come on, let me carry you to the couch, yeah? we can put on whatever you like until you fall asleep."

you smile, ever so grateful at how caleb loved to spoil you.

you move to stand up and barely feel your feet hit the ground for half a second before you're easily scooped into caleb's arms, laughing at the sudden gesture before he walks towards the living room with you.

"caleb! i could've—"

"nope, you really couldn't have. i saw the way you trudged through the kitchen earlier, pipsqueak. you looked like you'd fall over if i so much as blew on you."

you look away, small pout adorning your lips, sniffling again.

"s' not my fault... don't even know how i got sick this time."

"maybe cause you missed me so much?

"yeah, maybe."

his heart throbs at your honesty, plopping down on the couch with you before smiling.

"so i guess this means i've got the better immune system, huh?"

"ugh, i knew you'd bring that up..."

he chuckles, letting you adjust in his hold as you use his lap as a pillow.

"whaddya wanna watch, pipsqueak?"

"dunno," you yawn. "just see what's on right now."

you watch as he looks around for the remote, pointing at it being just out of reach on the coffee table. you're about to offer to grab it before you see the strings of his evol grip onto it, bringing it into his hand before he catches it with ease and begins flipping through the channels.

"cheater," you tease quietly, letting out a small laugh at his use of his evol.

"hm?" he catches your words, humming thoughtfully in response, eyes glued to the television.

"you say that, but i remember a certain hunter practically crying under my evol while begging me to—"

"c-caleb!"

he laughs at the way you try to swat at him as you're laying down, settling for a small thwap! on his thigh instead.

"sorry, sorry," he says nonchalantly, loving how easily riled up he could get you at the mention your bedroom activities.

"here," he says, free hand finding its way to your head, softly massaging at your scalp.

"this a good enough apology?" he asks, only earning pleased mewls from you in response.

he smiles fondly in response, pleased at your little noises and the way you nuzzle into him further, resembling a satisfied cat that just filled its belly and was ready for its afternoon nap.

he eventually lands on a channel with a classic favorite movie for the both of you, setting the remote down and using his now-free hand to rub soothing circles into your back.

"you know, wearing my clothes while you're sick is a little selfish, don't you think?"

"s' warm," you mumble, slowly being lulled to sleep by his ministrations.

"and comfy. smells like you..."

even though he teased you, he always felt his heart grow fuller at the sight of you in his clothes, and he felt some amount of pride that it was the first thing you'd reached for even in your current state.

"yeah? i guess i can forgive you," he whispers, evol reaching for the nearest blanket to drape it over your lower half.

in the edges of slumber, you can feel a kiss being planted on the side of your head, but you don't have the energy to reprimand him for doing such a thing and risk himself getting sick.

he sits back up, watching you fondly as he continues his comforting ministrations.

"get well soon, okay? ill be right here when you wake up."

even after he was sure you were sleeping, he continued his gentle caresses, comforted by the fact that you were there with him, and that he could keep a close eye on you.

so long as you were under caleb's care, you would be okay; that was something he would always make sure of.

-

extra:

half-paying attention to the movie on screen, he was already planning a soup to make you when his phone buzzed beside him.

it was a message from a friend of his.

wanna grab a bite later? my treat! some others will be joining too.

grateful for the offer, he messaged back quickly.

can't, playing nurse for my cute girlfriend tonight~

aw, next time, then!

he placed his phone back down, looking back at you and brushing stray hair out of your face as he thought back to your words.

"can't i rest near you?"

you'd looked so helpless, almost like you were expecting him to refuse you and make you rest by yourself, but eyes holding a lingering hope anyway as they peered into his soul.

his heart is full, his eyes are full of mirth, lips curling lovingly.

silly girl...

there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, right beside you—

whether you were ill or perfectly healthy.

always.

and he would make sure you never felt the burden of illness by yourself so long as he could help it.

-

a/n: i'm sick and couldn't help but imagine the l&ds men taking care of me ,and namely imagined caleb nursing me back to health so here we are. caleb come home!

[healmydesires]

no bc i know damn well X1 or X2 logan would go until he was grunting and whimpering in your ear from accidentally overstimulating himself…

OH DEFINITILY… he’d be whimpering so much. especially after going round after round after round 🤤 UGHHHH I’m going insane 😭 this ask truly inspired me to write it … because you’re so real!

I normally don’t really write drabbles but hey I had to write it soooooo! enjoy 🩷

getting no sleep ꕤ (l.h)

pairing: logan howlett x reader

summary: what the ask says tbh! logan gets overstimulated while having sex.

genre: smut (mdni! 18+)

word count: 684 (it’s a lil drabble owo)

warnings: porn no plot, overstimulation (both but mainly logan ngl), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink kinda oops, dirty talk

“God you’re so warm—fuck—so wet,” Logan mumbles on, rambling without a thought, too enveloped in the feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock. You feel every inch of him as he fucks you raw, completely bare. He’s been fucking you round after round after round.

“Logan,” you whine, various cries spilling from your gaping mouth.

“Come on baby,” Logan’s words are slurred from the haze of his own pleasure, recognizing your familiar clench around his length as he keeps plunging inside your tight cunt.

“Lo,” you keen, feet pushing him closer to you as you both mewl in sensitivity. He gasps when you pulse around him, wanting him to spill his load inside of you, needing to see him fall apart. 

His abs are clenching, Logan’s whimpering above you as you tightened your walls around his cock. “Babyyyy, you’re killin’ me.” His head tipping back as loud groans and wines are spilling from his slacked jaw, “fuck baby that feels so good—” he chokes out, as he runs his hands over your body.

Soon he leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, groaning and whimpering against your mouth. The kiss is so messy; whenever you would pulse around him, his jaw would fall open, and his pretty hazel eyes would roll back in his head.

“Fuuuuck, I am—shit—so close, fuck—” He moans into your mouth, Logan’s body jerks when you clench particularly hard around his cock.

“Christ,” He let his chin fall back down, jaw slack and eyes heavy as he watches his dick disappear inside your tight pussy. You feel his cock twitch as you pulse around him.

The burning ache you are feeling begins to disintegrate as you feel your orgasm approach, gripping onto the sheets, his hands, anything that can stabilise you. “Fuck, Lo—” you whimper as tears stream down your puffy cheeks, drool leaking from the edges of your mouth as you feel yourself release the pent up pleasure. Your orgasm sweeps you in a vicious wave of euphoria, thighs trembling as you moan softly underneath Logan. Your pussy gushing all around his dick and over his lower abdomen.

“Ah fuck—” he whimpers, pushing himself up as he thrusts deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly. “Are you gonna take my cum like a good girl? Let me fill you up until you’re full and messy?”

You visibly shiver at his words, mouth dropped open in awe as you watch him, nodding along. “Please, please Logan...”

“Fuck, take it baby.” He whimpers. It washes over him instantly, hips stuttering into you as he grows desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he feels his cock throb inside of you before hot spurts of his cum splash along your walls, painting them in ribbons of white. The feeling makes you hum, limbs limp on the bed as he shallowly thrusts into you, making sure you take every last drop. 

His whole body is practically buzzing, long legs shaking from the intensity of your combined orgasms, mind feeling like jello as the aftershocks run through his body.

“Fu-uuuck baby,” he whines, biting his lip hard as he watches you try to keep up with his orgasm flooding your pussy.

When the stimulation starts becoming too much for him; and right when your vision comes back to you, he pulls his cock out of you. His hips pull away from yours while his index and middle finger pushes his cum back inside of your quivering hole making you whimper loudly, his two fingers basking in the aftermath before he lets his body slump against your own. 

“We gotta clean this mess up, huh?” You whisper with a playful smirk.

Logan groans as he wraps his arms tighter around your body. “Later,” he grunts, making you giggle.

“Glad I’m not always the only one getting overstimulated here.” 

“Respectfully baby, shut up.” He mumbles as he nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck.

Another fit of giggles escape you at his behaviour. 

Who would have thought, that the roles would be reversed one night?

thanks for reading <3 mwah

[hyper-fixates]

Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

 Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff. 

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more. 

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door. 

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh. 

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth. 

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed. 

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself. 

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.  

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too. 

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike. 

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change. 

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception. 

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila. 

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble. 

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about. 

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it. 

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders. 

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again. 

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would. 

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point. 

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times. 

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back. 

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. 

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart. 

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila. 

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea. 

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.  

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor. 

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back. 

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures. 

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room. 

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before. 

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew. 

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough. 

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind. 

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan. 

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room. 

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this. 

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast. 

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.  

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion. 

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. 

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here? 

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats. 

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” 

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself. 

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why. 

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little. 

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves. 

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.” 

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow. 

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours. 

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are. 

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking. 

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can. 

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out. 

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.” 

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants. 

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious. 

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute. 

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse. 

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…” 

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms. 

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely. 

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck. 

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day. 

What does he want to hear? 

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else. 

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly. 

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first. 

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation. 

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet. 

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions. 

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction. 

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will. 

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.” 

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept. 

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━━

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you. 

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist. 

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection. 

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m. 

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together. 

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion. 

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started. 

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest. 

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest. 

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight. 

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside. 

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires. 

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good. 

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for. 

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this. 

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair. 

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in. 

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you. 

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you. 

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here. 

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly. 

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips. 

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on. 

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you. 

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you. 

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body. 

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily. 

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips. 

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you. 

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much. 

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance. 

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.  

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you. 

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying. 

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine. 

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in. 

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end. 

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over. 

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere. 

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body. 

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything. 

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress. 

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead. 

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in. 

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss. 

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest. 

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.” 

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. 

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”