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persephone-reblogs · 4 days

Note

Would it be okay to request something where the reader is Spencer's new neighbor who has a cat, and the cat manages to sneak onto Spencer's small fire escape so reader hops from hers to his, not realizing he's home and he sees her wrestling with this cat, before she sees him and calls out, "I'm not breaking in my cats just a bastard" or something, and spencer let's her come through his place instead of trying to hop the gap with the cat unsafely? Reader is just sunshine to Doencers awkwardness? And the cat is clearly playing matchmaker?

Down the fire escape and into my heart || Spencer Reid

your cat puts you in an awkward situation which blossomed into something wonderful. (based on this request)

spencer reid x fem!reader

content: meet cute, imagine season 4 prince charming reid (underrated look, in my opinion)

warnings: none

word count: 3.3k

author's note: first request that i did, hope i brought some justice to your idea. also, my laptop is broken so idk how often i'll be able to upload.

You find yourself on the fire escape of your apartment which is four floors up, and coincidentally, four floors up from your impending death.

"Jefferson, I swear if you don't come back here right now—" You don't exactly have an ending to that sentence, seeing as your brain is trying to keep your limbs still in an attempt at self-preservation. On all fours, though much less graceful than Jefferson, you follow your cat down the shaky old stairs that are steep enough to be a ladder. Who designed this? Surely this fire escape would produce more casualties if a fire were to happen.

"Meow."

Oh, he was taunting you now. You love your cat probably more than you love yourself, but boy, is he a little shit. He sat himself down on the open window sill of your downstairs neighbor, and you swear you could read in his eyes that he was daring you to follow.

You were barely halfway down the steps when your foot slipped. You were able to catch yourself, knuckles white as they gripped the rusty pieces of metal that served as railings. You weren't deathly afraid of heights, but you didn't have much confidence in this fire escape that is probably older than you are. The fire escape shook, and you willed yourself to not move. Oh, this is so not fun.

You finally reached the bottom of the steps, now in front of your downstairs neighbor's window. It was open, but you didn't see anyone inside. Good, you think.

"You insolent little punk, come here," you say as you carefully pick up your cat and stroke its soft, orange coat of fur. For a moment, relief filled you. You wondered, was I this much trouble to my mom when I was young?

You've successfully retrieved Jefferson, but you quickly realize that that was only half of the challenge. You now had to climb up the shaky old stairs of your fire escape with one hand carrying your cat. With the way the stairs were built and your lack of athleticism, that was proving to be a challenge.

"Alright, I can do this," you say to yourself like a mantra. You try not to look down.

You tighten your hold on your cat. "Meow," he said as if irritated.

"Shut up, you. You got us into this mess."

You take a couple of deep breaths before taking the first step up.

"Who's there?" a voice spoke up suddenly, scaring you.

"Jesus!" You half jump. It was a guy, sweeping away the white breezy curtains that adorned the window to get a better view.

"Uh, are you alright?" the man said, an unsure tone obvious in his voice.

"Oh, hey, yeah. My— My cat climbed down the fire escape and refused to get back; I had to get him." As you were talking to him, the more aware you are of his appearance. Tall, big brown eyes, long fluffy hair of the same color slicked back. He was wearing a button-down that fit him rather well, you observe, and a tie. He was cute. Pretty, even.

"Oh." was all he said. You can't blame him, A stranger was outside his window; he probably thought you were a thief or some criminal.

You introduce yourself to him, saying your name. You'd offer a handshake, but you're currently incapacitated, seeing as your right hand was holding your cat and the other was still gripping the railing for support.

"I'm Spencer. Spencer Reid," he said shortly. He gave you a smile; it was one of those smiles that wasn't quite a smile, but more like his lips were drawn to a line. It was awkward, but also charming you admit.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to it. I'm sorry about this, but it was nice meeting you," you say, offering him a simple smile.

You went back to trying to climb back up the steep stairs. Keyword: trying. You were about as successful as you were earlier, which was barely any progress at all. Meanwhile, Spencer, your downstairs neighbor, was still watching you.

"Do you want to, maybe come inside? I— I mean, come inside, go through my apartment, then use the stairs. It seems like you're uh, having a bit of difficulty there," the man offered.

Oh thank God, you think. That would save you some—a lot—of embarrassment. "Really? That would be great!" you say.

You stepped towards the window then let Jefferson jump from your arms to the floor inside. When it was your turn, you not-so-gracefully maneuvered yourself up the window, which was too tall for your height. Spencer offered his hands to your wrists to support you and you let him. There was no place for pride in your current situation.

You landed on what seemed to be his living room. You noticed books placed everywhere.

"You good?" he says, looking you up and down as if making sure you were actually fine.

"Yeah. Thank you, Spencer," you say genuinely, a bit flustered by his gaze.

"Sorry for scaring you, by the way."

"Oh, it's alright, don't worry about it," you assured him.

Your cat made himself at home and promptly walked out of the living area to what looked like the dining area.

"Jefferson, come here," you scold him softly and chase after him, still aware of your being in your neighbor's place. As far as weird situations go, at least the one you've been in, this was pretty up there.

You heard him chuckle. "You named your cat Jefferson?"

"Yeah," you say, reaching down and grabbing the cat.

"Interesting name."

"Well, he's an interesting cat."

"So I'm figuring out," he said, putting his hands in his pocket. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?"

"Yes, I moved in just last week. In fact, I was unpacking boxes when Jefferson here decided to make me chase after him."

"Ah, you must be the one who took over Mrs. Tennison's place upstairs."

"Mhm, that's me," you say. "Anyway, I'll leave you be. Thank you again for your help, Spencer. It was nice meeting you." You reach out your free hand for a handshake; it seemed only polite after he so graciously rescued you from possibly bludgeoning to your death.

He stared at your hand for a second before he returned the gesture. As far as handshakes go, you noticed his is a bit unsure as if he doesn't do it often. You shrug it off.

"See you around," you say finally, giving him a smile before going back to your place.

You thought you heard him whisper, "See you," as you turned and walked up the stairs.

The aroma of freshly baked cookies filled your kitchen as you pulled a piping hot tray out of your oven and onto the counter to cool. You had a bit of free time on your hands this weekend and thought that you'd make something that reminded you of home.

As you wait for the cookies to cool, your mind drifts elsewhere. Truthfully, you have not been able to get your mind away from your downstairs neighbor who you met last week. Every time you go out of your apartment, you wish you'd bump into him. At the lobby, the stairs, or maybe even down the street from your place. Sadly for you, that hasn't happened. Oh well, you muse.

When the cookies have cooled, you put them in your little cookie jar and find that you have some extra. An idea popped into your head, and you grabbed a Tupperware from your cupboard.

You walked down a flight of stairs, finding yourself in front of Spencer's door and knocking three times.

For a moment, no one answered. As you were about to knock again, the door opened. It was Spencer, to no one's surprise.

"Hey, it's me. I—um, made a batch of cookies and thought maybe you'd like some— as a thank you for helping me and Jefferson out last week." You hand him the container of cookies. As he reached for them, you felt his fingers brush yours.

"Oh thank you, thank you so much," he said. He opened the lid and you see the delight on his face. "Oh wow, chocolate chip! These look delicious!" It was the first time you saw his genuine unbridled smile; the way his eyes lit up filled your chest with a warm feeling.

"I hope you like them— they're my mom's recipe," you begin. "Anyway, I should get back. Bye Spencer," you said, raising up your hand to wave at him.

"Bye, thanks again for these," he said, closing the lid and waving back. As you went up the stairs, his smile and the touch of his fingertips haunted you, leaving your stomach a pit of butterflies and giving you something to think about for the rest of the day.

It was a lazy afternoon, and you were watching what was turning out to be one of the most interesting TV shows you've watched in a while. It was about this group of FBI agents tracking down the most twisted criminals. There were a lot of murders on the show which is a bit grim, you admit, but what really hooks you in is that you enjoy solving the cases alongside the protagonists. The plot isn't predictable too, which adds to the excitement when they throw in the most unexpected twists out of nowhere.

Knock knock, you heard. That was curious; you weren't expecting anyone today. You wait to open the door, unsure whether you should open it or not. Stalking your way towards the door, you grab the empty vase on the nearby bookshelf.

The person knocked again, this time, speaking up. "Hey, it's me, Spencer" Relief filled you. And maybe a bit of excitement.

You open the door, and the tall man faced you. "Oh hey, Spencer. Do you need anything?" you asked him.

His eyes traveled to your hand, still clutching at the vase. "I was just going to return your Tupperware from when you gave me the cookies. Why are you holding a vase? Is everything alright?" From the vase, his gaze traveled to meet yours, and then eventually scanned the inside of your apartment, concern evident in his eyes.

You quickly assure him that everything's alright. "Yeah no, everything is great. I—um, I was just watching Agents, this crime show, if you've heard of it? I may have been a little worked up, thought a serial killer was outside my door or something," you drabble.

"Well, sorry to disappoint, I'm not a serial killer," he began with a smile on his face, relief now loosening his knitted brows. "I'm actually the opposite."

Curiosity filled you. "Opposite? What do you mean opposite?"

He chuckled, quickly looking down at his feet before looking back to you. "As in I'm the one catching the bad guys. I work for the FBI," he said. Spencer had not intended to divulge his job given its intimidating nature, but he found himself wanting to converse with you.

Your eyes light up with interest. "Really? That must be exciting! What's it like?" you ask him eagerly.

"Well," he began, looking as if he was in thought. "It gets pretty dark a lot of the time, but the work we do, knowing it brings justice to the people affected… it's worth all the trouble." He continued on, but you didn't get much of what else he was saying. You were distracted by him; the way his face lit up when talking, and his eyes were so expressive, too.

You snapped out of your bubble when he finished talking, and you didn't know what else to do or say. In an attempt to spend some time with him, you offer to watch your show with him. "Oh. Well, Agent Reid. Would you like to watch the show with me? See how much of it is real or not, maybe?"

"Uh, yeah, yes, sure," he said, surprise and mild excitement in his tone. He had this awkward charm about him. The way his long, brown hair was slicked back made him look like a prince from a fairytale, you think.

You opened your door to let him in and set down the vase and Tupperware, and the two of you walked to your couch. As you were sitting down, he spoke. "I loved the cookies, by the way. By far one of the most delicious cookies I've tasted."

You were flattered. "Thank you so much, Spencer! It's actually my mom's recipe; I was feeling a little homesick so I whipped up a batch of what I know will make me feel better."

On the couch, Spencer and you were sitting with some distance between you two, seeing as you didn't know each other that well yet. Just then, Jefferson jumped up and settled himself in the space between you and Spencer.

"Hey, baby," you said, petting your cat. "Wanna watch Agents with us?"

Spencer was now looking at the both of you. He never was good with pets, but in his defense, pets were never good with him, too. He finds that pets usually get skittish around him; the "Reid Effect," his boss called it, which is why he's surprised at your cat so willingly approaching him.

"Aww, I think he likes you," you say to the man beside you. Jefferson was now taking an interest in Spencer. You can tell by his body language that he doesn't have much experience with cats. His hands were held suspended in the air, a slightly defensive air about his posture.

"You can pet him, you know? He's very good with people."

His hand lowers to your cat, gingerly stroking Jefferson's back. Spencer's attention was entirely on the cat now, and you could see the affection slowly forming in his eyes.

"Hi, Jefferson," he says in a voice that can be likened to how one usually talks to a small child. It was adorable.

Jefferson leaped on Spencer's lap and settled himself there, surprising the latter. His eyes were wide, and his unsure nature which was slowly fading away came back. You smile. "Are you okay with this?" you ask him.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think I am," he said after a bit of contemplation. You scooch yourself nearer to your cat, and by consequence, Spencer. Your arm touched his, and you felt the hairs on your skin stand up.

"So anyway, the show?" he asked.

"Ooh, yes," you said, completely forgetting the reason he was on your couch in the first place. You grabbed the remote and pressed play.

As you guys were watching, Spencer made comments about what was accurate and not about the show. You hear him say the term "unsub" a lot, which apparently was what they call the suspects of the cases that they work. He talks about the psychology of the unsubs, why they are like that, and why they do what they do. You learn about his job, too. He was a profiler, it turns out. You didn't know what that was before, but you do now.

As the episodes went on, the two of you eventually got into a contest of who can guess the unsub first. Not surprisingly, he got most of them right.

"Well, you have an advantage; it's no fair Spence!" you complain teasingly. Since spending time at your place, the two of you have developed a rapport. You find that after getting over the awkwardness of being strangers, you enjoyed yourself around him. He seems to be enjoying himself around you, too. The two of you binge-watched the episodes, time completely slipping your attention.

You woke up to the sound of a phone ringing, and you reached for your phone, only to find that it was not where the sound was coming from. You find yourself on the couch, nuzzled against—

"Spencer," you say, voice still groggy. He managed a soft hum as you shook his thigh to wake him.

"I think it's yours. The phone." You get up from where you were leaning against him, his arm around your shoulder. If you hadn't just woken up, you probably wouldn't have been able to ignore that tickle in your chest from being so close to him. He smelled like vanilla, you observe.

He answered his phone. "Spencer," voice still groggy and deliciously raspy. "I fell asleep, I'm sorry. Yes, I'll be right there."

As he was talking on his phone, you saw that his previously slicked-back hair was now tousled from when you fell asleep. Fighting the urge, you wonder what it was like to run your hands through his hair.

He ended his phone call. "What time is it?" you ask him.

"Apparently it's 9 pm. We fell asleep." He sat up and tried to compose himself. He knew because he was supposed to have a game night with Prentiss, Morgan, and Garcia.

"I noticed. Time flies when you're having fun, I guess. Though, I don't know how much fun we've had if we fell asleep," you said, chuckling.

"I had fun, trust me." He stood up and you followed, reaching for the remote to turn off your TV. The both of you walk to the door.

"Listen," he began. You turned your attention to him, still trying to wake yourself up. "I have to go back to my place, my friends are waiting for me."

"Oh," was all you were able to get out. Not that you were disappointed; you spent your whole afternoon with the man. But maybe a little disappointed, you allow yourself, aware that your feelings had no logic or reason.

"But maybe next time, you could teach me how to make those cookies you gave me," he said as he opened the door and stepped outside.

"Of course, Spence. I'll be happy to teach you," you say genuinely, secretly reveling at the fact that you now have an excuse to spend time with him again.

"Good. It's a date then?" Spencer's heart was beating so loud in his chest. This confidence was foreign to him, but he wanted an excuse to see you, and he's been waiting for the opportunity to arrive since he let you through his apartment.

You were caught by surprise. "Yes. A date. Next weekend, maybe?" you say anyway, now mirroring the bright smile on his face.

"Next weekend it is," he said with a nod.

Your hand reached for his arm and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Bye Spence," you say, stepping into your apartment and giving him a last smile before shutting the door.

"Bye," he said with a wave. From the heat that was creeping up his neck, he was certain he was blushing now.

He walked down the stairwell, still reeling from your kiss, well aware of the goofy smile plastered on his face.

On the bottom of the stairs were Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss, all regarding Spencer with a teasing look. He nearly forgot that they were there. He also knew that they just heard his conversation with you.

"Got yourself a date there, have ya?" Prentiss teased. Spencer ignored her and opened the door to his apartment.

"My man," Derek began. "Didn't know you had game like that! 'Maybe next time you could teach me how to make your cookies!'"

"Who was that, Reid? And why were you sleeping at her place?" prodded Penelope.

Spencer ignored their teasing and interrogation, partly because he didn't want them to know about you yet. Mostly though, it was because he was still dazed and giddy from your afternoon together.

Meanwhile, in your apartment, you were feeling all light and warm and all those things you usually feel when you've got a crush. You had to remind yourself that you're a grown woman and to not jump up and down from sheer excitement lest Spencer hears your commotion downstairs.

Jefferson brought you out of your reverie as he brushed his body along your legs. You pick him up and remember that it was all because of him that you met your gorgeous downstairs neighbor, Spencer.

You kiss his head. "Not that I condone your troublemaking behavior, but you are so forgiven for making me chase you down the fire escape."

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persephone-reblogs · 5 days

Text

PLEASE

okay but imagine a fic situated on the first xmen movie; when logan goes to atlaki lake (or whatever that is called) to find some answers about his past, he also finds reader who’s a mutant but they left her behind because they considered useless, rotten, weak; he brings her to the mansion only for her to immediately fall in love with him just like he did when he first met jean at the lab

so now we have a full love square where jean and scott are dating, logan have the hots for jean, and reader is in love with logan BUT he completely ignores her to the point that she starts to think she doesn’t deserve to be a mutant at all (cut to the third movie where they kinda have a better relationship but logan is still in love with jean AND cheats reader??? maybe who knows)

idk what im writing i just started watching the third movie and this just popped into my mind okay bye~

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persephone-reblogs · 6 days

Note

I know you don't see Emily as anything but a lesbian but could you possibly do a trans reader? It can trans non-binary or masc like a demi boy, but they're afraid to come out to Emily because she is very open that she's gay?

Here you go!

genre: angst and fluff, hurt/comfort

cw: coming out, trans masc!reader, no use of y/n, panic attacks

wordcount: 1.2k

You pace back and forth across the living room, taking deep, steadying breaths to try to calm yourself. You groan in frustration and sit on the edge of the couch, burying your head in your hands. You can feel your hands shaking.

You’re terrified. You’ve been dating Emily for almost two years. You live together. How do you tell her you’re not the girl she started dating? And you have no idea what it will mean for your relationship when you do. Emily is a lesbian. She likes women. And you’re not a woman.

You lean back and run your hands over your chest, reveling in the flatness. Your binder arrived three weeks ago. You had made sure it would be delivered while Emily was on a case. You immediately hid it, and have only worn it while Emily is out of town and there’s no chance of her seeing it.

It makes you feel so incredibly guilty.

She’s your girlfriend. You shouldn’t be hiding stuff from her.

You adjust the binder with a grunt. It’s still uncomfortable to wear since you haven’t gotten used to it yet, but it’s worth it. You check your watch. Emily should be home in a few minutes. You don’t want to ambush her with this the second she walks through the door but you’ve been hyping yourself up all week and if you don’t do it soon, you’re not sure you ever will.

Still, you’re scared. What if she breaks up with you because you’re not a woman? What if she gets mad that you didn’t tell her sooner? What if this makes her hate you?

A panicked sob bubbles up your throat and you curl in on yourself, hugging your stomach to try to calm down. You can feel your heart rate picking up as you gasp for air.

You force yourself to take deep breaths and the shakiness of each inhale is audible. Then you hear Emily’s key turning in the lock and your panic increases. She’s here, she’s going to see you like this, she’s going to hate you.

She calls your name from the entryway as she moves around and even though that’s still the name you use, the sound causes a sob to tear from your chest. You hear Emily freeze. You clap a hand over your mouth, and though you desperately want to get up and lock yourself in the bathroom to hide, your body won’t cooperate.

You hear Emily’s footsteps coming toward the living room and your breathing picks up until you’re hyperventilating and gasping between sobs.

“Woah, hey, hey,” Emily says softly, sitting beside you on the couch. “What’s going on? What happened?” She rests her hand on your back and starts rubbing soothing circles.

You practically shove your body against hers, not caring that you're staining her shirt with your tears, just desperate to touch her in case this is the last time you can. “P-please don’t hate me,” you wail.

“Oh, sweetie,” Emily mutters kindly. “I could never hate you.”

You curl your fingers into the front of her shirt and cling to it like a lifeline. “You don’t—you don’t know that,” you sob.

“I do know that,” Emily reassures you.

You sniff and pull away, untangling your hands from her shirt. You look her in the eyes for a moment, noticing the clear concern written on her face. You lift your hand and hold out your pinkie. “Pi-pinkie promise?” you stutter. You feel like a child for asking, but you’re so desperate for her answer that you can’t bring yourself to care.

Emily removes her hand from your back and curls her pinkie around yours. “Pinkie promise.”

You sniff again and unlatch your pinkie to rub your face. Emily’s hand returns to your back.

“I—“ you start. You can feel your chin wobble and you bite on your lower lip to stop it. You bow your head, too afraid to watch the changes in her expression as you tell her. “I’m not a girl.”

You feel Emily’s hand still for a moment before it starts moving again. She doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m non binary. Or at least that’s what feels like it fits. Pl-please, don’t be mad! I understand if you want to break u—"

“Woah, hey,” Emily interrupts. “I’m not mad, I promise. But do–do you want to break up?” Her voice is wary and it shakes slightly.

Your head shoots up to look at her. “No! Never!” you insist. “But I–I thought you might want to.”

“What on Earth could make you think that?” Emily asks. There isn’t a hint of malice or annoyance in her voice. Just curiosity and concern.

“Be-because you’re a lesbian. And I’m not a girl,” you mutter.

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t care about that,” Emily coos. “You’re so much more important to me than what I call myself. I love you for you, not for your gender. I don’t care what you identify as, I will always love you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks and you wipe them away violently. “Th-thank you,” you gasp.

“Oh, honey.” Emily pulls you against her chest, holding you close and moving her hand to rub up and down your arm. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“Yes, there is,” you argue, your voice muffled against her.

Emily presses a kiss to the top of your head instead of arguing. “I do have some questions I want to ask, though, if that’s okay.”

You nod against her chest and tilt your head to look up at her.

She smiles down at you kindly. “Do you, um, do you want to go by a different name?” she asks awkwardly.

You shake your head.

“What about pronouns?”

“I like they/them, but I’m not sure,” you admit. “And I don’t like being called a girl.”

Emily nods. “Okay. That's good to know. I, um, I might mess up sometimes at first but I promise I'll be doing my best.”

“That’s all I want,” you whisper, and press a kiss to her chin.

She smiles and lowers her head to catch your lips for a brief kiss.

“How long have you known?” Emily asks softly.

You hum and furrow your brow as you try to think back. “Maybe five months,” you say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Hey, I’m not upset about that. I could never be. Coming out is hard.”

“I bought myself a binder a few weeks ago too,” you admit.

Emily’s brow furrows in confusion. “A binder?”

You nod. “It’s a compression garment, kind of like a beefed up sports bra, that flattens your chest.” You lean back and run your hands over your chest to show her. “See?”

“Impressive,” Emily says with a slight laugh.

You laugh in response. “Yeah. I, um, I really like it. It makes me happy. And feel right. If that makes sense.”

Emily nods and pulls you in for another kiss. “It does. And I’m glad.”

“You’re the best,” you whisper against her lips.

“I know,” she teases.

You laugh and lightly bat her shoulder and Emily laughs too.

“I love you, sweet thing,” she mutters.

You hum. “I love you too. And I like that nickname.”

Emily chuckles. “Better than 'sweet girl'?”

“Much better.”

_____

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persephone-reblogs · 6 days

Text

is it over now?

Summary: At first, you had been avoiding her most of the time, only talking to her when necessary, and Emily didn't know why until one day she asked JJ. The media liaison told her about Elle, the one Emily replaced in the team, and that she was your best friend. Genre: Angst with happy ending (for reader lol) Pairing: (Present) Emily Prentiss x Reader ; (Past) Elle Greenaway x Reader Warnings: one suggestive scene, mention of elle's incident/trauma, hostage scene from minimal loss?? i guess that's it, lmk if i missed something Word count: 7.2K+

A/N:

Basically inspired by Taylor Swift's "Is It Over Now?" and rewatching early seasons of Criminal Minds. I miss Elle Greenaway. She and Emily would have been a badass duo.

This is not proofread so sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes. All comments, reblogs, and likes are encouraged and appreciated. <3

AO3

Elle had already packed all of her things except for the few clothes that she will be wearing tonight and tomorrow for her flight to Chicago. She had no idea why Chicago specifically but anywhere was better than here. All she wanted was to leave this house, this place, this fucking street, and everything that reminded her of what The Fisher King did to her. When she zones out a couple of times during the day, she swore she could still see a little splash of blood - her blood - on the wall.

Elle was waiting for the pizza to arrive. Although she wanted to have something she cooked, all of her stuff was already in boxes and she’s too tired to even get a spoon out. She was about to turn on the TV when there was a knock on the door. It was her instinct, or probably a routine, to reach out for her gun - not the one she used at work, that one’s already surrendered. She recently bought this one specifically to protect herself. Because she swore to herself that even when she’s no longer in the FBI, she’ll never be defenseless. Not again.

She was told the pizza will arrive in forty five minutes. It’s only been ten. Who could possibly be knocking on her door?

Elle peeked through the peephole and sighed in relief when she saw you standing outside. It was just you, thank god. She opened the door. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“You can’t leave,” you said, standing outside like a lost puppy. You have rehearsed things better in your head but you said it like you’re ordering her when you were actually begging her not to go.

“You’re not the boss of me.” Elle responded, folding her arms and furrowing her brows.

You cleared your throat, fingers fidgeting on the button of your coat. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” You sighed deeply, looking down on your shoes then to the ground. She didn’t even have the ‘welcome home’ mat on her doorstep anymore. “W-where are you gonna go?”

Elle looked around before letting you in and closing the door behind you. She had been paranoid ever since she was shot and you couldn’t blame her. You would be too if it was you.

“I’m moving to Chicago.” Elle said quietly. You could see the dark circles in her eyes, the way she lost a little weight, and the way her lips were chapped.

She sat in the armchair and leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling. You sat on the coffee table as there was nothing else to sit on. Her furniture was all covered and ready to be moved.

The two of you sat quietly in the living room. She was staring at the ceiling while you were staring at her, trying to find the words to say.

“I don’t know what to do,” Elle said after several moments of uncomfortable silence.

“Do you really want to leave?”

She paused and thought about her answer. Did she really want to leave? The BAU was her life, her dream, her everything. Her heart and soul were in that team and in each of the members, especially you. You had grown close to Elle, became her best friend and held a piece of her heart.

“No,” Elle sighed. “I don’t want to leave. The thought of leaving is actually ripping me apart. But… I don’t see what other choice I have. I’ve been a liability to the team.”

“You’re not. You’re a great agent, Elle. You have the heart for the victims, for the families of these victims. We all do it because it’s the job but you… you do it for them.”

Elle smiled faintly. Her eyes were watering and in her emotional and exhausted state, she was unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. “And look where that got me.” She said bitterly.

Your eyes started tearing up too. You reached for her hand and Elle didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Elle closed her eyes, squeezing new and fresh tears out. A drop or two still slipped down her cheeks and landed silently on the back of your hand. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Why did it have to go this way? Elle was angry at the world, at her life, at everybody. But the one person she could never be angry with was you.

You squeezed Elle’s hand. “It wasn’t but I’m still sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Elle wiped your tears and chuckled half-heartedly.

“I love you, Elle.” You blurted out through the sobs.

Elle’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart and stomach felt like they had just simultaneously dropped to her feet. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly in an attempt to hold back the sudden onslaught of tears.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” She whispered to you, her voice cracking and threatening to give away.

“But I do love you,” You said firmly. “And if you’re gonna leave and start over somewhere to feel safe and happy and be yourself again, then that’s what I want for you. But I hope you know that I love you… and I always will.”

Elle had no choice now. She couldn’t stop her tears from flowing. Hearing those three little words from you was both the best and worst thing ever. Elle knew she loved you as her best friend but the way you spoke those words, Elle knew there was something else, something much deeper and out of her control.

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.” Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions as she responded. It was difficult to get the words out; her throat felt tight and it was painful.

You forced a smile, quickly wiping your cheeks off of tears. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You know I always will,” Elle replied. She could see right through your smile. She knew you and she knew she was hurting you. Without hesitation, Elle got to her feet and wrapped her arms tightly around you, pulling your head into her chest and holding on for dear life.

Elle had never been this intimate, open, and vulnerable with anyone. But she felt safe letting her guard down with you. You, who loved her as she was.

After a few moments, Elle pulled away from the hug to look at you properly. Your face was red from crying and your eyes never looked so lost and sad. “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” you quickly answered.

Elle flashed a small smile. She knew this was somewhat unfair to ask of you but she needed to say it. “Promise me you won’t stop loving me.”

“Never. I’ll always love you.”

That reassured and comforted Elle more than she could verbalize. She didn’t need to hear anything else tonight. She just needed you.

“If I asked you to stay, just for tonight, would you?” Elle asked, her hand gripping the armchair. The thought of being alone in this house was making her uneasy again. She knew her mind was going to start drifting to darker thoughts and she didn’t want that.

But without any hesitation, you nodded.

Elle knew she shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t fair to ask you to stay with her just because she didn’t feel safe in her own home. She was terrified of being by herself in this house that was soon no longer going to be hers.

Elle looked at you, trying to keep her voice steady as she spoke, “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No.” You shook your head. “Please ask me to stay.”

That was all she needed. “Please stay.”

“I’ll stay.”

When the pizza arrived fifteen minutes later, you were the one that opened the door and received the delivery. You carefully put the food down on the table.

“Sorry, I only have one disposable cup.” Elle said.

“It’s alright. We can share if you don’t mind.” You sat on the floor, picking up a slice.

She smiled at you and poured the soda on the cup.

The two of you ate quietly as you watched the TV. Elle let you have the last slice and you mumbled a thanks. After both of you were satisfied, you helped Elle clean up the mess.

“Let’s go to bed.” You said softly an hour later, pulling her gently to her feet.

Elle didn’t put up a fight to this at all. Exhaustion was well and truly setting in now. She allowed you to lead her upstairs and into her bedroom. She crawled into her bed, curled up and shuffled over to the far side to let you in as well.

The two of you lied there in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. It felt natural, as though the two of you laying there together in bed was the most normal thing in the world and not actually the first time that you shared a bed.

After several minutes of silence, just as Elle thought that you might have fallen asleep, she heard you speak quietly in the dark. “I’ll miss you.”

Elle swallowed and tried to ignore the lump that had now formed in her throat. She knew she’d miss you too, so badly that it hurt, that she was actually having second thoughts about leaving for a minute. “I’ll miss you too.”

“But I want you to heal, to move on, to be happy. I want you to get back the drive you had before… everything.”

Elle found it hard to keep her feelings at bay now. She was too tired to try and keep them in; the need to hold you was taking precedence over her own demons. When you felt Elle turn around, you turned around and faced her too. Elle looked across the bed in the dark, at the outline of the woman lying next to her. “I have a confession to make.”

You didn’t say anything but listened to her attentively.

Elle’s whole body tensed. This was it. She was going to say it. Whatever the repercussions, she knew she needed to tell you. It was now or never and all her emotional defenses were long gone.

Elle took a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you,” She whispered. “And I don’t mean as a best friend. I’m in love with you and I have been for a long time.”

“I love you too.”

Elle’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t been expecting such a quick response from you. She laid motionless for a few long seconds, almost in shock. She had to confirm it, just to make sure this was really happening and she wasn’t dreaming of some imaginary scenario. “You… you do?”

You were confused for a second. “Did you think that when I told you I loved you earlier… did you… did you think I meant it just as my best friend?”

Elle smiled faintly in the dark. This was such a different response to what she was expecting. She had longed for this moment that it felt too good to be true now that it was here. “I… I wasn’t expecting for you to mean it that way…” She mumbled. Her breathing was uneven and shaky and all she wanted to do was reach out and touch you.

“Oh,” you bit your tongue. “Sorry I wasn’t clear about that.”

“No, no. You don’t need to apologize.” She quickly reassured you. It wasn’t the meaning of the words that surprised her, it was the fact that you had said it. You, saying the words that had left her heart aching for so long.

Elle slowly reached across the bed, her fingers resting on your hip, just to be sure you were still there, that this was happening.

“I love you, Elle.” You murmured. “You’ll always have a special place in my heart.”

Your words sent a rush of unfamiliar but wonderful emotions through Elle. A special place in your heart was all she ever wanted. Her hand involuntarily gripped a little tighter, holding onto you.

“I know you’re not gonna change your mind about leaving.” You continued, feeling yourself on the verge of tears again but tried your hardest to hold back. “And I don’t want you to. I know you need it, need to leave this place, leave everything and everyone behind. But I hope you know that… you can always come back to me.”

A slight pang of guilt hit Elle as she heard the words. She hadn’t really thought about how this would all make you feel as well, selfishly thinking about herself and her own feelings alone. Leaving was going to be much more difficult now and that realization was making the situation even more painful.

“Will you wait for me?” Elle found herself whispering without thinking. She instantly bit her tongue, worried about how desperate that sounded.

“Will you promise to come back?” You asked, matching the desperation in her tone.

Elle’s heart twisted in her chest. Leaving itself was going to be hard but leaving with an open promise to her best friend to come back? That made the whole thing much, much more complex and difficult.

“I can’t promise to come back,” she said quietly, a pang of guilt hitting her once more, making her stomach knot lightly. “But I can promise to try.”

You nodded in understanding. “Then I will try to wait.”

Your reply both reassured and worried Elle. Of course, it was a huge ask to expect you to wait without any certainty of when or if she might come back. But on the other hand, the fact that you were prepared to even try was already more than she deserved.

“You’ll always be my best friend. No matter what. No matter where you are.”

“Will you think about me?” The words slipped out of Elle’s mouth without thinking again. She was still struggling to process this. Having her best friend, who she had been in love with for two years, tell her she loves her too, and the same best friend she’s going to leave behind. It was a lot for her emotional and exhausted mind to handle at that moment. The only part of her that was functioning was her mouth and all unfiltered words just spilled out.

“The question is will I ever stop?” You let out a bitter chuckle.

“I won’t ever stop thinking about you either.”

“Don’t forget me, okay?” You didn’t care how desperate you sounded now. You gently stroked her cheek as if trying to force your hand to never forget how her skin felt against your palm.

The thought of ever forgetting you was laughable to Elle. A quiet, slightly nervous laugh escaped her lips. “How could I forget you? That’s physically impossible. It’s like asking me to forget my own name.”

As the words left her mouth, a question of her own popped into mind. If you could wait for her, and she could do the same in return, did that change your relationship now?

Elle swallowed, the lump in her throat returning. It was difficult to ask the question since she wasn’t entirely sure what response she was hoping for but she found herself needing to know.

Her fingers continued its grip on your hip as if letting go would cause you to float away into the darkness. “Does this… does this change things?” Elle asked quietly.

“Do you want it to change things?”

The question took her a little off guard, and she was thankful for the darkness in that moment. She was glad that whatever expression was on her face wouldn’t be able to be seen, although she was sure the nervous tension in her grip gave something away. She wasn’t really sure she even knew the answer herself. The whole thing was so overwhelming, especially considering her current emotional state.

Still, the last thing she wanted to do was lie to her, so she decided honesty was the best policy.

“Yes… and no.” Elle answered.

Elle took a deep breath, trying to steady her thoughts. There was so much going on in her head, and putting those thoughts into words was complicated and difficult. The two of them lying side by side in her bed in the dark, both having just confessed their love for each other still felt unreal. But she was also aware of the circumstances, the fact that at this moment they were basically in a relationship. One that she’s going to leave behind tomorrow.

Her grip on your hip subconsciously tightened, and her voice was even quieter when she spoke again. “Yes, I want things to change between us, but I don’t know if it should. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, considering I’m about to leave. It’s not fair to you…”

“Then it doesn't have to change anything.” You said in finality.

The words hit her like a punch in the stomach. Even though it was the logical, sensible choice - and the one she had wanted to hear - she still didn’t realize how much it all hurt. The prospect of laying her head down on her pillow every night and knowing the woman she’d been secretly in love with for so long was lying next to her… and this moment was probably the only time, the only memory she will hold on to.

Elle swallowed the lump in her throat. She would just have to endure it. It was the right thing to do.

“Elle?” Your voice brought her out of her train of thought and she hummed in response. “Will you kiss me? Just once. Just for tonight.”

Elle’s breath caught, a sudden mix of love and pain and overwhelming want filling her entire body. The thought of getting to kiss her best friend, the woman who she’d been dreaming about being with for so long… even just for one night, she knew she couldn’t refuse.

Elle let out an almost imperceptible, shaky breath. “Come here.”

Without waiting for a response, her hands pulled on your hips, rolling you over and pulling you closer to her in one swift movement. She quickly brought her arms around your waist, holding you gently against her as she felt her body shift closer, your chest now pressed up against her own. With your head resting against the same pillow as her, the two of you now lying face to face in the dark, she could easily see the shape of your face in the faint moonlight coming through the curtains.

For once, Elle was lost for words. Her head was just a cacophony of thoughts and feelings, her stomach churning, her heart beating furiously, and her mind full of a combination of nervousness and want. But more than anything else, her eyes were focused on your mouth, the outline of your jaw and the curve of your lips. The lips she had so desperately wanted to kiss for two years, and was now laying within millimeters of.

One of Elle’s hands gently and slowly slipped up your back, her fingers tracing a gentle path upwards to the back of your head, her fingers entangling into your hair. It might be the first and last time she ever got to touch you like this; she didn’t want to waste a second.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper in the still night air. “Can I?”

“Please.” You answered quickly, desperation lacing your voice.

That was all the confirmation Elle needed. All her worries and hesitations left her mind at that moment. This would only be for one night, and she was going to make the most of it. Even if it might be the last time she’d ever get to hold you like this.

With a small, shaky inhale of breath, her own lips were moving against yours in the dark, finally feeling the kiss that she had been dreaming of for years.

As soon as your lips met, any rational thoughts completely left her mind. Her heart completely overpowered her brain, her head suddenly filled with nothing but the feeling of kissing the woman she loved. The feel of your body in her arms, the feeling of your lips against her own, the scent of your hair - it all overwhelmed her to the point that she wondered if this could possibly be real. Elle held on tight, making sure she didn’t let this moment go.

It felt so unreal, and she had a feeling that if she hadn’t been lying down, her legs likely would’ve given out at that moment. Just feeling you, her best friend, now her lover for one night, pressed up against her in her arms was enough to make her head spin. She pulled your body closer against her own, desperately wanting to feel more of you, to feel you all over.

You pulled away after what felt like hours, catching your breath. You pressed your forehead against hers. “I love you, Elle.” You murmured, voice laced with love, desire, and a hint of sadness.

The words made Elle’s heart ache, and her chest felt almost tight. She took a shaky breath as she tried to get her own breaths and emotions under control.

Her own voice was quiet, with a hint of vulnerability. It was as if she had forgotten how to talk all of a sudden, and it was only her love and overwhelming want that was spurring her to speak. “I love you too.”

Elle’s hand slid under the fabric of your shirt, her fingertips gently tracing over the skin of your waist. She was greedy - wanting to feel and memorize every part of you, touch you in every way possible, in case there was not a chance that she would get the opportunity to again. A small, shaky exhale escaped her lips in the dark, her head spinning from the realization of it all: this was real. She was actually holding the woman she’d loved for years in her arms.

Her head was spinning, and her heart was racing. Her fingertips slowly traced across your stomach, moving up over your ribs and side, gently up towards the curve of her shoulder. The knowledge that this might be the only and last night that she could ever hold you like this made her heart ache in a way that was almost unbearable. So she held her tighter, pulling you impossibly closer against her, her legs gently intertwining with yours.

“Can you turn on the night light?” You requested all of a sudden.

The request was unexpected, and she wondered if perhaps she had pushed things too far, too fast. But the words still sent a shiver down her spine - the thought of turning her night light on and being able to see the woman she loved lying next to her… that was a different level of intensity.

Elle swallowed faintly and nodded, reaching over to the bedside table to gently turn on the small night light that cast a gentle glow across the room.

You reached for her cheek, gently stroking it, your thumb traced her lower lip. “If this is the only night I’ll be with you like this, I want to see you.”

A faint shiver ran down her spine at the gentle touch of your thumb against her lip. Elle let out another faint huff of breath, both feeling overwhelmed yet desperate for more.

At that moment, you knew that if you only had one night, you were going to make the most of it. You had to.

It wasn't long before the two of you were tangled under the covers. Promises, reassurances, and declarations were whispered and made and moaned out of your mouth and Elle’s.

You both knew that no matter what happens now, you both will have tonight.

And when the morning came, you said goodbyes at the door. You didn't have the heart to take her to the airport. You wanted to but you’re afraid you won't let her go if Elle gives you one last hug.

“Don’t be a stranger, Elle Greenaway.” You said, trying to make it sound like a threat but you were too sad. You missed her already.

“I won't.” She promised, pressing a soft kiss on your temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. You promised her you wouldn't cry. “Call me, okay? I’ll always answer. Unless I get kidnapped or something, then maybe I’ll call you back, huh?”

“Shut up, smartass.” Elle shoved your shoulder playfully. “I’ll keep in touch with you, I promise.”

“Have a safe flight.”

“Drive safe.”

It took everything in you to not break down the second you started driving away. The image of Elle waving goodbye in front of her house was forever etched in your memory.

—

It was a big adjustment when Elle left. It felt strange not seeing her on her desk, reading case files and occasionally going through her purse if she got too bored. You missed her. You missed your best friend.

It wasn't long before Elle was replaced by another agent. You knew she would be replaced. The BAU was a workplace after all. Everybody gets replaced.

JJ said she saw the new agent at Hotch’s office and that she had the same hair color, same build, and same energy as Elle’s.

You felt your stomach knot tightly at the thought of Elle being replaced by a clone.

Hotch introduced Emily Prentiss to the team before the briefing of the new case. She stood up and reached out to everyone for a handshake. You took her hand, trying to be professional and respectful.

When JJ started briefing you all about the case, your eyes couldn't stop wandering to Emily. Her hair was shiny, straight, and not a single strand out of place. She had a healthy posture even when she’s sitting, almost like she was trained to be a model. Her big brown eyes and captivating smile and eagerness made her look like an excited baby deer.

As the weeks passed by, you learned more about Emily. May it be because she was new to the team or was just a people pleaser, Emily overcompensated a lot. It was obvious how she wanted to fit in, to make everyone accept and like her, especially you.

At first, you had been avoiding her most of the time, only talking to her when necessary, and Emily didn't know why until one day she asked JJ. The media liaison told her about Elle, the one Emily replaced in the team, and that she was your best friend.

But Emily wasn't hard to like at all. She was kind, thoughtful, funny, sarcastic, a bit nerdy, and really good at her job.

The two of you got along really well, really fast as the months passed by that you almost felt guilty because you were forgetting Elle.

Elle, who, after she left, had not called you once at all and probably changed her phone number because you can no longer reach her.

Elle, who had broken her promise to keep in touch with you.

Elle, who left you and won't probably be back at all even though she said she would try.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to be friends with Emily at all. And it’s not like you can do anything about it, too. You were already captivated by her. You found yourself wanting to be close to her all the time, craving her attention and her subtle touches on your arm when she talks to you.

Emily Prentiss was easily clawing her way into your heart and you couldn't do anything about it. You weren't even sure if you wanted to do something about it.

It was snowing outside. You had three layers of clothes on the way to work. If you had to stay one more minute outside, you swore you’d freeze to death.

When you stepped out of the elevator, you shook off the snow from your coat and beanie hat. You immediately saw Emily walking back to her desk with two cups of coffee in her hands. She carefully put one cup on your desk and your heart fluttered and did a small somersault inside your ribcage.

“Morning,” you greeted Emily with a smile. You took off your coat and hung it on the back of your chair. “Thanks for the coffee, Prentiss.”

“Welcome. You need it. You look like you got out of a freezer.”

“Feels like it.” You took a sip of the hot coffee. Emily knew just how you liked your coffee and the redness on your cheek wasn't from the cold anymore.

Emily walked over to your desk and leaned against it. “Hey, JJ and Garcia said they’re planning a girls’ night tonight. Just some drinks at the bar, I think. Do you wanna come?”

Your gaze fell from the cup of coffee to Emily’s face. “Sure,” you replied, hiding the smile behind the cup.

“Great! I’ll tell JJ.”

You have never been with Emily outside of work before but you’ve been with JJ and Garcia a couple of times. You had no idea why it suddenly made you nervous and excited at the same time.

After work hours, the four of you went to a bar. You, JJ, and Penelope had frequently gone here but it’s Emily's first time. And after a couple of shots and a lot of work gossip shared, JJ was playing darts against a couple of guys for free drinks while Penelope was dancing with some guy, leaving you and Emily at your booth.

“So…” Your elbow hit the table, chin resting on your hand. “What does Emily Prentiss do for fun?”

Emily let out a chuckle. “Oh, I’m absolutely boring because I just read books.”

You huffed. “That’s not boring. Unless you’re reading what Spencer considers fun to read then yes, you’re boring.”

“Not textbooks at all.” Emily assured, grinning. “What about you?”

“Gardening.”

“Gardening?”

“Yeah, I’m an old lady stuck in a thirty-year-old body.”

Emily smiled at you. “What do you plant? Do you have a vegetable business or something? Or was it just decorative plants?”

“I have various plants at home. There were vegetables in the backyard and flowers at the front, some potted cactuses and snake plants inside.”

“Wow. I bet your house looks beautiful.”

“You should come visit sometime.” You blurted out without thinking. You blinked a few times to process what you had said.

But when you saw that Emily had a big smile on her face, eager that you had invited her to your home, the panic in your eyes immediately faded. “I’d love to.”

Oh, Penelope would smack you when she finds out you had invited Emily to your house before them. But you had no doubt that it would be worth it.

—

You and Emily fell into a routine without even realizing it. When Emily arrived earlier than you, she would have a hot freshly-brewed coffee on your tumbler waiting for you. And in the rare instances that you’re earlier, you bought her a cup of coffee from the café you two loved. Emily knew how you liked your coffee a little sweet, and you knew you like hers a little bitter.

During cases when you two were away from Quantico, you and Emily frequently bunked together. It was automatic and no one from the team complained about it.

Not like Emily would allow anyone else to be alone with you in a hotel room, anyway.

—

Emily wasn't a jealous person. Not at all. She was simply protective and caring and right now all she wanted to do was protect you from a certain male police officer who was getting a little too close and friendly with you. There was no doubt Emily could take him down with one move but she was trying her best to hold back, to not cause a scene.

When Emily saw that you were uncomfortable with the way the officer was talking and flirting with you, Emily quickly came to the rescue.

She placed her hand on your lower back and slid it down to your hip. “Hey, the briefing's about to start. Let’s go?”

You looked up to Emily and wordlessly nodded as she led you back to the conference room. Her hand was still on you and she was so close that you could smell her perfume and shampoo.

“Thank you.” You mumbled to Emily once you were both alone in the small conference room.

“You’re welcome.”

Emily didn't remove her hand on your hip until the rest of the team started walking in. You sat next to each other and even when the briefing started, Emily’s hand remained on you under the table - on your knee, on your thigh, on your hand. And it sent all kinds of electricity in your body and you wished she would never keep her hands off of you.

—

Emily and Spencer were held hostage by a cult leader named Benjamin Cyrus. The two of them were undercover to investigate an alleged child abuse by the underground cult.

You were told they were going to be safe, that it would just be a bunch of interviews with women and children. What the fuck went wrong?

You could hear Emily’s grunting and panting through your headphones.

“I can take it.”

You heard the punches and the slaps thrown at Emily, a mirror breaking into pieces, some things falling on the floor. You quickly removed your headphones and closed your eyes, a tear escaped and rolled down your cheek. You never prayed but at that moment, you prayed harder than a devout Catholic. Just for Emily to be safe.

Hotch squeezed your shoulder, reassuring you that you all will get them out including Emily and Spencer. You tried to hear it, to hear him, but your heart was louder than your head.

When 3am came, you didn’t know where you got the energy to still participate in the raid. You held your rifle carefully, following Morgan and Rossi inside the compound and waited at the back tunnel. Finally, the women and children were being guided out through the tunnel.

Your heart almost stopped when you saw Emily. She was battered and bruised but you had never been happier seeing her face again. You reached out to her, holding her hand as she stepped out. “Emily, are you okay?”

Emily nodded and guided everyone to safety. You tried to not be distracted, to be focused on saving the lives of the children and women. You followed Morgan to find Reid inside the church. Morgan quickly aimed for Cyrus’ men and you planted a bullet on Cyrus’ head.

You and Morgan ran to Reid’s side. Reid noticed that Jesse ran back inside the church, finding her husband dead. She grabbed the controller of explosives and the three of you ran as fast as you could.

Then there was a big explosion.

The next thing you know was being wrapped in Emily’s arms and your arm covered in glass cuts.

Emily cupped your cheek, worry and desperation on her face. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m okay now that you’re here.” She said breathlessly, pressing her forehead against yours.

—

“Here you go,” Emily put a refilled cup of coffee on your desk as you finish your pending reports. “Your eyes will be strained at this point if you don’t stop looking at your screen once in a while.”

“I’m almost done.” You answered, continuing to type on your keyboard and your eyes were still laser focused on the computer screen.

To your surprise, Emily inserted her face between you and the screen. She was now face to face with you and your heart almost dropped.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Protecting your eyes.”

If only Emily knew the effect she had on you.

—

There was something about you today. Something was wrong. And Emily couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. You were strangely quiet and only responded with yes and no’s. You didn’t even finish the cup of coffee she prepared for you. You also seemed distracted during the meeting.

You and Emily were the only ones left in the bullpen. She had already started packing her things and arranging the files that needed to be submitted tomorrow. Emily glanced at your direction, seeing you staring mindlessly at the photo in your hand. She walked over to you, placing her bag on your desk.

Emily crouched down so she could take a look at your face. “You’re not yourself today. Are you okay?” She asked worriedly.

You looked down at Emily, then to the photo and back to Emily again. “It’s Elle’s birthday.”

“Elle?”

“Elle Greenaway.”

That Elle, Emily thought. She heard of her. Just bits and pieces from Garcia, JJ, Reid, and Morgan. They all mentioned you being Elle’s best friend before she left.

“Did you wish her a happy birthday?”

“I wanted to… but we’re no longer in contact.” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “S-she moved away.”

Emily couldn’t stand the sad lines on your face. She reached out for your hand, gently squeezing it. “How about we get an ice cream? My treat. Celebrate Elle’s birthday.”

Your gaze met Emily’s and the pure sincerity on her face made you smile involuntarily.

And in the nice little ice cream shop, you told Emily all about Elle - how you met, how she became your best friend, her most memorable moments with you, what happened to her, and why she moved away. You even told Emily about how you felt about Elle.

You were normally guarded with your walls up high but with Emily, sharing was so easy. You never felt any judgment from her. She only listened to you, loving the way you spoke and how your hands spoke with you.

“So, uh… I have a question.” Emily said as you were both walking on your way to the bus stop.

“What is it?”

“You’re over her, right? Elle, I mean.”

“Over?”

“A-are you still waiting for her t-to come back?”

You went quiet for a minute and Emily was worried she crossed a line for asking the question so she pulled you to the side for a minute to apologize but you beat her in saying something first. “No,” you replied. “I’m not waiting for her anymore.”

You didn’t feel any guilt as you said that. Not anymore. You did your time. You waited for her. You had not waited for her in a long time.

Emily had a hopeful smile on her face. Her hands gently stroked your cheeks. Her hands were so soft that they almost felt like pillows on both sides of your face.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked, her voice trembling a little bit.

The smile on your face was contagious that Emily returned the smile in an instant. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Emily closed the gap between your lips and kissed you like you’d never been kissed before, soft and gentle as if you were so fragile, so delicate and she only had a once in a lifetime privilege to do so.

And after what felt like forever, both of you looked at each other with flushed cheeks and a desire igniting in both of your eyes. The taste of your lips lingered in her mouth and so did the taste of Emily’s lips on yours.

Emily stayed the night with you at your house. Beside you. Under you. On top of you.

And in the morning, Emily still stayed, tending to your garden.

Emily’s love was an ivy that covered your house and made it a home.

—

Elle wasn't exactly expecting a call one night after she went home from closing a long case. The number was unregistered to her phone yet she answered promptly. “Greenaway.”

“Elle,” You breathed a sigh of relief, that finally this was the right number. “It’s Y/N.”

Elle’s heartbeat quickened instantly upon hearing your voice on the other line. She hadn't heard your voice in ten years, which was all her fault.

“H-hey.” Her throat suddenly felt dry.

“It’s been so long.”

“I know.” Elle said quietly, her tone apologetic. “A-are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I’ve been trying to find you.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, I’ve got news.”

Elle suddenly sat up straight. You sounded serious. “What is it?”

“I’m getting married.”

The knots on Elle's stomach tightened. It felt like being stabbed actually. She had to check with her palm if her heart was still beating as it felt like it had dropped to her feet. “Y-you are?” She stammered, trying (and failing) to sound ecstatic for you.

“In three months, yeah.” The excitement in your voice was killing her. She shouldn't be feeling this way, feeling so… hurt and betrayed. After all, she was the one that broke a promise, the one that cut all contacts, the one that left, the one that didn't keep in touch with you for ten years.

“Three months? That’s… wow. Congratulations. Who’s the lucky person?”

“Emily Prentiss.” You said almost too quickly. She could still hear the excitement, the happiness in your voice. Whoever this Emily Prentiss was, she was one hell of a lucky woman already. And Elle envied her.

“Emily Prentiss,” she repeated. “A profiler as well?”

“Yes. Emily came into the BAU shortly after you quit.” You replied.

Oh.

Elle felt as if there was a sharp knife stuck in her chest. So Emily was her replacement… both in the BAU and in your life. The sharp knife was being twisted in her chest.

When you weren't met with a reply, you continued, “I want you to come to the wedding. If you can. Please?”

Elle was doomed really. She couldn't say no. Not when you were begging. Not when she hadn't seen you in years. Not when she missed you so much.

“I-I’ll go.”

“Really?” You let out a small squeak and Elle heard you yell to Emily that she was coming. You were so excited. She didn't know you would be ecstatic to see her still after all these years of no contact. “I’ll send you the invitation! In your email. Please message it to me.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and, Elle?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still my best friend.”

The lump on her throat was almost unbearable now and the tears had fallen faster than she realized she was about to cry. “Y-you’re still mine too.” Elle’s voice was weak and cracked.

“I love you.” You said so casually yet she knew you meant it.

You still love her.

You just love her in a different way now. In a way that could never be like how you loved her before. In a way that could never be like how you loved Emily, your soon-to-be wife.

“I love you too.” Elle replied, pouring all the strength of her voice in those four little words.

“See you at the wedding.”

“See you.”

When the phone call ended, Elle knew she got you back but lost you forever.

228 notes · View notes

persephone-reblogs · 9 days

Text

Baby Come Close | college!Bradley Bradshaw x virgin!Reader |

turn the lights down low, baby come close

put your trust in me, let this love be

SUMMARY: On the last night of spring break of junior year at UVA, you decided that this was the perfect time to lose your virginity to none other than Bradley Bradshaw. WORD COUNT: ~4.9k WARNINGS: THIS BLOG IS 18+ SO JUST ASSUME ANYTHING GOES. MINORS DNI. this is just pure smut. barely a plot. p in v. corruption kink if you squint. praise kink if you squint more. fluff. swears. no use of y/n. A/N: this is my first time writing publicly, especially smut, in a very long time, and my first fic for TGM! I’m so nervous to post this, please be gentle :')

It was the last day of spring break, and the college town of Charlottesville, Virginia was a bit quieter than usual, due to most of its population being who knows where doing who knows what with their time off. Your parents were out of town in Boston, but you much rather would have spent time with Bradley at his apartment than go back to your empty childhood home anyway, exchanging pleasantries with former high school classmates who you would undoubtedly run into in public. You and Bradley, instead, decided that spring break would be much better spent in the privacy of his empty dwelling, partaking in day trips to Virginia Beach in his Bronco and a staycation of movie-watching-turned-heated-groping sessions… And maybe even more if you decided to finally take it there. What better time than tonight, before the first day of the final stretch of junior year at the University of Virginia?

“What did he say?” Bradley whispered, snapping you out of your thoughts. Usually, the two of you would try to watch the movie until around the thirty-minute mark, and then one wandering hand or a lingering kiss later and it would be completely ignored. For you, however, tonight’s movie was long forgotten the moment he had turned it on.

“Hm? Oh, I didn’t hear him. Sorry…” You smiled at him sheepishly.

“You good, angel?” He cocked his eyebrow as he turned to face you. The warm amber of his irises bore into your face with adoration and slight concern. “You’re not thinking about breaking up with me, are you?” He feigned worry, clutching over his heart. You swatted his arm playfully with an eye roll.

“I’m just a little thirsty… Do you want anything from the kitchen?” You offered, feeling a little silly as he simultaneously took a swig from his bottle of beer. He pretended to think for a moment.

“Yeah, get me a glass of you.” He grinned, leaning down to catch your lips in his, stifling your giggle as you cringed with an exaggerated scoff at his cheesy remark. Bradley Bradshaw, dad joke supreme.

“On second thought, maybe I’ll decide to break up with you when I get back, Dadshaw.” You teased, pushing his curls from his forehead, earning you a perfect pout from his plump lips to which you gave a lingering kiss. There it was.

If you were being honest with yourself, you were growing restless with the over-the-clothes grope sessions that regularly took place the last few months. While they were exciting and enjoyable, there was a particular itch that you just couldn’t scratch, even on your own. Your thoughts would drift to him at night as you imagined what being with him would be like, and any time your unskilled fingers fumbled to bring an unfamiliar feeling to that place deep inside you, you would immediately withdraw your hand. The longer things continued on like this, the antsier you were getting and if Bradley was feeling the same way, you would have been none the wiser. He was aware of your predicament and he, ever the gentleman, always let you set the pace and never asked anything of you that you were not comfortable with. His mother raised him better than being any other way. “I promise I’m not some bible-thumping prude.” You would promise him from time to time during these exchanges. He never asked you for your reasoning, but he knew it was just a matter of trust. He would just simply smile and assure you there was no rush, that he would never pressure you to go further than you wanted.

In truth, however, the idea of being your first anything excited him. He felt a little guilty for having that thought in the first place but he couldn’t help it. Any time he tried to get any information from you about what you had done before, just out of sheer curiosity, you would quickly skirt around the subject and bring up anything else. He would never press you on the matter, but he could tell when you were hesitant and very intentional with your movements during impromptu make out sessions behind the bookshelves in the library during study breaks. But he also noticed when something changed inside of you: the time he pulled you into the office of the professor he was TA-ing for when they were out for a few days. When he decided to be spontaneous and clear the professor’s desk of clutter to push you onto the surface, you didn’t exasperatedly scold him or get flushed and embarrassed like you normally would. You simply continued on, pulling him into you, your kisses and touches… hungrier, but he continued to let you set the pace, and while it didn’t go much further, he could feel the desperation growing there with you. That was a week ago, right before midterms, and neither of you had talked about it since.

He tilted his head at you as you winked and sauntered away, making your way out of his room and down the hall toward the kitchen. After nervously gulping down half of the water in your glass in an attempt to slow your heart rate, you stepped into the bathroom off the side of the galley. You gripped either side of the sink as you bent over the counter to face yourself in the mirror, inhaling deeply before letting out a shaky breath. “You can do this. It’s not a big deal. Everyone has done it… Just not you,” you furrowed your brow at your failed pep talk. You had been in your head about this for a couple months, and especially all week as he made a habit of sweetly coaxing you into staying over every night of spring break with him to cuddle every time you would start gathering your belongings to leave. You worried that you wouldn’t be nearly as good as the other women Bradley had already been with, and you often wondered why he was even waiting around with you in the first place, especially when other girls on campus would throw themselves at him had they been given the chance. You had even brought this up to him a couple times before, how he was wasting formative college experience time with you, which was always met with, “Baby, I don’t want anyone else,” or, “Sex isn’t the only important thing in the world.” Sure, not the only thing, but surely still pretty important to someone like Bradley Bradshaw.

“No, you’re not backing out of it. Get it over with. Everything will only get easier from here on out.” You told your reflection definitively. You reached up under your skirt, hooking your panties with your thumbs before tugging them down your legs. You had hoped this bold of a move would spur you on to go through with this, either by your own actions or even by Bradley discovering you bare, as you knew he would often absentmindedly run his thumb against the underwear lines at your hip when he cuddled you. After giving yourself one last look-over in the mirror, you took a deep breath before turning off the light and exiting the bathroom.

Bradley snapped his head up when you reentered his bedroom, giving you a cheeky grin. “Are you back to break up with me, angel?” He has no idea what he’s in for tonight, you thought, but then quickly humbled yourself by the fact that, well, neither did you.You sauntered over to turn off the television with the remote before tossing it away to his textbook-ridden desk. The sudden silence and the way he was looking at you was making you lose your nerve, so you walked over to his stereo to pop one of his CDs in the player, Smokey Robinson’s Smokey, pressing the repeat button and then skipping until the player display read the number 9. Baby Come Close started softly through the speakers, and you remembered the first time he had you listen to it with him.

“This right here… is lovemaking music,” he proclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows at you, only half-joking. Your eyes widened as you playfully swatted his arm, causing him to bellow with laughter. “But make no mistake, it sounds so much better on vinyl.”

“Then why aren’t we listening to it on vinyl?” You teased, prodding his chest with your finger.

“The thought of keeping my collection here with me at school when I live with these idiots makes me shudder, honey. Get real.”

Bradley’s expression was puzzled as you crawled across the bed to straddle his lap, cupping his face and running your thumbs over his smooth skin. He beamed at you nonetheless. “What are you –” You cut him off by gently tilting his chin upward and placing a slow, sensual kiss on his lips. Your lips moved perfectly in sync as he sat up a little straighter, placing his hands on your hips. You shakily reached for one of his hands before setting your discarded lace panties in his palm. He pulled away to look at the delicate fabric and blinked a few times before slowly sliding his other hand under your skirt to grip your bare behind. He softly drew a circle on the skin there with his thumb. His touch felt like static and left goosebumps in its wake, making you shiver. It suddenly clicked in Bradley’s mind as he remembered what he told you about this song, it made his chest constrict. You nervously bit your lip as you watched him short circuit in real time. Bradley took pause as he met your eyes, full of both lust and uncertainty. “Are you saying…”

“I’ve been wondering what it feels like, how you feel, for a while,” you admitted softly, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. Bradley swallowed hard, his heartbeat in his ears as he hung on every word you said. Your gaze shifted to focus on your hands as you nervously stated, “I don’t want to wait any longer, Bradley. I think I’m ready.” Your eyes fluttered closed as he hesitantly caught your lips again. He grinned into the kiss and pushed your shirt up slightly to rub his calloused thumbs along the soft skin of your waist. You sighed into his mouth as your lips parted, which Bradley took advantage of by sliding his tongue to massage against yours in your mouth.

“We’ll take it slow. I’ll take care of you,” He promised after a long moment with a heavy breath, slowly inching a hand further up your tee to palm your breast and pinching your nipple through your bra, enough for your breath to catch in your throat. “Is this okay?” His eyes snapped to yours expectantly, and he smiled softly when you nodded. Bradley pulled your shirt upward over your head and tossed the material to the floor. He took a moment to marvel at the lacey red bra that matched the underwear in his hand before attaching his lips to your neck and flinging your panties aside. You sighed, bringing your arms up loosely around the back of his neck to run your fingers through the curls at his nape. He raised a hand to cradle your jaw, his thumb gently nudging it to angle your chin to give him more access, and his other expertly sliding up your back to unhook your bra with ease. You sighed in relief as the restrictive material fell down your arms and tried to fight the bashful feeling that washed over you. You felt your face flush as you realized Bradley was the first person to see you this way, all hot and flushed on top of him. He blinked as he took in the sight of your bare chest. “Absolutely perfect, angel.”

You experimentally ground your hips down onto his and the friction of his denim jeans against your bare core made you whimper. You could feel his hard cock through the stiff material separating you, and you desperately wanted more. Your shaky hands fumbled with the button of his pants as you kissed down his jaw and along his neck, placing hot, lingering kisses on the somewhat-fresh scars that stretched across his skin. He chuckled softly, placing his hands over yours to steady them as he guided the button out of the loop.

“Relax, baby. We can take it nice and slow,” Bradley reassured you before lifting you from him to shimmy out of his jeans. But before you could touch him again, he wrapped his arms around your waist and flipped you over, gently placing you underneath him. He rubbed your sides as he shifted his weight on top of you, pushing you into the plush of his mattress. He supported himself on his forearm as mouth latched onto your right nipple, his free hand massaging your other breast. You moaned softly, you felt him smile against your soft skin. Bradley’s tongue swirled around the bud, and he released it with a pop before moving to the left one. When you arched your back, instinctively pushing up against his mouth, he groaned, His hand wandered to your thighs, rubbing them each for a while before slipping between them when you opened them slightly. He nudged your thigh to open wider with his knee. “Am I going too fast?” He asked, stopping his mouth on your skin to look up at you. You shook your head with a nervous smile and he placed a kiss on your sternum. “Tell me what you like.”

“I — I don’t know.” He furrowed his eyebrows at this confession.

“Show me how you do it when you touch yourself,” He requested, and stopped his movements when you opened your mouth to speak… and then closed it. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

“I have! Well, kind of. I either got bored, or whenever I felt anything building I just… stopped.”

“So… You’ve never came before, even on your own?” He prodded delicately, and you sheepishly shook your head. Bradley suppressed the moan at the back of his throat. He wet his lips with his tongue. “Oh, honey. I can’t believe you’re this innocent,” he said more to himself than to you, which made you feel a bit self-conscious. He noticed you tense. “No, baby, no, that isn’t what I mean. You’ve just been so… I never would have guessed.”

“I would understand if you didn’t want to keep going.” You offered, shifting uncomfortably. Bradley’s expression turned incredulous as he rapidly shook his head.

“No way is that deterring me from you. How about we find out what feels good together, okay?” You nodded and let out a shaky breath as his middle finger slowly slid through your slick and ghosted over your clit. An unexpected sound squeaked from your chest and you flushed when he met your eyes. “Soaked already. Is this all for me?” He shot you a lopsided grin, and smirked when you whimpered and nodded. You bucked your hips against his hand, a silent plea for any type of friction, and he obliged by rubbing your bundle of nerves in slow circles. This felt so much beyond anything you could have possibly done on your own, the unanticipated movements of his touches. You felt like your body was on fire.

“Bradley,” you pleaded, your legs starting to scramble. He held your hips down with one hand and slid his middle finger into you with the other, wordlessly obliging, slowly pumping it a few times before curling it upward and hitting a spot that had you arching your back and letting out a sharp gasp. “Oh!”

“How’s that?” He asked smugly, chuckling slightly as you could do nothing but dumbly nod and blink up at him, not exactly answering his question but it was definitely an answer all the same. He watches you with an amused grin as he repeated the motion with his skilled digit, eliciting a strangled moan from somewhere deep in your sternum.

The rumors you always heard about him before you got together were true, he certainly had magic fingers. The sounds he was pulling for you made him thank the high heavens that he had ears, and that his roommates had left town for the week. He kissed down your stomach and your breath hitched as he continued down, down, down. Bradley raised his eyes to meet yours, immediately softening at your slightly panicked expression. “May I?”

“I… Yes.”

“If you don’t like it, we can move on,” He beamed his reassurance at you earnestly. “But I promise I’m going to do everything I can to make you feel so good, baby.” He teasingly kissed along the outside of your thighs, chuckling when you squirmed, desperate for any kind of contact. Suddenly, feeling his hot breath against your core, he placed a slow, delicate kiss against you before spreading you with his fingers, then licking a thick stripe upward.

“Oh, my fucking –” Bradley attached his lips to your clit, alternating between licking and sucking. You could feel yourself getting impossibly wetter. His tongue dipped down to your weeping hole, teasingly plunging into you every so often. You didn’t know what to do with your hands as they scrambled to find purchase in the sheets. He guided one of your hands to his hair, your other following suit, and when your fingers tangled into his tresses, he groaned at the tug.

“You taste so good, honey,” Bradley breathed, and his voice was so raspy and full of lust it caused you to buck your hips slightly against his mouth. The comment made your cheeks heat up, almost embarrassed. He hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the immense pleasure he was already giving you. He pulled his mouth away and brought up two digits two your wetness, slowly teasing your entrance, making you whimper pathetically. “I love the little sounds that you make when I’m teasing you.” It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. He pushed his fingers into you slowly, allowing you time to adjust to the slightly uncomfortable stretch, before curling upward against your walls and moving them into you at a steady pace. You felt that unfamiliar feeling start to rise in your stomach and your legs began to shake.

“Bradley – I can’t – I think I’m gonna –”

“Come for me, baby,” He growled against you, harshly sucking your clit as his fingers sped up a bit. You cried out in complete ecstasy as you came undone under him, tugging his face impossibly closer into your core. He rutted his hips into the mattress as he watched you, desperate for friction, and continued to work you through it. You would have felt embarrassed about the way you convulsed if you hadn’t heard through the cotton filling your head, “Holy shit, you’re so fucking hot.” As you came down from your high, you hissed from the overstimulation as he kept at you. You pushed his head back involuntarily and he chuckled before kissing the inside of your thigh apologetically. You tried to take a moment to catch your breath as he continued to kiss your thighs and around your heat. “Was that alright?”

You heaved a laugh at the question, you felt him grinning against your belly. “Something like that,” you quipped, meeting his eyes. He looked so in love, just watching your already fucked out expression as you tried to find your way back down to Earth. You ran your fingers through his hair, he pressed his cheek into your thigh. “I want that all the time.”

“I am so, so happy to oblige.” He suggested, experimentally going back down to kitten lick at your soaked cunt. You giggled, shaking your head.

“I wanna touch you too,” you stated breathlessly. Bradley cocked an eyebrow at you as you sat up and pushed him to lay backward to sit between his knees, reattaching your lips to his collarbone and eagerly kissing down his chest and abdomen. He chuckled, bringing a hand up to gently hold your hair out of your face. His finger lovingly swept a circle over your cheek. You boldly and playfully licked a thick stripe up his torso, causing a strained groan to bubble from his throat, before returning nip down to the waistband of his boxers. Your sudden confidence had quickly dissipated as you looked up at him with wide eyes. This was the first time you’d seen him this way, in this position. Bradley was so beautiful. He had been hitting the gym pretty hard in preparation for his hopeful, second-round acceptance into flight school come graduation next year and it was definitely paying off, though you admit you still liked it when he was a bit softer in the middle. He gave you an encouraging grin as you began to pull the material downward, his cock sprung free and slapped up against his abdomen. You blinked, dumbfounded, as you took in the sight of him. “I…”

“You don’t have to do anything.” He stated firmly with a soft smile, bringing a hand to brush the hair from your face once more. You furrowed your brows and shook your head.

“Teach me?” You gazed at him expectantly. “Show me how to touch you. Teach me how to make you feel good, too.” Fuck. He nodded, swallowing hard. He took your hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss before guiding it down to secure gently around his length. He tightened his hand over yours slightly, signaling you to tighten your grip a little. Taking his cock in your hand, you hesitantly pumped it a few times before surprising the both of you by boldly licking the precum from his tip. It was surprisingly pleasant but maybe it was because a soft, strangled moan bubbled from Bradley’s lips, which was enough to make you squeeze your thighs together. You wanted to do everything you could to hear that sound again. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, humming in approval as you hesitantly took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his length until it hit the back of your throat. You gagged but recovered smoothly as he guided you to bob your head. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked on his length and pumped what you couldn’t fit with your hand, just like you saw in the videos you sometimes watched in preparation for this moment.

“Are you sure this is your first time?” Bradley chuckled and sighed as his head fell back against the headboard. You couldn’t keep the cocky grin off your face as you repeated your motions. You figured he was exaggerating your skill for your benefit, but you didn’t care. The sounds leaving him were deliciously filthy, reassuring you that you were doing all the right things. “That’s it baby, just like that. So fucking good for me,” His hand gripped a fistful of your hair as he thrusted his hips toward your face slightly. You gagged but recovered immediately, though you could feel your embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “Shit, sorry, is that okay?” You hummed in response, the vibrations adding to Bradley’s pleasure so much so that he huffed out a string of curses. You could feel your wetness begin to drip down the side of your thigh, and you were getting a little antsy.

“Bradley…” You whined as you pulled back for air. Your body stiffened as nerves consumed you once more. “I want… I need…”

“What do you need, honey?” He questioned gently, pulling you up to him to catch your lips. He expertly flipped you back onto your back, slotting his body between your legs. You could feel him over your heat, causing you to experimentally buck your hips upward to grind against him. “Tell me what you need.” Bradley hissed as you whimpered. He fumbled to pull a condom from the box of his bedside drawer, planting wet kisses on your outstretched arm on his way back to you.

“Please fuck me,” you requested boldly. The filthy words from your lips made him throw his head back with a groan. “Bradley, please.” He tore the foil packet open with his teeth and pumped himself a few times before rolling the condom down onto his length. He kissed up your neck back to your lips as he positioned himself at your entrance, running the head of his cock through your slick folds.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?” He kissed you sweetly. You smiled at him with a hesitant nod. You figured you would feel a lot more embarrassed than you did, feeling pathetically naive and innocent to be experiencing this for the first time at your age, but he never put the thought that he felt that way in your mind. Bradley was never condescending, he never talked down to you or made you feel like something too pure or too delicate to touch. He slowly pushed his tip into you, causing your eyes to water and screw shut. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders and your body went rigid.

“Angel, I need you to relax your muscles. I don’t want it to hurt,” He bit back a moan as he continued to fill you once you relaxed. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You stated firmly. It didn’t hurt as bad as you were told it would, it was more uncomfortable than anything. He waited for you to adjust to him, idly planting wet kisses over the length of your neck and collarbone as he whispered sweet praises in your ear.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Bradley cooed. “You’re taking me so well,” After several minutes, you shifted your hips slightly in attempts to ease the discomfort, and… Oh. You moaned slightly at the new electricity inducing feeling that coursed through your body. Bradley picked up his head to reattach his lips to yours and pulled his hips back slightly before slowly thrusting back into you. You gasped, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. His dilated pupils fixated on your own as he found his rhythm, pushing deeper into you while increasing his pace. His sweet moans were music to your ears, and yours to his. You were a whimpering mess underneath him, grabbing fistfuls of sheets as he ran a hand down your thigh to wrap your leg around his waist. “You’re so tight.” A deep-seated groan emitted from the back of his throat as his thrusts became sloppy, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. He took one of your hands in his, interlocking your fingers and bringing them to rest on the mattress above your head.

“You feel so…” You moaned before your lips latched onto his neck. “Fuck.”

“I love listening to you,” He admitted blissfully. “I never could have imagined the sweet noises you make.” You whimpered at his words. He hastily snaked a hand down between the two of you and started rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit. The added sensation with him thrusting into your dripping core at a dizzying pace, repeatedly hitting just the right spot, was almost too much but so perfect. His praises kept stoking that building fire in the pit of your belly, and watching him watch you sent you over the edge once more. Your vision went white as a string of curses fell from your mouth. Your legs began to shake and the rest of your body stiffened.

“Bradley, oh my – fuck!”

“That’s it, good girl,” He groaned at the sight of you writhing underneath him. He sucked a mark into your collarbone to contain the melodies escaping him. “Baby, I’m gonna come,” Bradley rasped as he buried his face further into your neck. You brought up your other leg to tighten them both around him, bucking your hips to meet his thrusts as he came undone on top of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You had never seen such a beautiful sight, watching the muscles of his bicep contract as he held himself over you while he fell apart. He lazily peppered your neck with hot kisses, sucking marks into your skin, and after a few moments, he begrudgingly lifted himself off you with a huge grin plastered on his face. He would have stayed there forever if you let him. “How are you? Was that okay?” You giggled at his concern, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It was perfect,” you hummed in contentment. Definitely worth the wait, and now I know what I’ve been missing. Bradley’s phone began to ring, and when he lifted it to check the caller I.D., his smile faltered for a split second.

Mav

He hastily declined the call. Maverick was continuing to not get the hint of months’ worth of rejected calls and Bradley refused to let him ruin another perfect moment in his life right now.

“Who’s calling so late?” You joked. Fucking Maverick on his fucking Pacific Standard Time.

“Telemarketer, probably,” Bradley lied, cupping your face and kissing your lips sweetly. “What do you say we just skip the first day back tomorrow and stay in bed all day instead?” His grin was anything but angelic, borderline shit-eating, as he began to kiss his way down your neck to your chest. You erupted into giggles, pretending to push him away.

“Bradley!”

Baby Come Close was still thrumming through the speakers on repeat as you held each other, and neither of you were in any rush to end the perfect night. You both desperately wished that you could have stayed here forever.

1K notes · View notes

persephone-reblogs · 12 days

Text

uhm, holy shit?

boyfriend material [android!gaz]

Sandra gets you the best birthday gift ever; the perfect boyfriend.

writing this out to get him out of my system (pun intended). all 7.8k words written in one day...

warnings: +18 smut (MDNI), sexually inexperienced!reader, unspoken praise kink, shy!reader, insecure!reader, fluff, gaz being super sweet and a little sassy, brief mention of Makarov.

i know you don't want a party so this is the next best thing. enjoy ;)

most sincerely,

—your rich bestie in the whole wide world✨ p.s: i know what you're going to say. "it's too expensive" yes. yes, it is. but you fucking deserve it, bitch. so don't even think about giving it back.

when you woke up this morning, you didn't certainly didn't expect this.

the letter was sealed with a red kiss at the bottom. you stared at it in shock before looking at the... man in a box... like a fucking barbie doll.

the prettiest man you've ever laid eyes on. unnaturally so. it makes sense that technically he's not real but the more you look at him, the more you realize...

he's eerily familiar. you know you've seen him before. it's just that you woke up and hour ago and your brain is still struggling to process things, but it'll come to you soon.

however, this familiarity, it's written all over his beautifully crafted face. right down to the very minuscule details on his face. full lips. thin mustache. small mark on to the left of his forehead. the little scars on his left cheek. his eyes were closed though. but you bet your ass they'll be the prettiest brown eyes you'll ever see in your life.

you take a hesitant step closer, holding your breath. your fingers reach for his cheek. a small poke to the little scars there. soft dark skin denting slightly at the pressure you apply. then trailing down the side of his face, small hairs prickling the tip of your finger.

oh, he definitely real.

you jerk your hand away as if he burned you. then you quickly reach for the smaller box (he came with three other boxes) and opened it. oh, thank god for the instruction manual. quickly skimming through it while taking quick glances at him, you hardly even realize that you're pacing around the living room.

according to the manual, most of the maintenance he does himself so you won't have to if it's too much to manage. neat. self sufficient little sweetheart, isn't he? the charging port is solar powered, so it's best to place it in a well lit area. which is what the delivery guys did this morning. it also says to let him charge for at least a couple of hours before he wakes up.

you hadn't dare to let him out of the box, so he's definitely still charging in there.

you read through the manual. there's ways of customizing his personality. he'll do whatever you like, no matter how deplorable, except if it causes you or others physical harm. the last bit is kind of a small relief because you can't imagine everyone getting their hands on one or a dozen of these to do some bad shit.

you finally read the last pamphlet.

thank you for purchasing our perfect partner!!! we hope you enjoy your order as much as we loved creating it. if you have any questions about your order, contact us anytime. we would love to hear from you!

partner?

hang on. you check the logo on the box. a scribbled pink heart. one side of it cut to make room for the word 'sweetheart'. and under it;

sweetheart.inc bringing you to your better half <3

oh... oh, now you understand. your eyes widen in absolute mortification. Sandra didn't just get you an android, no.

she got you a boyfriend.

a couple of hours flies by fast when you're panicking and pacing around.

Sandra isn't picking up your calls or returning your texts. whatever she's busy with had better be fucking important because she can't just drop this on you and leave you to fend for yourself. she didn't even give you a warning. no heads up like hey, bestie, i got you an android boyfriend for your birthday. or even a text upon delivery.

or an apology at least. yeah, you'll settle for an apology.

you're facing the window, trying to wash an apple for you to eat because you don't think you can stomach anything else at the moment.

meanwhile, the android's eyes fluttered open. he looks around his new surroundings and quietly steps out of the box. he plucks the wire connecting him to the charging port and places it back inside the box.

when you turn, you find him standing a few paces away with a smile. "happy birthday, lov-"

before he even finishes that sentence, you drop the apple and scream, tumbling back into the counter.

it startles him, obviously, but he's better at handling fear than you because his hands extend to you, concern marring his expression. "sorry, sorry! didn't mean to frighten you!"

you pant through your mouth, eyes wide as they observe him.

he stands tall. miles of dark skin exposed under the sun rays flittering in through the kitchen window. well defined abs. a happy trail slipping down from his belly button to the jeans that hug his waist. a black leather belt through the loops.

you don't... know what to do with yourself. besides stare.

"uh... th-thank you...?" is all you can muster through the rapid beating in your chest. he blinks, a small smile tugging at his lips. you quietly chirp, "hi..."

"hello to you too, gorgeous." he chuckles in response. truly, you're at odds with what is supposed to happen next. he tilts his head. "why are you standing all the way over there? i'm not going to bite you."

your skin prickles at the though. bite. bite. bite. marks all over you. or him. it's a hazy thought, brushing up your back. it scares you all the same.

"unless you want me to." he adds, smirking.

he takes a step forward and you panic, taking five steps back, shaking your head. you nearly choke as protests tumble out of your mouth, "uh— n—no— no, thank you! i— i'll pass on the biting for now."

he stops. "oh, so you might be open to it later then?"

later?

you don't even know what you're supposed to do with him now.

he stops talking and takes a good long moment to look at you. eyes trailing up and down your body. it's not sexual in any sense at all. more like he's... scanning. analysing. you've got a closed hand pressed to your chest and your other hand gripping the counter.

his brows furrow, his mouth tilting downward.

"hey..." his voice comes out soft, kind. "you're not afraid of me, are you?"

you swallow thickly, blinking rapidly. well, you definitely are. technically, he's supposed to be here. but the entire situation feels like you have an intruder in your house.

"m—maybe a little bit." you stutter, wondering how you're supposed to defend yourself from a robot.

realistically, you can't. if you had to guess, he's stronger than the average man. maybe faster too. so out-muscling or outrunning him is out of the question. not to mention out-smarting too.

"i'm sorry." he says, stepping back. "you don't have to be afraid of me. i won't hurt you."

you don't know if you should believe him. you've watched way too many movies about robots turning against humans.

"what can i do to make you feel less frightened, my love?"

the nickname makes your hackles rise faster than the blood rushing to your cheeks. "hands up."

he puts his hands up without complaint. waiting for your next command. you stand there, shaky breaths inhaling and exhaling through your nose. without looking away from him, your hand reaches around until you touch a wooden pole. the broom.

you pick it up and point it at him. only stepping closer until it touches his right shoulder. then his nipple. his brows furrow as he tries to understand what the hell you're doing.

"are you seriously poking me with a broom?" you gently poke his neck. it doesn't phase him as he adds, "what happened to 'hello, how are you?'?"

you blink slowly. twice. "considering it's not every day an android lands on my doorstep, i think my reaction is pretty reasonable."

he studies you for a moment, unsure. a sound is heard. you think he hums in acceptance. "alright, fair enough."

you slowly lower the broom when you're sure he won't hurt you like he said he won't.

his hand extends towards you. "i'm Kyle, by the way."

you pause. eyes glancing between his hand and his face. "Kyle?"

Kyle. the name is familiar. so is the face. you know this man. you've known him for a long time. too long, perhaps. but never have you seen him in real life. where have you—

"Garrick." then it clicks. it all falls in place. "or you can call me—"

"Gaz." you softly say.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. now you know why he's oddly familiar to you. his poster is plastered on your bedroom wall. you've got tabs open on tumblr and ao3 of fanfictions upon fanfictions of him. however much you could get your greedy little hands on.

he's the character from that game. the military propaganda video game. the one you've gushed to Sandra about on nearly a daily basis. sending edits of members of the group he's in, but mostly edits of him.

very quickly, you get over your fear of him. it's swiftly overshadowed by a rage that is damn near palpable.

"oh, that fucking... i'm going to kill her. i'm going to kill her—" you push past him and head to your room to find your phone.

"pretty sure murder is illegal here, darling." Kyle's voice calls after you.

finally, Sandra answers your call.

"how do you like your new man?" her amused voice rings out as soon as she picks up.

you picture her lazing on the couch like a smug cat as she plays with her braids. a wide grin etching her lips as she rolls onto her stomach with the phone right next to her on loudspeaker.

you pinch the bridge of your nose. "Sandra, what did you do?"

"what do you mean what did i do?" she says. "i got you the boyfriend you've always wanted."

she's not even denying it. of course she wouldn't. this is the one thing she'll gladly take credit for amongst the shenanigans she always puts you through. "what do you mean you got me boyfriend?! i didn't ask for a boyfriend!"

"listen." you pause, glancing at the door when you hear your android walking around the hallway. "i promise you're going to love this one." Sandra says and continues to explain, "he comes with all the desirable features you want in a man and none of the cheating, the weaponized incompetence, the misogyny and other nasty stuff. he's perfect in every sense of the word."

"Sandra..." you groaned. "i can't accept this- this... gift. it's too expensive!"

not to mention weird as fuck. sure, you've always complained to her about men being all sorts of wrong and told her about your only two relationships taking a turn for the worst because men are just too dense to comprehend common sense. one ex-boyfriend being too pushy about sex, saying that you're such a prude when you wouldn't give in. the other masking his mean comments as jokes and saying that you're too sensitive.

thankfully, you've only slept with one of them. but unfortunately, you couldn't even get a proper orgasm out of it.

and now a customized boyfriend? really? how pathetic does Sandra think you are?

"girl, what did the note say?" she prompts.

a heavy sigh escapes you. "to not give it back."

"ah, before that."

the silence on your end is downright depressing. nonetheless, you grumble lowly, "that i deserve it."

"exactly." she says. "you deserve a break from all those guys who've given you nothing but heartache. just live for once and enjoy this, okay?"

you bite the inside of your cheek. your gaze draws to the pamphlet.

"just give it a week." she pleads. "please? if you hate it, you can call me and i'll send him right back."

you paused, contemplating it. a week doesn't sound too bad.

it's a week with your favourite fictional character brought to life. well, kind of. in the most real way possible. you can't remember a time when thinking about you leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

a week with Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. he's already so sweet to you. and a little sassy, but that's to be expected.

then it dawned on you. there's no way Sandra gave you this lovely gift without at least trying it first. "you got one for yourself, didn't you?"

"of course i did!" she squeals and giggles. you hear ruffling on the other end. "his mohawk is stupid but it's cute."

then male's voice interjects- "hey!"

"and he makes up for it with those sweet baby blues-"

"ye tryin' tae sweet-talk yer way back into my pants, bonnie?"

wait... you recognize that voice. and more so the accent. "oh my god... you got yourself Soap?!"

somehow, you're not surprised. if she sees a pair of blue eyes and a silver tongue whispering all the right things, somebody's bones are getting jumped.

Soap is perfect for her. just as playful, if not more. though, you're shocked she didn't go for an authoritative figure like the Captain himself, John Price. or someone mountain sized like Lieutenant Riley. all good options for her, of course.

it wouldn't surprise you if she added them to her collection. she has the funds and the drive to do it if she wished. it makes you chuckle to think about.

"okay, i have to admit. those fictional men you're always obsessing over?" she muses softly. "not bad. not bad at all..."

"unbelievable..." you laugh again, running a hand down your face.

"i love you too, baby." she chuckles and excitedly adds, "you should take a look at his cock, it's so—"

your face floods with heat in an instant. "okay, bye!"

you quickly hang up before she gets too far with her ramble. then sigh, hanging your head up. hoping that the heavens grant you mercy from this odd hour that is your birthday.

"so..." your head spins see him leaning on the doorway with both hands in the pockets of his jeans and a lazy grin painted across his lips. "i'm guessing you're not going to kill Sandra."

your face crinkles into a feigned glare. "don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop?"

"it's not eavesdropping if i can hear you from all the way out here." he retorts and it almost makes you smile.

you wonder if you can adjust his settings so he isn't such a smart-mouth. but you know you've always liked him this way. snarky. sassy. sweet.

"can i come in?" he inquires.

"no." you watch his mirth bleed into a frown. you turn away, crossing your arms. "i'm still mad at you."

"oh." is all you hear. "alright then. i'll give you some space to cool off then."

there's faint shuffling. a few moments later, when you dare to look, he was gone. at least you can breathe easier now.

you spend the next hour looking up sweetheart.inc. they specialize in creating androids tailored to anybody's specific needs and taste.

there's the category for romantic partners, which, you figure, is the one Sandra picked for you. it's the most expensive of the many varieties, but you digress. then there's one for assisting with work, whether it's office work, heavy duty, or even just house chores. there's the category tailored to helping with disabilities, injuries and the like. you can even combine features, if you want.

each android can be adjusted according to your needs, tastes, desires and other stuff. you wonder how many people have bought these with the specific intention of making their fictional characters come to life.

the thought of one Makarov being brought to life makes you queasy, so you try not to think about one of those running around the streets.

you don't know how Sandra even found this website or company or why she even knows about it. nor do you know how to even feel about it.

when you're done, you head out of your room and you find him doing the dishes in the kitchen he's got your yellow latex gloves on, focused on the task. the apple you forgot about had been placed on the counter.

nope. you back away and go back to your room. you're not dealing with this right now.

for now, you're going to take a long afternoon nap and hope that this is all one weird dream. as much as it's nice having your favourite fictional character doing your dishes while he's shirtless... it's not plausible. you don't think you can handle anymore nonsensical scenarios for the day.

when you woke up, you realized that you forgot to do the laundry. but oh, he's still there. standing in front of the washing machine. folding your shirt and placing it into the neat pile in the basket sitting atop the drier.

"oh, for fuck's sake." you groan, closing your eyes tightly.

he turns to you and smiles softly.

"hey, love." he greets you. "feeling better now? i made dinner if you're hungry."

"you..." there's a moment when your brain just stops. shaking your head, you ask, "wait, what?"

he frowns. "are you still upset? i'm sorry—"

"no, i— time out. just— please stop talking." you hold your hands up, trying to think.

he made dinner and did the dishes. again. he also did your laundry. washed, dried and is even folding it. hell, he's still apologizing for whatever it is he did wrong.

and he didn't do anything wrong. his only crime was being made perfect and then tossed over at your doorstep to exist. he's just been sweet to you. doing your chores, making dinner for you. he's just doing what he's programmed to do, you suppose. nothing wrong with that. so your anger is completely misdirected.

"sorry." you quietly speak, eyes cast down in shame. "i'm sorry, Kyle. i don't— i'm not upset with you at all. i didn't mean to say that earlier."

"it's alright." he replies, tilting his head. "this all must be overwhelming for you."

it is.

"are you going to send me back?"

you look at him. the uncertainty in his eyes tugs at your chest. "not sure yet."

he did your chores without being asked to and he gave you at least a dozen apologies without you having to pry them out of him. that's more than what you can say for any of your past boyfriends.

the thought of sending him away dwindles down to a feeling that doesn't settle right in your stomach.

"solid." he smiles.

a silence falls into the room. you try not to stare at his bare chest. your teeth biting the insides of your cheeks as your shoulders draw up.

"you're nervous." he points out.

no point in denying it. "kind of."

it's not every day you're standing in front of your very on personalized favourite fictional character. in all of your wildest, raunchiest imaginations, he's so much prettier in person.

"you can touch me if you like." he offers. "i don't mind..."

you don't like the smirk plastered on his face. heat floods your cheeks and you take a step out of the laundry room. "i think i'm going to eat supper now."

and you'll try not to choke on it.

he can't ingest food but liquids he can do. makes it easier to pass as human. water, apparently, does help with his base functions. you read somewhere in the manual that he can take a bath or a shower. something about helping along romantic aspects of bath sex, shower sex, pool sex and the like.

you don't even want to think about what kink of kinks have been programmed into him.

you watch him take away your plate and clean it up. a question bursts out of you before you can tamper it down, "what are you even made of?"

without skipping a beat, Kyle responds with, "boyfriend material."

a giggle bursts out of you. "that's real cute."

whoever put that joke in knew that this is a frequently asked question. it's a good joke. Sandra would love to hear that one. you wonder if Soap said the same thing. it makes you less weary about the situation at hand.

"do you really want to know what i'm made of?" he glances over his shoulder.

you shake your head. "you know what? boyfriend material will suffice."

he snorts and continues his task. rinsing the plate and the glass and placing them on the rack.

as he comes to sit down next to you on the couch, you ask, "what were you programmed to do?"

"taking care of you is my primary objective." he tells you like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

it doesn't make sense to you, though. you blink. "elaborate."

"well," he starts, bringing your feet to his lap. your flinch when his fingers knead your ankle and the sole of one foot. "i'm here to help ease your stress, if not erase it completely."

pretty damn hard to focus when he's giving you a fantastic foot massage. the words are hardly registering but you do your best to listen.

"i'll help do your chores. i'll be your companion. your punching bag, too, if you like. i'll pleasure in all the ways you like and i'll protect you-"

"wait, time out." you interject. he paused, glancing at you. "protect me? from what?"

"any threat to your life. as any good boyfriend should, of course." he replies, a serious expression befalling his face. "if someone broke in with the intent to hurt you in any way, i'll be here to wish they chose a different house to trample on."

that's... cool, you guess. it doesn't hurt to have your own personal bodyguard. but the implication of that is somewhat dire.

"you wouldn't... kill them... would you?" the words carefully slip out.

he blinks. looking at you with conviction. "if push comes to shove."

the answer doesn't sit right with you. but you don't ask him to explain further. this is all you need to know.

Sandra facetimes you later in the night. before you could even ask anything, she was gushing about how Soap is such a pussy fiend. you don't see how you could've avoided that one seeing as she was probably waiting to talk to you about it.

but when she finally stops to see your pensive look, she asks, "wanna send him back?"

your gaze shifts to the screen. "well, it hasn't been a week yet so i'm not sure."

it's been three days. three agonizing days of Kyle orbiting around you. he does stuff around the house while you're at work. when you come back, you're greeted by the smell of good food, a glass of wine and a pretty smile.

"he's growing on you, isn't he?" she puts her chin under a fist and grins widely. her braids have been pulled into two scrunchies. her dark skin shines under her ring light. Soap's shirtless figure moves in the background. "he's too perfect not to."

"you're not wrong there." you shrug softly, giggling a bit.

Kyle has been growing on you. he's easy to talk to. easy to joke around with. he knows when to leave you alone and when to approach.

thankfully, he's made no aggressive sexual advances. he does flirt, though. leaving the option entirely up to you if you want to take him up on that offer. you haven't dared to take it.

as if she knows where your thoughts lie, her voice lowers and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, "have you tried his cock yet?"

your hand slams the desk. "Sandra!"

"what? i'm just asking." she laughs.

you're too flustered to say anything past the very predictable, "just stop it."

"you're always so weird about sex." comes her reply.

and she's not wrong. you've never been comfortable when it comes to the topic. it's made it so hard to be open about it with past partners.

later, when Kyle wishes you goodnight and sends you off with a kiss on your cheek, you almost wish you had the courage to ask him to stay in your room instead of the guest bedroom.

you do invite him into your room the next morning. only because he was curious to look around.

"would you look at that? it's me." he grins at the poster you have of him on your bedroom wall.

he's been walking around in your chilly apartment dressed in nothing but the pair of jeans he came out in. you checked the box earlier, alongside stuff needed for his maintenance, there's definitely at least a dozen more items of clothing in there. there's even a catalogue of how to style and dress him and five coupons and a rewards card to buy more clothes at certain stores.

the full package. you knew Sandra was crazy rich but this is extreme. even by her standards.

you watch him wander around your room, scanning around your bed, your organized mess of a desk. he grabs the little snow globe, shakes it and holds it up to watch the little particles float around the figurine inside.

it's so... human. his expression, the way he moves. if he was just some dude you met on the street, you wouldn't think that he's all metal and wires and programming under that pretty face. in fact you'd be none the wiser. he could easily pass off as just another man.

it makes you wonder how many you've passed by without knowing what they really are.

still, it's hard not to think of Kyle as human. hard not to treat him like one. he certainly acts the part of a normal, functioning human. well... mostly.

"aren't you cold?" you asked, hugging your arms through your sweater.

"no, not really." he says, still observing the globe. "i can adjust my body temperature accordingly."

"right." of course. you keep forgetting about that. "right, of course you can. sorry, that was a dumb question."

"it wasn't." he replies. "it's human nature to care."

you suppose it is. but he glances at you again and frowns. "but you're cold."

"just a little chilly. no worries." you reassure him.

you know he wants to disagree because his eyes betray his thoughts. but something catches his attention when he fully turns to you.

there. on the dresser. something oddly shaped and pink.

your hackles rise when he goes over to pick it up and you're already speeding over to his side. "what's this?"

you snatch the object from his hand. "nothing!"

you hide it behind you but it's already too late. he saw it. there's no doubt he knows exactly what it is. heat blazes your entire face as you look away from him.

you move around him and shove the vibrator in your drawer and slam it shut. then you speedwalk out of your room and go sulk on the couch where he can't see you. it's just your luck that he follows you minutes later.

he carefully sits on the couch, quietly uttering his name. you purposefully ignore him and glare at the tv. you've never been so embarrassed. if you'd just remembered to put the damn toy back where it shouldn't be seen, this wouldn't have happened.

fingers hook under your chin and turns your gaze to him. he's closer now. much closer. your breath hitches as his arm slides around and his hand settles at the small of your back, pulling your body against his.

"you know..." he softly starts. "you don't have to rely on sex toys anymore now that i'm here."

your mouth dries, your mind falling into a haze. "i... you don't..."

now you know why you've been so obsessed with him. you've pictured this far too many times to not admit that you'd fall for it every time.

his eyes turn hazy and dark as he watches you. it's a brief moment as he slowly leans in, giving you a chance to back out. you don't. you can't. you don't think you could've ever found the will to pull away from him.

he presses his lips against yours. it's not forceful. just a small kiss, lightly testing the waters. sweet. steady. gently letting you get used to the feeling. a slow flame pools in your belly as you let him kiss you. your ire melts all too quickly before you can comprehend.

but he pulls away when you don't reciprocate fast enough. he's already uttering apologies, "i'm sorry. you didn't want that, i should've—"

"no, no, i—" you squeak, drawing your hands to your cheeks. "i liked it. i'm just not... i'm not used to... all this."

"what?" he gently grasps your wrists and pulls them to his chest. "kissing an android?"

you shake your head. "no, kissing anybody."

his gaze is hard to escape. it falls heavily on the heat on your face. you don't know how to behave around a man who respects your boundaries so clearly, so deeply. he's not even upset that you're not willing to fuck him, let alone reciprocating a kiss.

"i haven't had too many experiences with romance, i'm afraid." you tell him.

"that's alright." he smiles, lifting your hand to his mouth. he presses a bare kiss on your palm, then your wrist. "that's completely fine. intimacy can be scary sometimes."

oh, how right he is.

it's scary enough to completely derail you from indulging what you want. scary enough to drive you away from romantic partners when given the chance.

but you're starting to see why Sandra did this. with someone who has no expectation for sex, it's easier to back away when things get too overwhelming. maybe you'll thank her later.

Kyle states, "but i promise to make sure that you enjoy it as much as you can if you want to continue."

you do.

you do want to continue. kissing him has brought you more joy than you felt in a long time. if you could spend every miserable day coming back to him and being granted the chance to kiss him again, you'd live this cycle for the rest of your life.

"could you... maybe..." you shyly inquire, hating the way your voice sounds. "kiss me again?"

but his eyes brighten. "of course, love. whatever you want."

he cups the back of your head and pulls you back to your mouth. when you end up on top of him, your hand instinctively presses against his chest for balance. you accidentally let out a noise as you do, a breathy apology melting into his lips as he doesn't stop kissing you. his tongue dips in your mouth, gently teasing, teeth nipping your bottom lip.

he swallows your moan and returns it with his own. your hands settle on his neck, trailing further to his nape. fingers play with the curls at the back of his head, drawing a heavy sound from his chest. he takes the lead, his warm tongue slipping through your teeth, gently grazing yours before he pulls away. leaving you a breathless, flustered mess.

"look at you..." he breathes, seemingly just as affected as you are. "absolutely gorgeous, my love."

you've never been gazed upon with such reverence. it's so jarring. such an odd thing on your skin. like it doesn't belong there. when you try to look away, he cups your cheeks and holds your soft gaze.

"we can do more." he says. "if you want to."

"you say that like you know i want to." you quip, rubbing your fingers through his scalp.

his eyes flutter and close, head tilting back. "well, all the signs are there."

"what signs?" you ask, curious to know what he sees.

"you're warm." he lifts his head. "your heart's racing. pupils are dilated." you hum in response. all he says makes sense and rings true. "and your cunt's throbbing against me."

you immediately lift yourself up off of him with a squeak and sit back on your side of the couch. pressing your legs together does absolutely nothing to ease the throbbing.

jeez, you didn't think he was that observant.

"it's nothing to be embarrassed about, love." his reassuring smile slightly eases your apprehension. "if it makes you feel better, i'm a little turned on too."

you don't mean for your eyes to quickly drift to his pants. the unmistakable tent is noticeably prominent. you shift your gaze away from him entirely.

"i..." you take deep, shameful breaths. "sorry."

"it's alright." came his soft response. you feel a hand on your arm. "come here, love. it's alright."

you let him guide you back atop his lap. he lays your head on his chest and rubs your back.

"you're alright." he coos gently. "i know you're scared, but you're alright. we'll go at whatever pace you want us to."

your eyes slowly close as your breaths slowing down. your arms wrap around his torso as he presses a gently kiss on your forehead.

alright. it's official.

you're keeping him.

things flow easily after that day.

you grow more confident in allowing his affection to wash over you like water. cute pet names don't make you flinch as much anymore. kisses on your cheek and forehead don't make your stomach as queasy.

he lets you sit on his lap nearly every day. whether to kiss him or watch a movie or for you to listen to him talk until you drift off into a quiet slumber, it doesn't matter to him. he treats you like a princess. he gives you all that you've denied of and more without expecting a too much in return. you're all too happy to give him as much kisses as he wants too. all too happy to let him hold you in his arms.

though, it's only weeks before you finally gather the courage to ask.

"can i see it?" it's quiet. nearly a whisper.

he doesn't look away from the tv, invested in the movie you're watching. Pride And Prejudice. when you said it was one of your favourite comfort films, he took to analyzing every second of every frame to understand why. "see what?"

suddenly, you feel guilty for disturbing him. it's only the second time he's seen the film, but he looks so focused. concentrating so hard to gather as much information about the one thing you like. it's... sweet. but you don't know if it's the programing in him or if some sentient part of him genuinely enjoys it. which is what makes you balk at the idea of veering his attention away.

you shake your head. "never mind."

"no, tell me." his head turns to you. he looks at you like he's been paying attention to you this entire time. like you're the only one he'll ever spare every ounce of his energy on. "what would you like to see?"

the request is... ridiculous. invasive, even, in your opinion. android or not, it doesn't feel right knowing that he'd do what you want whether or not he like it or wants to. it's difficult to separate him from the fact that he's your to do with as you want.

"can i see y..." the words die out in your throat. he gently rubs your arm, silently coaxing you to continue. "your cock?"

god, you hate Sandra for putting this one singular thought in your brain. you spot the smile threatening to stretch across his lips. he holds it back but he shows no negative reaction to what you want.

"sure." Kyle stands up, looping a thumb into the hem of his jeans. "do you want to take this off or should i?"

a moment passes as you contemplate. then you stand on your feet. "let me."

you bite your lip as your shaky hands reach for his belt. the sound of it clinking as you undo it prickles your skin. you're overly aware of his eyes on your face.

the zipper is dragged downwards. you pry the pants open and pull down a little. just like that, his shaft springs out. and holy fuck—

you make a strangled noise.

"you good, love?" he gently rubs your arms as you quickly draw away your hands.

you're still staring at it. why you're still staring at it? "mmhmm."

it's pretty as the rest of him. jeez, who made this guy?!

you stare, dumbfounded. shocked that you're shocked that his cock, standing long and proud, is pretty. long and thick and uncut with dark curls.

sweetheart.inc certainly took their time with him. they knew exactly what they were doing. you imagine someone being a fan of the video game, taking extra care on building every muscle, every tissue, every cell and knowing that you would like what you see.

they were right.

"do you want to touch it?" Kyle asks.

your eyes meet his. "do you want me to?"

"yes." the conviction in his voice leaves little room to argue with yourself.

you slowly reach of his cock. the velvety length of it soft to the touch, yet firm to hold. you trail back and forth from the base to the soft tip of it, stroking the vein along the side to the foreskin. there's a liquid that looks and feels exactly like cum that spills from the tip. you smear it all over the head.

you're surprised when he finally makes a low noise. when you glance at him, his eyes are closed and his head tilted back.

so he reacts the way any man does. interesting.

you run your fingers down the vein. he hisses softly that it startles you.

you quickly pull your hand away. "sorry."

"no, you're doing good." he speaks to shallow breaths.

the curious caressing draws more strained sounds from him. it's only when you gently cup his balls when he grabs your wrist.

"i have an idea." he says through a breathy tone. you look at him expectantly. "rub yourself all over me."

the thought brings a shudder down your spine. shocking you down to the core. he's never been this overtly forward. it makes you nervous.

"please?" even through your nerves, you don't know how you can deny those pretty brown eyes. "we don't have to fuck it'll feel good. promise."

you nod dumbly. "okay."

his fingers hook under your panties and pull them down to your feet. he's kneeling before you and helps you step out of them. but he stops for a moment, looking at your thighs.

"Kyle?" you prompt, gently touching the side of his head. your fingers traces the curls on his head and his ear. "what is it?"

his hand reaches the back of your thighs. he trails it up and down from just below your ass to your calf. your breath gets caught in your throat as he squeezes just a bit and looks up. gentle brown eyes meet yours. a sincere expression gracing his face.

"you're very beautiful, you know that?"

your shoulders drawn in, heat prickling your cheeks as you look away. "thank you..."

he leans forward to kiss your right thigh before he sits back. leaving you with shaky knees and shakier hands.

your breath trembles as you slowly plant a knee on either side of him. he pulls you closer by your hips until his cock is pressed between your cunt and his stomach.

"closer." he whispers, eyes holding yours. you can't look away, trapped in his soft gaze.

he makes it easy to fall into. easy to follow. he says he's here to do whatever you want but you don't think you could ever deny him what he wants. ever.

you bite your lip, shoulders drawing up in apprehension. his eyes drop to your mouth. his hand cups your cheek, his thumb pulling your lip free from your teeth.

"you're so pretty." he says it like a confession. a secret nestled between the very fibre of his coding. "god, you're so fucking pretty."

god, the way he looks at you...

your face blazes with heat and you look away.

he jerks his hips up. your small sound is all you hear in the quiet air when his cock drags between your folds. he grabs your hips and presses you down, earning another breathy moan.

"like that?" you nod vigorously and let him guide your movements. you hold onto his shoulders as he grinds up against your pussy.

his mouth sucks on your neck. teeth gently teasing your skin. your head tips back, mouth falling open, sounds falling more freely. his hands slip under your t-shirt, trailing up your skin. he doesn't attempt to remove the fabric, only opting to explore underneath.

his mouth plants kisses over the fabric. all the way from your collarbones to your breasts, nipples pebbled underneath, outlining on the surface.

your cunt drags deliciously against the length of his shaft, staining it with your fluids. tremors wrack your bones as you roll your hips to his rhythm. your eyes screw shut at the sparks prickling your nerves as your clit rubs back and forth against him.

a gasp escapes you when he suddenly shifts his body and lays you on your back. he lifts himself away from you, spreading your legs apart.

"you're so wet, baby." he bites his lip, gaze dropping to your cunt.

he gently slaps his cock against your pussy, drawing wet splats that are so embarrassing to comprehend. you hide your face in the crook of your elbow, struggling to restrain your mewl.

"don't hide from me, darling." he pins your hand above your head, leaning down to kiss you. "i want to see you."

your eyes flutter open while you breathe heavily. watching him. realizing that this was his plan all along. seducing you. getting you to open your legs enough for him to get past your fear of him.

you're not mad. you're not even surprised that you fell for it.

the tip notches at your opening and dips in. he moans the same time as you do, your eyes rolling back at the stretch. "oh, fuck..."

he pulls out and rubs the length of his shaft along your folds. then goes back to dipping right in. he repeats the process over and over until you're driven mad. and only then does he slip the tip in and gives a few shallow thrusts.

you rake your nails down his arm, mewling his name. his cock slides deeper while a thumb rubs slow circles around your throbbing clit. moans claw out of your throat as the fire rapidly builds. he presses your knees to your chest. his cock slips between your folds, dragging against your clit so deliciously, that heat sparks at the base of your spine.

this time, finally, when the tip presses inside, your loud yell couldn't be contained when he drives his cock in down to the hilt.

"fucking hell..." he buries his face into your neck. he slowly rocks his hips. "taking me so well, pretty girl..."

you hiccup through a tear sliding down your temple. your breath hitching as the tip easily grazes your cervix with each thrust. he brings his mouth to yours and hastens his pace, drawing out trembling mewls out from your lungs.

"that's it..." your eyes flutter and prickle with more tears as he presses kisses all over your face, whispering quiet praises, whispering sweet nothings. "that's my good girl. i love the way you sound. you're so good to me, baby. so fucking sweet."

you couldn't turn away if you tried. his hand grasps your jaw as he kisses you deeply, accepting the moans of his name, accepting your quiet submission. suckling on your lip before flicking his tongue against yours.

your legs curl around his, heels pressing against his ass to urge him forward. the hand holding your wrist down drags up until his fingers slip between yours. he lifts his head and holds your gaze, not even caring that the bed frame is banging against the wall.

the way he looks at you is a far cry from the way he batters your pussy like it's always been his to claim. his tongue swipe across your lips before he kisses you again while his hand squeezes a breast under your shirt.

you're pushed right to the edge. you feel his hand sliding down the pudge of your stomach and slipping between your folds to press hurried circles around your bud. you scream his name, the threat strung far and tight until it snaps and you slam into a blinding orgasm.

your back arches into a bow as you careen into the wave of pleasure. he fucks you through it until he too falls victim to it, groaning sharply between your breasts and snapping his hips one final time, bursting hotly inside your pulsing cunt.

you both lay there panting. he doesn't pull out. not yet. just balances his weigh on his elbows and lifts his head to kiss you one last time. you moan into his mouth and felt his smile. he peppers a kiss on your nose and finally, your forehead, absorbing your soft sigh. you giggle tiredly as he nudges his nose against your cheek and kisses your jaw.

he lifts his head to look at you again, his hand sliding up to wipe the sweat on your forehead and gently scratches his fingers into your hair. you admire his focus. his soft gaze. it makes you feel all sorts of warm.

"why do you look at me like that?" you ask, your hand running up and down his back.

"like what?"

"like you love me."

he pauses. eyes drifting from your hair to meet your gaze. he smiles, nudging your nose against his.

"it's not impossible to comprehend." he says and kisses you. "i was made to love you after all."

you melt into his mouth again. toes curling when he rocks his hips again and again, falling into the lazy rhythm.

you wouldn't find it hard to love him too.

at brunch the very next day, Sandra takes one look at you. a slow grin stretches across her lips.

"you fucked, didn't you?"

you hide your face behind your hands, biting your burning cheeks to stop fucking smiling like an idiot.

"best birthday gift ever, huh?"

"shut up, Sandra."

you'd die before you ever admit it out loud but...

god, you hate that she's right.

happy birthday to me🌸 a gift from me to me and you, my pickle babies💋 sponsored by yet another gaz-centered dream that ended far too soon.

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world your android!reader series played a role in here somewhere so also shout out to you🩷🩷🩷

do not interact with this blog if you're a minor or if you have no age in your bio. read the [ground rules]. you have no excuses if you get blocked.

dividers by @cafekitsunebanner by @vase-of-lilies

offer a note in the picklejar

309 notes · View notes

persephone-reblogs · 18 days

Text

screaming, crying, shitting even

Dial Drunk

wolverine/logan howlett x afab!reader

words - 4k

tags: dp&w!Logan, damsel(ish)!reader, angst angst angst (he has so much potential as a sad wet tomcat), feelings (Logan isn't good at them), use of alcohol, canon-typical violence, !attempted assault!, implied assault

quick an: this is my first full fic!! the ghost of Logan's past hovered over my shoulder as I wrote this, loosely based on Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan but it's more of just an inspiration border creds to @/bunnysrph

Logan was pissed. Furious. He was so overwhelmingly angry with himself that his claws had extended and for a while, he couldn’t retract them. He finally got them to slide back under his skin when the cop standing outside his holding cell door threatened to put him in with the general population if he didn’t put his ‘weapons’ away.

That was the last thing he needed right now. He was already on edge, and being surrounded by people who hated him just for who he was would probably be his last straw. He sighed, slumping back against the dirty concrete wall behind him. He rubbed his temples, taking a few deep breaths to calm his once again rising anger.

He understood why he was in that stupid cell. Bar fights were enough to get a normal person arrested for being drunk and disorderly, but cops were always especially ready to arrest a mutant. He hated that he had let his animalistic side get him here, proving them right about how dangerous he was, but he could only take so much of that stupid guy in the booth behind him spewing ant-mutant hatred right in his face.

“Damn liquor,” Logan thought to himself as his head continued to throb. That in and of itself was enough to make him upset, as he was typically so well acquainted with alcohol that it never got to him. Tonight, however, he had drunk way more than usual, throwing back shots in the dingy bar a few blocks from his apartment as quickly as the bartender could pour them up.

The idiotic man he had beaten at the bar wasn’t the true cause of his anger though. That honor fell to his stupid, stupid brain. It was after the cops had wrangled him and shoved him into their stuffy, too-small cruiser that Logan had made his infuriating error.

The driving officer, a short and stocky man with a pudgy face, had looked back at him from the rearview mirror and said,” The guy you were fightin’, George, he ain’t gonna press charges on ya. He’s in and outta the lockup every other week, and he ain’t gonna be lookin’ for any more trouble than he’s already in. Plus, I think you’re more of a danger to yourself than to anybody else, goin’ around that drunk. You ain’t caused any trouble before, but we still gotta bring you in. Procedure, ya know. Got anybody you want us to call to pick ya up?”

Logan hadn’t even thought about it before your name came spilling from his lips. He hadn’t even realized what he said until they arrived at the jail and the pudgy cop pulled him from the back seat. “Her? Really?” the cop said, suspicion heavy in his voice. “She babysits my kids on the weekends, didn’t know she associated with drunk fighters like you.”

Logan snarled on instinct as he heard the inherent prejudice in the cop's voice before he realized who the cop was talking about. ‘No,’, he thought. ‘God, no.’ He hadn’t seen you in months, and he hadn’t been planning on seeing you ever again. He didn’t know why he didn’t tell the cop he wanted to change his call. He could have gotten him to phone Wade or Laura, they would have picked him up in a heartbeat.

Maybe he didn’t say anything because he wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay after the long months you had spent apart. Or maybe he was just still drunk, forgetting the past and wanting you to take him home with you, to let him have his seat on the couch while he sobered up, drinking your fruity teas and eating the sickeningly sweet cookies you always bought from the local bakery. “Too much sugar and you’ll rot your teeth out,” he’d tell you with a lopsided smile, knowing how you’d respond. Every time he said it you’d prance up to him and poke a finger into his chest, grinning,” You’re already so sweet that my teeth ache, so what does more sugar hurt?” And then you’d lean up, pecking him on the lips as you move to go back to your tasks.

His heart ached as that memory resurfaced and his head fell to join his back against the unforgiving chill of the cell wall. He tried to fight it (no he didn’t), but his drink-addled brain was unable to stop the memories of you from flooding back into his system.

Your first meeting, a year ago that felt more like ten since you had left. Logan had been stalking his way down the street, huffing and puffing, pissed at Wade for inviting people over and blaring music when he had known that day was Logan’s only day off for two weeks. He had grabbed his jacket and stormed out into the chilly New York evening, turning left outside their apartment as he made his way toward the nearest bar. He craved a stiff drink, damn Wade and Laura had hidden all of the alcohol in the house from him. They told him he needed to dry out, and he did. He knew it as well as everyone else, but it was hard. After years of drowning his guilt and grief in drink, it made him nervous to let go, to face his days head-on instead of looking at them from the syrupy brown lens of his old friend whiskey.

It was on his way to the bar that he heard it. A muffled cry, the sound of flesh hitting concrete, a grunt of pain. He took off in the direction of the sound, his hyper-sensitive nose smelling the fear lacing the air the closer he got to a dingy alley two streets over. As he rounded the corner, he saw you. Your hands were bound behind your back and there was a gag stuffed in your mouth. Your eyes pled with Logan to save you as your attacker dragged you across the ground, mumbling and lurching back and forth as he pulled you along,” Stupid fuckin’ whore. Women. Always gettin’ in the way of what I deserve. Maybe I’ll put you in the dumpster when I’m done with you, let you rot with the flies.”

Logan’s nostrils flared as he surged forward, yanking your leg from the man’s grip and pushing you further away as your attacker spun to face him. “What the-” was all the scumbag got out before Logan clocked him, knocking him out with one punch. He really wanted to keep beating on the guy, but his enhanced hearing had him turning toward you as you shuddered, whimpers escaping the gag as tears rolled down your face.

He held his hands up, approaching slowly and kneeling on the dirty ground in front of you and gently pulling the gag from your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut. You let out shuddering sobs as he reached around you to loosen your bindings, careful not to touch you more than he had to. He had experienced more than his fair share of trauma, and he knew how hard it could be to have someone be so close to you when you were going through it, so he made sure to lean back as soon as he had freed you.

However, you immediately proved his assumption wrong. You slumped down against him, your hands fisting his t-shirt as you sniffled and coughed. “Thank-thank you.” you stuttered as you tried to calm yourself. “Thank you so, so much.” Logan tentatively reached around you to pat your back,” You’re welcome, bub. Just doin’ what needed to be done.” As his hand tapped out a soothing beat against your back, you felt yourself begin to come down from the adrenaline rush of almost being kidnapped. You thought back to the man’s ugly words, sniffling again as you whispered, “He was going to kill me.”

Logan bristled immediately, his hand coming to a halt on your back. “Never would have let that happen, ya hear me. I’d have heard ya from a mile away,” he grunted and gently stood to his feet, pulling you up with him.

“You live close?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Just down the street.”

He finally got a good look at you, and by God were you pretty. Even with bits of gravel leaving red divots in your cheeks and your eyes watery with tears, you were among the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. He shook himself out of his daze as you took a deep breath and started walking shakily down the street. He tried to stay close but not too close as you walked, following behind you and scenting the air for any more threats. He sure as hell didn’t want to put you through anything else tonight.

The two of you walked in silence until you finally stopped, turning to face Logan as you stood outside the lobby door of your apartment complex. You managed a slight smile as you looked up at him, “I’m sorry that I’m not inviting you in,” you said. “It’s just that this evening has been hellish and I’d like to be alone.”

Logan shook his head, stepping back, “No, no, I understand, I’ll be-”. You cut him off,” Come tomorrow around noon. I’ll treat you to coffee for saving me.” You said this forcefully, almost demanding him to do as you said. It shocked Logan, and a small smile made it’s way onto his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” You thanked him one more time and headed into your building, leaving Logan standing outside, staring at the doors, more curious about you than he had been about anyone in a good long while.

He did show up the next day, letting you take him to a quaint cafe and buy him a coffee, plain black, which you teased him for. You spent what felt like hours asking him questions and telling him about yourself, and it felt so right, so natural for both of you. Just being there with you was enough to take Logan’s mind off of the things that haunted him, solely focused on your beautiful face and animated expression.

When you realized you had been yapping at this near-stranger for almost 3 hours, you figured it was time to go, gathering your trash and standing up, blush heating up your cheeks. “Thank you again,” you said. “For saving me last night and for letting me talk your ear off today.” Logan flashed you a small smile, tilting his head slightly, “How about the same time tomorrow then? My treat.”

He watched your face light up and thought to himself that he’d go broke buying you coffee if you’d just keep looking at him that way. You quickly agreed, telling him that you’d definitely be there if he wouldn’t mind you being a little late, as work was a little further than your apartment.

And so it began, the two of you had gotten closer and closer, until a random Tuesday when you blurted out that you wanted to be his girlfriend, if he’d have you. After teasing you about your blush, he of course agreed, claiming that you had been his girlfriend for weeks and you had just noticed.

You brought him around to your place, where you cooked with him, watched all your favorite movies, and made love. He brought you around to his place, too. You met Wade and Al, which prompted the discussion about his mutation and history. You took everything in stride, reassuring Logan that his past changed nothing, that you were still his if he was still yours. He found a job at a local community college, taking training classes and becoming one of the campus security officers. He quit drinking so much, instead relying on your perfectly brewed cups of coffee to get him through the day, only having a drink or two after work if you were feeling like it.

Logan had never been happier. It was like you were made for him. He took care of you and in turn, you soothed his battered soul. No one had ever touched him with the tenderness that you did, no one ever made him feel as good as you. His existence had become pure bliss and he felt he finally had a purpose again.

Your lives went on this way for a year and three months, until, just like with every other good thing he had ever had, he ruined it.

Logan had come to your place before you got off work, aiming to surprise you with dinner after you had complained of a particularly hard week. He had just stepped through the door when he stopped cold, smelling that someone was here, or had been here recently. It wasn’t a scent he recognized, and he prowled through the apartment, checking every room thoroughly for an intruder. When he found no one, he made his way back to the kitchen, still uneasy.

It was there that he saw the papers on the counter, one neat little stack that would change his life. He moved the blank paper on top and a chill shot up his spine. It was a photo of you, taken when he was sure you thought no one was watching. It showed you through the window of your apartment, a soft smile on your face as you put on a coat over your work uniform. He could even make out the locket around your neck that he had given you for your anniversary.

He moved on to the next pages, letters detailing your entire life, down to how much your water bill had been that month.

It was the second to last page that sealed his fate, his name next to a summons, a set of coordinates he was to come to or they would kill you. He quickly thought to himself that he could protect you from anyone who tried to hurt you, then immediately realized that that wasn’t the kind of life he had wanted to give you, always on the run and afraid for your life. No, he would have to end things with you and go take care of this mess himself. It broke him to think of hurting you in the way that he would be required to. You were so resilient, so passionate, and stubborn when it came to him. He would have to destroy all of that to get you to leave him alone.

And so, he sat down in the living room and waited, tucking the papers into his jacket so you wouldn’t see them. Dread filled his bones, dragging him down into the couch and he thought he might not make it out of your apartment alive.

It wasn’t much later when he heard the front door open, your lively humming filling his ears and making him feel so much worse. He stayed seated as you made your way through the apartment, shedding your bag and coat as you went.

“Oh, Lo! You scared me!” you said as you saw him, your hand going to your chest in mock shock. “What are you doing here before me?”

Logan swallowed and spoke, trying not to let his voice shake,”We need to talk.”

Your smile dropped instantly and you moved toward him, balking when he held a hand up to stop you. “Lo, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

The look on your face was killing him, so he looked away as he spoke,”I want to break up.”

You sank down to your knees, squinting as you tried to get him to meet your eyes,” What? Lo, what happened? I promise we can figure it out together. You’ve just got to tell me what’s wro-”

“I cheated,” he said, cutting you off. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I want to be with her.” As soon as he said it, he knew if he could just convince you that he had really broken your trust that way, you’d be done with him.

You laughed slightly, awkwardly,” Logan, that’s not funny. You shouldn’t say things like that. Did I do something wrong or make you mad? I’m sorry for whatever I did, but you really shouldn’t lie.”

The look on your face was almost enough to break his resolve, but the need to protect you won out over his impending grief, “I’m not joking. I’m done with this relationship and I’m done with you. I've found something better.” He felt so wrong saying those words, knowing you feared that you weren’t good enough for him.

“Lo-Logan, please, we can work this out. I can do better, I can be better if you’ll just tell me what you need that I’m not giving you. Please.”

You reached out and grabbed his sleeve, your expression pleading. Logan felt his heart that you had mended shatter back into a million pieces, standing up and ripping his sleeve from your grasp.

“Are you stupid?” he asked, injecting as much venom into his voice as he could. “I said I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you stupid food, or your stupid gifts, or your pathetic love. I’m done. Do you hear me? Get it through your thick skull and stay away from me. I never want to see you again.” He turned away from you as he walked toward the door, stomping over his heart on the way.

He shook you off again as you grabbed his pant leg, still on your knees on the floor. Your voice warbled as you begged. “Logan, baby, please,” you cried. “I can change I swear. I can be whatever you need. Just please don’t leave me. You’re my whole life. You make me so happy. I can’t-I can’t do it without you. Please.”

He risked one glance back at you, telling himself he needed to see your face one more time to remind himself why he was leaving. The sight of you on the floor, tears pouring down your cheeks, was killing him. He should have known that he couldn’t have you, that something would force him to leave, but he had foolishly hoped that he could spite whatever higher power kept hurting him by keeping you.

“Don’t come around,” he spat with as much vitriol as he could muster. “I won’t contact you, and you don’t contact me. Let’s make this as easy for you as possible. Just forget I ever existed.”

He didn’t look back again, didn’t watch you weep as you began to mourn what you thought would be forever, knowing you could never stop loving him, even now that he hated you.

Logan groaned, leaning forward against his knees as he came back to himself, his heart aching as painfully as it had when he had lived it the first time. After he had left you, he had gone to the coordinates on the papers he had taken from the apartment. They led to a rural town in Quebec, a place he couldn’t remember but felt like he had been before. There, he met up with a gang of mutant hunters who believed that somehow the universe’s Logan had come back from the dead. They tried to kill him again and threatened him with more violence toward you if he didn’t die willingly. Fat chance. Logan was a newly hollow man and had no qualms about tracking and slaughtering every one of the mutant hunters so that his kind could live in a semblance of peace.

He stayed up north for a while, squatting in an abandoned cabin and letting his instincts rule him. That was better than having his every waking thought be filled with how he had left you broken on your living room floor, believing that he had betrayed you.

Eventually, he went back to Vancouver. Somehow, his job let him come back, and Wade didn’t pester him with questions (probably because Logan had almost bitten his head off after he asked the second one).

He had considered going to your apartment now that the threat against you was handled, but he knew that as soon as he found happiness with you he’d have to leave again. It was for your own good, really. He wanted you to be happy, and you couldn’t be happy if Logan was constantly walking out on you.

So he went to work and started drinking heavily again, which had led him to the inside of a holding cell, coming to terms with the fact that he would be there all night.

As soon has he had laid down on the hard metal bench he had been sat on for hours, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned his head and watched the cop approach, fully expecting him to say that you had hung up as soon as you heard what they were asking of you. Maybe you hadn’t even answered and Logan would get another call.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for the cop to swing the cell door open and grunt at him, motioning for him to get up. Logan quirked up a brow as he stood, “Is it chow or somethin’?” he asked. The cop chuckled, “You sure you’d rather eat the slop they serve here than leave with the pretty little lady that came to get you? She signed your papers, so you’re good to go. And please, don’t come back.”

Logan almost stumbled as he processed what the cop had said, his mind racing as he sniffed the air.

You.

You were here, close. Your scent was so strong. Logan’s heart clenched. He truly believed he would never smell you again, the sweet musk of your skin paired with your perfume. He slowly turned, and there you were.

You were soaking wet, your hair drenched and your mascara slightly smudged, a jean jacket falling from your shoulders. Something was wrong, though. You were hunched over yourself, almost cowering in his presence. Your hands shook as you pulled your jacket further up your arms. Logan would have thought nothing of it and assumed you were just cold if you scent hadn’t changed. He could smell fear on you, a fear he hadn’t come into contact with since the night you met.

You turned and started walking toward the jailhouse door, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Logan was following you. He caught up to you in a couple strides, staying slightly behind you to give you your space. All he wanted was to reach out and touch you, to hold you in his arms again, but he resisted. On one hand, he was immensely grateful that you had come to get him. On the other hand, he felt so guilty that you had come to save someone who had broken your heart.

The two of you walked out into the rain, Logan still following you. You led him to a small car, one that you hadn’t had when he left you. He didn’t move as you rounded the car to get in, assuming he’d walk back to Wade’s from there.

“Get in, Logan,” you said quietly.

He took a deep breath as he opened the passenger seat and got in, leaning forward so as to get as little water on your seats as possible. “Thank you,” he said. “Really, you didn’t have to come get me. I don’t even know why I gave them your name. I’ve just had too much to drink and-”

It was only then that you turned to face him, your face illuminated softly in the hazy light from the lamps lining the street. He scanned your face, his blood running cold as he saw your black eye and split lip, your eyes bright red with shed tears. “Logan,” you said, cutting him off. You took a deep, shaky breath, “We need to talk.”

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persephone-reblogs · 18 days

Text

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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persephone-reblogs · 18 days

Text

AWWWWWWW

kiss it better

in which spencer notices your bruised knees and tries to make it up to you

18+ (fluff, allusions to past intimacy) warnings/tags: gn!reader i believe, reader has bruised knees lol, guess why, implied intimacy, hurt/comfort, sorta implied d/s dynamics maybe?? spencer is so smart and not very smart, but forever my no. 1 cutie pie a/n: why do i love writing about smut like before and after smut way more than i actually like writing smut LOL anyways here is this cause i haven't been posting very much!!! (also ik I said I don't like babe as a pet name but shhh) and GIF :D

“Hey,” you grunt as you flop on the bed in your pajamas, rumpling the neat covers. “Pay attention to me.”

Spencer holds his Sudoku off to the side and watches, eyebrows raised, as you scoot closer, tossing your leg over him. Soon he’s abandoning the book and pen on the bedside table in favor of hooking his fingers under your knee and stroking your leg, much to your delight.

“Okay. What kind of attention would you like?”

You allow him to put his other arm around you and settle your cheek on his shoulder.

“This is pretty good.”

“Oh, good,” he says with only a hint of teasing, leaning down slightly to kiss your lips and then the tip of your nose.

When he pulls away you can’t help smiling up at him like a lovestruck idiot. Obviously he’s perfect all the time, but in his glasses, with his hair messy, wearing a navy crewneck instead of a button up and tie… he’s just… he’s just so…

He’s just so alarmed?

“Honey, your knee.”

“My knee?” Your own brows furrow and you track his eye line, craning your neck to look down to the blotchy sprawl of purple and red marring your skin. “Oh.”

The pillow is soft under your head where it falls, unconcerned even as Spencer gawps at you, baffled by your nonchalance.

“What did you do?”

You snort.

“What did you do, Spencer?”

It’s cute, the way his lips move as he silently repeats the sentence, trying to discern the meaning of your words.

“What do you mean? I did something?”

“Babe.”

The knot between his brows has not loosened any—in fact you’re worried he’s going to give himself a headache. Or at least make himself dizzy, with the way his eyes cycle between your own. You try again, covering his anxious hand on the bend of your leg with your own.

“When we got back from Penelope’s thing, the other night?”

Slowly the understanding seeps into his expression—soft guilt in his eyes, and a deep red stain in his cheeks. At least his face relaxes.

“Oh.”

God, he’s so cute. He can’t hold eye contact, looking down once the shock of embarrassment has faded and swallowing, a little frown twisting his features once more. You reach up, brushing his cheek with a thumb and adjusting his glasses.

“What’s wrong?”

The question comes out too smiley, but you can’t help it.

“I hurt you,” he says, quietly, utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I kinda think you did,” you tease, and Spencer says your name with a serious edge. You try to quit grinning so much. “Baby, it’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. Don’t you ever get mysterious bruises?”

His eyes are wide and honest on yours when he meets them again.

“No. My iron levels are optimal.”

Naturally.

“Okay, well, lots of people do. Sometimes I get a bruise and I have no idea what it’s from because it never hurt. These,” you look down, gesturing to your knee, “never hurt. It’s just what happens when your knees hit the floor.”

“Well you shouldn’t have been on the floor,” he scolds, countering with a sweet touch on your cheek. “I’m never letting you touch the floor ever again.”

Your shit-eating grin is back and better than ever. “Oh, so you’re going to carry me everywhere we go?”

“If that’s what it takes. I don’t like seeing you bruised up.”

“It’s okay. I bruised myself doing something I love.”

At this Spencer rolls his eyes and kisses you once more before gently pushing your leg away and getting out of bed.

“Where are you going?” You ask, all smugness gone and more concerned than you ought to be as he flicks the bathroom light on. For a moment you receive no answer, but then he reappears bearing a white tube.

“Give me your legs,” he says, sitting next to you on the bed. You swing your legs over his lap and watch on in mild interest as he dispenses lotion from the bottle and tosses it aside, carefully rubbing it into the bruised skin. Every few seconds he glances up to gauge your reaction, and though it’s definitely tender, you avoid wincing. “You don’t have to do that. I can tell it hurts.”

You laugh.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t until you started trying to fix it.” The ointment is pungent and you make a face. “What are you rubbing all over me?”

“This is vitamin K and Arnica. It will make the bruises go away faster.”

“Aw. You don’t think they’re pretty on me?”

He sets the bottle on the nightstand and retrieves the pen he’d been doing Sudoku with earlier, uncapping it. Your heart swells as he draws tiny sad faces by the bruises on your knees, glasses slipping down his nose as he focuses intently.

“I always think you’re pretty. I just never want you to be hurt, ever.”

“Are you done taking care of me now?” You ask, reaching out for him. The pen joins the bottle and suddenly he has no concern for your bodily health, practically crushing you with a hug. When he speaks it’s muffled by your shoulder.

“Never.”

You hum, nose tickled in his hair and forming a dastardly plan.

“You could kiss them better.”

Spencer laughs and presses his lips briefly to your neck.

“I might just do that.”

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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persephone-reblogs · 20 days

Text

Just Logan

A/N: I am officially having so much fun with these 🤭 My requests are open if anyone wants some more smutty headcanon-vibe things

CW: use of the pet name pup, Reader’s parts are referred to as a tdick and hole, edging, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms

Written for ftm!Readers

Just Logan eating you out

Laying you down on his bed, pushing your thighs apart. Smirking at the view, complimenting you on how perfect your hole looks

Running his fingers through your slick, bringing it up to his lips to taste. Practically purring as he eyes you, pulling his fingers from his mouth with a pop

“You taste like heaven, pup.”

Just Logan lowering his head and lapping at your aching tdick. Swirling his tongue around it and sucking on it. Chucking at the needy sound you make, as you buck your hips up to get more

Pressing you down against the bed to keep you from moving. Murmuring praises as he licks at your hole. As you whine and whimper and moan for him

Slurping up your slick greedily, giving you big long strokes of his tongue. Getting as much of it in his mouth as he can. Making his face all messy and glistening with how wet you are

Groaning as he thrusts his tongue into your hole, gripping your hips tightly but letting you grind against his face. Smirking as you do so, knowing how desperate you are to cum

Just Logan doing this over and over again, edging you once, twice, three times until you can’t bear it anymore. Until you’re a sobbing mess under him, begging, pleading for him to let you cum

Growling his permission, sucking so well on your tdick that you see stars as you cum. As you writhe and scrabble at the sheets, his hands pinning you in place

Keeping you there, pressed to his hungry mouth until you’re babbling mindlessly, cumming again against his mouth. Soaking his chin with cum and slick

Just Logan finally, finally pulling back and pulling you into his arms. Murmuring praises and “good boy”s as he cleans you up. Cuddling you close, giving you the soft assurances you need until you’re back to yourself again

Just Logan

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persephone-reblogs · 21 days

Note

i love this idea so much, as someone whose in school for veterinary work rn and something i'd love to do is work with service animals whether in the military or training them so bdkwndkfne

Okay, hear me out (I know okay, I know I need to work in my current WIPs but but but but…)

This is WaspIke . He’s a Service pupper who serves on the USS Wasp. (His rank is listed as LCDR (lieutenant commander) 🤭).

And… here is where the idea comes in. (And god, my brain needs to chill but I can’t help it, especially when it’s fluffy fluff.)

The Navy is complex. The Daggers are not just a permanent Squadron at Miramar (which is not Navy anymore so technically, they’d probably work out of NAS Lemoore, btw but I digress), but they’ve also been assigned to a specific aircraft carrier. It’s fiction, so one can make up a name.

The carrier has been accepted as part of the Mutts With A Mission program, thus, it’s been assigned a pupper. The pupper would have a handler, of course. And they’re civilian. (Yes, I already researched this. There are civilian contractors aboard those ships and carriers although most work in technical/engineering fields or for MWR.)

Ahhhh… I’m getting sidetracked omg. My brain is a bit all over the place today. I’m sorry.

Okay…

Aircraft carrier.

Service pupper.

Civilian handler.

And one day, the first day actually, the pupper runs up to this tall dude with glasses, almost knocks him over because the pup’s handler has thrown a toy and it went farther than anticipated. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. The sun was in my eyes. Are you okay?”

The voice is sweet, amused, but also apologetic. And once Bob finds his bearings after being taken off guard that there’s a golden retriever on the ship (what?), he turns to the voice, holds his breath because woahhhh. “Uhm…” Bob is legit lost for words. First a pupper and now a beautiful woman dressed in civilian clothing. “Are you lost, ma’am?” Are you lost? Of course, she’s lost Floyd, jfc. Bob scolds himself mentally. The carrier is still docked and there are tours of the ship today as part of Fleet Week. Even so, this area is restricted to civilians.

“What? No. Actually, we’re checking out our second home, aren’t we Morla? Yes we are.”

Bob watches as Morla rolls over, accepting belly scritches like it’s totally normal to get belly scritches on an aircraft carrier. “Your second home?”

There’s a soft laugh, bright eyes scanning over Bob. “Yes. Morla is part of the Mutts With A Mission program.” You stretch out your hand, introduce yourself and Bob gently squeezes your hand in return. “I’m a veterinary assistant on base. In order for Morla to be part of the program, she needs a handler, preferably with a background in veterinary care so, I applied. And here we are. Didn’t think they’d process my paperwork this fast, so I’m scrambling to get to know the crew and ship. It’s a lot, really. But I’m part of the upcoming deployment. At least, Morla and I have our own room. Which by the way I hope we didn’t take from someone else. That would suck. I know space is a luxury on these ships. My dad was in the navy. So I know a few things… and… I’m talking too much, aren’t I? Gosh I’m sorry. First, Morla almost knocks you over and now, you’re listening to me go on and on, and I didn’t even ask for your name.”

Bob is still holding your hand, and now he’s laughing softly, cause how adorable are you. Honestly, you could’ve continued on and on. He wouldn’t have minded at all. But he’s volunteered to be a guide today and the next group will be here in ten minutes and he still has to get the welcome packets. “I’m Lieutenant Floyd.”

“Nice to meet you Lieutenant Floyd.” You smile and Bob is finally snapping out of it, slowly lets go of your hand.

He inhales sharply, chuckles when Morla bumps your hand with her head. And then he has a lightbulb moment. “The next group should be here soon, you know, for a tour of the ship. If you like, you and Morla can join us.”

You smile grows wider. “That sounds like a great idea, actually. I swear, I got turned around five times before I found the right way to the upper deck. Please tell me we’re stopping by the galley. I need a coffee. And something to snack on. Honestly considering on making a travel bag with snacks. I might starve to death if I ever get lost on this ship.”

Bob chuckles. There you go again. Talking away. But he already likes it. You’re already the energetic Yang to his quiet Yin. “Not to worry. I’ll show you how to read the plaques by the stairs so you’ll always know which deck and section of the ship you’re on.”

1. Where did you get video of my dog? Because WaspIke is a doppelgänger to my Holley.

2. I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH! Morla 😍 and the meet cute and the Yang to his yin? I love the bubbly, energetic, talkative personality with his quiet, subdued one

3. Write this. Right. Now.

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persephone-reblogs · 21 days

Note

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I LOVE HIM

HES SO PERFECT

opening the door for them or pulling their seat out before they sit down with bob would be delightful!

You had only been at the bar for ten minutes and already regretted all the decisions you made that led to this moment.

Why did you agree to a blind date?

First of all, it was with your friend's coworker. And no matter how much Natasha said it was fine, you couldn't help but be nervous.

You had heard stories of the squad Nat worked with, some good, some…not so good.

"It's not the Hangman guy, right?" You asked her when she first brought it up.

Nat pretended to gag, "You're my friend, not enemy. It's my WSO."

So there you were, awkwardly shifting in the chair at the bar as you looked towards the entrance for the sixth time, anxiety building up in your stomach and threatening to come out like bile any moment.

This was a horrible idea.

You tried dating, you really did. Various dating apps, going to different bars and strike up a conversation, but nothing seemed to work out. Sometimes you'd get ghosted, other times it would end with you curled up in a ball on your couch with a pint of ice cream while some stupid romantic comedy played in the background. You quickly learned that it didn't matter how great the first or second date went, folks will change their mind about you at the drop of a hat.

At least with Hinge or Tinder, you could see a picture of the person and speak before meeting them. With a blind date, you didn't have that, only the information your matchmaker had given you.

He went by Bob. He was a WSO. From the Midwest, specifically Montana ("Don't refer to his accent as Southern, he will go on a spield '' Nat warned you). Very sweet, but shy at first, which was why he supposedly had trouble finding someone.

He sounded nice. Potentially lovely. But you knew better by now, after years of failed attempts and broken hearts.

Sounding nice didn't guarantee anything.

You wondered what Nat had said about you. Probably that only your parents called you by your full name. That you and Nat met through college was also a given. She's had shit luck when it comes to finding someone, hopefully you can change that?

You checked your phone for the upteemth time. 7:12. He was supposed to be here twelve minutes ago. Surely he wouldn't stand you up, considering he had to work with Nat the next day?

The idea was surprising, but not shocking. Despite the intention of dating, some folks were quite careless when it came to a heart that wasn't theirs. You had been on that receiving end more times than you'd like to admit.

He probably thought the idea of going on a date with his coworker's friend was too risky, too weird. Perhaps he looked you up on social media and found an aspect of you that he didn't like. Thanks to numerous assholes, you could list off several potential reasons. Not pretty enough, not interesting enough, not affectionate enough, too affectionate, too clingy-

The list could go on and on. Thankfully it didn't. Thankfully, the sound of your name, said by a soft voice broke you out of your thoughts and made you turn around.

Oh.

He reminded you of the male love interests from those Old Hollywood films you watched with your grandmother as a small child. Sandy brown hair that was tousled in waves, piercing blue eyes that stood out against his sharp nose and rosy cheeks.

But above all, he looked kind. Truly kind. Maybe it was the lopsided, assuring grin or the way his cobalt eyes shone against the soft lighting of the restaurant.

"Bob?"

His thin lips formed into a saccharine smile as he stepped forward, extending a long arm out.

Holy shit, he brought you flowers.

You couldn't help but stare, wide-eyed and open mouth at the beautiful marigolds and orange sunflowers. You didn't know people still did that-no date had ever done so for you.

"I-I'm so sorry for bein' late. I swear, I'm always on time, I just wasn't sure which flowers to get ya. I-I mean, I knew you liked sunflowers, Phoenix told me that but I wasn't sure if yellow was overdone or if I should do something different and I'm really sorry-"

"You're perfect," your eyes widened at your own words, "The flowers I mean! The flowers are perfect and beautiful and traffic happens, it's okay!"

His smile widened at your reassurance and you swore it melted your heart. Heat rose to your face as you accepted the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his.

The two of you walked to your table. When Bob pulled out your seat for you, your heart fluttered.

There was no way this guy could be real. Why was he single?

Often, the conversation on a first date was awkward and full of long pauses.

Not this one. Not with Bob.

He asked you questions about yourself. Hell, he even asked follow up questions. And they were thoughtful.

Bob felt the same way.

Yes, he found you stunning. But you were much more than that. You were insightful, passionate, kind.

Why on Earth were you single?

Bob was determined to make everyone else's loss his gain.

"Would you want to go get ice cream?" His fingers were tapping the table, a nervous habit that you found adorable, "I mean, I get it if you're tired but if you're not, I'd love to continue?"

A downright dopey smile overtook your face as you nodded enthusiastically.

"I'd love to continue!"

You couldn't hide your surprise though when Bob all but jogged in order to hold the door for you.

"Oh, thank you! But you don't have to do that," you explained. His brows knitted together in confusion, the corners of his lips slightly downturned.

How could one man be so cute?

"Do what?" He asked, confusion all over his voice.

"Oh, um, holding the door?" Was it wrong to have brought that up? Oh God, was he going to think of you as rude?

Instead Bob smiled as he shook his head, "Nonsense. You should never have to hold the door."

Oh no. You were going to be down bad.

As the night went on, your nerves disappeared, giving Bob a sweet smile when he held the door open or pulled out your chair.

You didn't say anything when he held the car door open to drive you home, just that smile that made his heart flutter.

But when he opened the car door after arriving at your home, you stood instead of walking forward.

"I....I had a really good time tonight," the nerves came swelling back. You couldn't recall the last time you had clicked with someone so quickly.

"I did too," his smile warmed your body, "Maybe...if you'd like, we could-"

"Do this again?" God, you really hoped that's what he was going to say. You didn't think your heart could handle it otherwise.

"Yeah," he let out a nervous chuckle, "I'd love to do this again."

Your heart soared. Nat now had rights to the biggest "I told you so" but you couldn't find it in yourself to care at this moment.

"I'm not doing anything this Friday," containing your excitement was difficult. You were positive that big, dopey grin was plastered on your face right now.

Bob loved it.

"I'm not either." That was kinda a lie. Fridays were usually when his squad went out to the Hard Deck to celebrate the end of the week.

But Nat wouldn't mind and that was all that mattered.

You two exchanged phone numbers, hands clumsily typing as you both tried to sneak glances at one another.

Once your respective phones were back in your hand, it seemed like the front door was calling your name.

Not that you wanted to leave.

Offering him coffee at this hour would be silly, no one did that anymore.

"Can I walk you to the door?" His voice was timid, unsure.

"Please." It came out abruptly, as though you had lost control of your mouth, "I mean, yes. I would like that."

When Bob offered his arm, you accepted, linking yours with his.

"This is my stop," you motioned to the front door, earning a chuckle from Bob. God, he was so handsome. And his hands were so large. What would it be like to hold them?

"I had a really good time tonight. Probably the best date I've had in...a while." The dusting of pink that spread across his cheeks was downright darling.

"Could I-"

"If you don't kiss me, I might explode."

Normally you weren't one to be so bold. But the ache inside you was threatening to burst at the seams.

"Oh thank God," was all Bob could get out before pressing his lips to yours.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x female reader #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x female reader

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persephone-reblogs · 22 days

Text

as it was ; logan howlett.

track seven of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; logan howlett x mutant!scientist!gn!reader

synopsis ; you first met logan as weapon x, wiped clean of any memory of his past life. he had nearly killed you then. and now, almost two years later, he’s pressing kisses over the very same scars his adamantium claws had inflicted.

words ; 9.1k

themes ; angst, fluff, action, mutant au, scientist au

warnings / includes ; descriptions of violence and gore, death, blood and injuries, alcohol, smoking, emotions™, logan calls you 'bub' and 'darlin', reader has the ability to manipulate matter, reader is a scientist, based on marvel comics presents: weapon x issues #72-84, mentions of the brotherhood and the rest of the x-men, charles is your bff :D, not accurate x-men timelines </3

main masterlist.

You pressed your knuckles into your tired eyes, wincing when bright colors exploded behind your eyelids. Gingerly, you blinked to adjust back to the brightness of the laboratory’s artificial lights, stifling a wide yawn with the back of your palm.

It was your shift to watch him. Weapon X.

Everything was deathly silent, other than the rhythmic beeping of the machine in front of you. The machine that told you he was still alive. Still breathing.

You shifted in the leather chair, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat.

The man—was he even a man anymore?—laid motionless and limp within the vat. His features, softened with unconsciousness, were still rugged and intimidating, nearly hidden by the hundreds of wires sticking out of his form.

They brought you in just a week ago, so you were still getting used to everything here. The other scientists in the facility had told you that the man was a volunteer for the Weapon X project—that he needed to be given an adamantium skeleton or his own mutation would kill him from the inside out. Being a mutant-in-hiding yourself, you felt a certain calling to help him out.

So if you were helping this man recover, why did it feel so wrong?

Biting the side of your cheek, you slipped out of the chair and strode up to the vat, resting a hand on the glass barrier. It was cold beneath your fingertips.

You could’ve sworn you saw his foot twitch—

The door to the lab whooshed open, and the head scientist, Dr. Cornelius, strode in, shooting you a humorless look, wordlessly telling you that your shift was over.

Pursing your lips, you pulled yourself away from the glass, sparing the man in the vat one last glance before stepping back to the chair to gather your things.

“Anything interesting to note?” the old man asked you.

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “Nothing at all for the past couple of hours, Doc. He’s responding exceptionally well to the chemical bath.”

He made a disinterested noise, as if the prospect of things going well bored him, before sinking into another chair and heaving a large sigh.

Hesitant, you stepped forward to ask, “Doctor? Sorry, I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions.” It was about time you knew just what was going on here—there was definitely something that he wasn’t telling you.

The man lifted his gaze to you, seeming annoyed already. “What is it?” A scowl threatened to play by the corner of your lips, but you forced on an indifferent expression.

“I just… I keep thinking about him.”

“Who? Logan?”

His name was Logan. He had a name. Well—of course he did. You suddenly felt sick.

“Yeah. I keep thinking about what we’re doing to him.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but wisely chose to remain silent, goading you to carry on.

The machine beeped. You glanced at the unconscious man in the vat.

“Before I came here… was he—was Logan—here? And I don’t mean him as Weapon X. I mean it like the man before this. Was he here?”

“No,” Cornelius replied, far too quickly for your liking. He averted his gaze, focusing on the machine in front of him. “I don’t know. What are you asking here, kid?”

This time, you didn’t bother to suppress the frown budding across your face. “I mean,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “did Logan sign up for this?”

“I already told you,” Cornelius gruffed out, “he volunteered.”

“And why should I believe you? Why have you named him Weapon X if all we’re trying to do is cure him? Why did you have to erase his memories? Why have you been forcing him to fight wild animals in the forest? Are you making me attach adamantium to his skeleton because you want to help him, or because you want to manufacture a mindless killing machine?” Your voice had raised several notches in volume, and the doctor seemed to recoil at your words. Sucking in a breath to calm your erratic pulse, you spoke again, “You’re not telling me something, Cornelius.”

The doctor, stunned into silence, took several moments to gather what he wanted to say. A rebuttal was just on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would be fruitless.

You’ve figured it out.

And he would have to kill you for it.

“Was he abducted? Kidnapped?” you asked again, voice strained.

“Congratulations,” the doctor sneered, slowly rising to his feet. “You’ve put together the puzzle pieces.”

Bile rose in your throat. “Logan was forced into this. He didn’t want any of it. You… you’re trying to make a monster but—you’re the real monster here.” Slowly, you started backing up. “You were using me. You knew that I wouldn’t help graft the adamantium to his skeleton if I knew the truth. You’re insane. You’re sick.”

With a mangled cry, the doctor lunged forward, knocking you to the ground as his palms found your throat. Pain flourished through your spine as it thudded against the sleek tiles of the floor, a strangled sound crawling from your lips. You clawed at his hands at first, desperate and losing air far too quickly.

Then, you grappled at his face, scratching at his cheeks until blood welled in tiny droplets from the red marks you drew. This only seemed to enrage him further, fingers pressing harder into your trachea. Dark spots danced about your vision and you gasped for breath, eyes misting over with unshed tears.

Fuck. You needed to do something. Quick.

Maybe… your powers—

No. No, you’d find another way. You refused to lose control of yourself ever again.

The chair was right beside you. If you could just… hook your foot around one of its legs and tip it forwards…

Your mouth fell open as your lungs begged for mercy, limbs growing weaker with each passing second. You gave it your all to jerk forward, just enough to shift you down and catch the chair with your foot and yank it forwards.

The heavy metal seat tipped forward slowly, before giving in to its own weight and crashing on top of Cornelius. The bald man howled with pain, and his grip loosened on you momentarily. You hiked your knees upwards and slammed them into his stomach, shoving him away with a yell. Your chest heaved raggedly, greedily swallowing as much air as you could take.

The doctor was quick to recover from his initial shock. You thought he’d lunge for you again, but instead, he brandished a walkie talkie and yelled, “CODE RED, GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW! CODE RED!”

Without a damned clue what ‘code red’ meant, you rushed forward and slammed the emergency lockdown button on the control panel. A haggard sigh of relief left you when thick metal slabs slowly lowered down over the doors.

Cornelius, infuriated, grabbed the back of your head and shoved you down, slamming the side of your face into the plethora of buttons. A loud groan of pain ricocheted across the laboratory, blood seeping from one of your nostrils and slipping into your mouth, running a metallic copper taste along your tongue. He did it again, and again, and again, far too quickly for you to even begin to react. Faintly, you registered a whooshing sound in front of you—one of you must’ve accidentally hit the button that released Logan from his chemical bath.

You spat blood over the buttons with a snarl, reinvigorated, shooting your hands out to stop him from bashing your face in once more. Twisting your body, you kicked at his knee as hard as you could, which made Cornelius collapse forward. You messily drove your fist into his eye socket, pushing him back, away from the control panel. The doctor fell onto the ground and you kicked at his skull with the heel of your shoe.

There was blood dripping down your chin. Your nose was throbbing. You were disoriented, vision splitting into blurry duplicates. Dizzy, you dropped to your haunches, crawling as far away as you could from Cornelius.

Noises were coming from the other side of the lab. Where Logan was.

Wincing, you were just about to turn to look before Cornelius’ hand wound around your ankle, yanking you to him with surprising strength. He punched you in the shoulder first, trying to aim for your face. You flailed your limbs, attempting to kick your feet, but he had trapped your legs between his. A struggling whimper shook your lips, breaths coming in fast, staccato beats. The second time he punched you, he hit you dead on. Your vision went dark for a good ten seconds. You could tell one of your eyelids had already swollen shut.

Desperate and panicked, you lurched upwards and bit into whatever you could. You sank your teeth in until red squirted straight into your other eye, and copper flooded your mouth once more. An ear-piercing scream rattled through the lab.

As you furiously wiped away the dark ichor from your eyes, you realized that he wasn’t screaming because of you—not really, at least.

He was screaming because there were three adamantium claws protruding from his abdomen.

And just behind him was Logan.

A terrified garble tore through your own throat. A string of nonsensical words fell from you—ranging from cries for help, prayers to whatever god would listen to you, and incoherent sobbing as pure terror ripped through you, whole and consuming.

There were still wires hanging off of the man’s starkly naked form, dragging against the ground behind him. His skin glistened with the residue from the chemical bath, droplets still falling from his damp hair and rolling over his defined muscles. With a near animalistic growl, he threw Cornelius’ lifeless corpse to the side, his adamantium claws streaking down both your arm and your side in the process. Another wail erupted from you and you curled into a fetal position, cradling your injuries and fruitlessly trying to put as much pressure as you could against the wounds. Blood seeped from you, staining the once-pristine floors with a growing pool of liquid rubies. You were light-headed, tilting your head up to look at Logan standing in front of you. Horror painted your insides with a thick, tar-like substance.

He made no move to hurt you any further, only regarding you with dark, distant eyes, like he just could just barely recognize your face. He remembered you.

You wanted to plead—beg him for mercy.

You cracked your shaking lips open, but the words lodged firmly in your throat, a sob rippling through your lungs. Hot tears streamed down your bloodied cheeks in fat dollops.

The mutant surprised you, then.

He spoke.

“I am…” he croaked out, seeming slightly miffed. It took him another couple of seconds to articulate his next words. His brain had been fried over and over again, the English language was something he had nearly completely forgotten. “I am… dead? I remember… death. Dying.”

You were shaking uncontrollably now. Whether it be because of the terror, or because of the insurmountable blood loss, you weren’t quite sure. Most likely both.

Voice warbling, you croaked out, “No, Logan. You’re not dead.”

His dark pupils darted to the pool of blood by your side, then moved down to his own hands and claws, practically soaked red. His chest heaved.

Slowly, you raised a trembling hand to point at the winding metal staircase at the back of the laboratory. “Run, Logan,” you hoarsely whispered. “They’ll be here any minute. You have to go before they catch you again. Go upstairs—there’s a rear window you can escape through.”

The man narrowed his eyes at you.

He stalked away wordlessly, leaving only droplets of Cornelius’ blood in his wake.

The tension melted away from your body instantaneously. The urge to cry laid heavy on your conscience, but you shoved down the tears and slowly pushed yourself to your feet, placing pressure on your wounds as you staggered onto your feet. With a grunt, you limped to Cornelius’ corpse, kneeling down to rip his belt and shirt off.

A low groan rumbled from your chest when you tied the belt over the deep gash Logan had inflicted on you, wrapping his shirt tightly over the leaking wound on your waist. Whether it was an accident or a purposeful move, you had no clue. Immediately, blood seeped through the fabric. You decided not to pay it any mind.

Faintly, you registered shouting from the other end of the barricaded door. You were running out of time.

Huffing a curse, you struggled to your feet and stepped over Cornelius, bee-lining for the metal staircase. Upstairs, you could see the droplets of blood Weapon X had left behind. You swallowed heavily, before following them to the open window.

“Fuck,” you coarsely spat out, glancing down to see snow blanketing the ground nearly at knee-length. Trembling already, you hopped off the windowsill and onto the fire escape’s ladder, gingerly placing each foot on the lower rung until you were near enough to jump down.

The wind whispered frost into your ears as you looked forward, into the dark forest.

They would kill you if you went back inside. It seemed like you had no other choice but to follow Logan. He was your best chance at survival.

Your sigh misted into an opaque fog as you followed the trail of blood on the snowy forest floor.

It’d been hours.

You had lost nearly all sensation in your feet, numbed by the frigid cold. You supposed that was one upside of the frost—you could no longer feel the pain of your wounds, despite the large blooming of crimson seeping through Cornelius’ shirt. The lids of your eyes were heavy, drooping closed every few seconds before struggling back open. You wrapped your arms around yourself lethargically, struggling to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Logan was only a couple minutes in front of you. At least—you thought he was. Hell, he could’ve been five hours away by now, considering how out of it you were.

You swallowed your throat, dry and scratchy from the whipping wind of the forest.

Not even ten steps later, you found yourself tipping forward, succumbing to the exhaustion.

The snow was suddenly flush against your cheek, the world now angled vertically. Black spots danced about your sight. You only barely registered the pain of hitting the ground, a wooden stick poking uncomfortably against your leg. You couldn’t be bothered to move. You couldn’t feel anything—yet it felt like you were burning alive. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Maybe the shame of failure. Or it could’ve simply just been the fact that you’ve been wading around in the snow for hours. A small breath slipped from your lungs and your eyes fell shut.

A nap wouldn’t hurt… would it?

Just as the corners of your vision waned dark, the shadow of a figure loomed over you.

The last thing you felt right before you succumbed to the cold were a pair of warm arms winding around you.

Lights—far too many, far too bright. Your heavy eyelids narrowed as soon as they blinked open, and you gingerly turned your face to the side to avoid the glare of the harsh luminosity.

There were a couple things you registered in your early stages of rousing. You were no longer cold, bundled in several layers of woolen blankets on what you presumed to be an infirmary bed. You could feel the slight pressure of a proper bandage around your waist, which still throbbed but wasn’t nearly as painful as you remembered.

And there was a man in a lab coat beside you.

You stared at his back as he busied themself with colorful pills and bottles. Your throat was so dry, it took you several moments to muster yourself to croak out a warbling, “Hello?”

The man seemed to jump out of his shoes, turning abruptly with wide eyes behind thick, rectangular spectacles. “Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He shuffled to your side, watching you with evident concern.

You winced as you propped yourself up on one arm, slowly pulling yourself to sit up on the bed without putting too much weight on your wound. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s unfortunately quite expected—you’ll be feeling that way for a little bit before you get better. You took quite the beating out there—I tried my best to patch you up but I’m afraid the lacerations you got on your abdomen and arm will scar forever. Those bruises on your face, however, will be gone in a week, two tops.” The man paused, as if wanting to ask you a question, but thought better of it, shaking his head. “I’m gonna call somebody here to come talk to you. And I’ll go get you some water and food. Is that okay?”

Still reeling over everything, you nodded slowly, watching as he strode out of the infirmary.

Not a minute later, you heard the smooth rolling of wheels against tile. A bald man on a wheelchair swiftly entered the room, greeting you with a genuine smile and a bow of his head.

“You must be Doctor L/N,” he said, stopping just by your bedside. “I’m Charles Xavier. Now, I’m sure you have many questions—so let me try to answer them. You’re currently in Xavier’s School of Gifted Youngsters. I sensed your distress through my own telepathic mutation and had some of my X-Men go pick you and Logan up.”

At the mention of Logan, your muscles tensed, and your gaze snapped upwards to meet his.

“Logan… he’s here?”

Charles tilted his head, thinking back to the burly, pacing man in his office. “Yes, quite.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A wisp of a smile graced Charles’ lips. “He’s fine. A bit disoriented, but his memories are steadily returning. You, I’m more worried about. I know you’re a mutant, Y/N.”

Something dangerous flashed behind your irises. “I’ve never purposefully used my powers on anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. What happened to Logan—was because I was foolish enough to trust bad men.”

“I’m not blaming you, Y/N. You thought you were doing the right thing. Besides, the group who tricked you have been apprehended by the X-Men. They won’t be conducting anymore experiments on mutants,” he said, not unkindly. “I wanted to give you the liberty to explain what your mutation is… and if you can control it.”

“It’s only happened once before,” you whispered, fiddling with your nails anxiously. “I can manipulate matter, I think. Rearrange atoms and molecules in space. Once I start, I can’t control it—so I don’t ever intend to use it again.”

Charles regarded you for a moment, before nodding. “That’s quite the commitment. Would you mind me asking why?”

You hesitated, your teeth worrying into your bottom lip. “The first time I found out about my powers, someone died because of me. There was a car crash and my friend tried helping me and I… I panicked—” Tears quickly blurred your vision and you hiccuped, stopping to furiously wipe them away. “Shards of glass flew everywhere and…”

You trailed off, releasing a frustrated sigh.

“The cops ruled it as an accident, but I knew it was my fault. I moved out of town, started doing research with a university in molecular biology in hopes of finding out more about myself, when I got an offer to work with this company that ‘helped’ mutants. They lied to me. They were experimenting on them—and I should’ve known better. I thought I was saving Logan’s life.”

Charles hummed in thought, before shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident—you didn’t know how to control your powers. But we can help you with that. If you stay, that is.”

Mouth parting in surprise, you leaned forward slightly in confusion. “You… you want me to stay here? After everything I’ve done? What will Logan think?”

“He knows it’s not your fault. There’s a reason he didn’t kill you—and a reason he carried you through the snow until we found the two of you. The deal is still on the table—just think about it. You’d make a valuable asset to our team.” A genuine smile etched over his face before he asked, “Would you perhaps want to see Logan?”

“No!” you exclaimed, a little too quickly. Charles’ eyebrows rose. Arms wrapping around yourself, you gently shook your head, repeating in a quieter tone, “No, thank you.”

The man observed you rather pensively before humming, “Alright, then. I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Thank you.” Despite the tautness of your tone, Charles knew you were wholly grateful. He bowed his head, and wheeled out of the infirmary room, leaving you with your thoughts.

To none of his surprise, leaning against the wall right next to the door, was Logan.

There was a cheap cigar wedged between his lips, hands clutched over the dog tags around his neck. He cocked his head to Charles as a greeting, gruffing out, “Are they alright?”

It was rather amusing to see such a brooding, stoic man lose his wits over a person he barely knew. Logan cared about you, and that made Charles all the more curious.

“I think Y/N’s going to be just fine.”

Logan huffed in something akin to relief, blowing out a puff of opaque smoke. After a long stretch of silence, Logan queried in a strained voice, “Can I see them?”

“It’s best if you give Y/N some time. They’re still a bit rattled over everything,” said the professor, patiently. “Have you gotten your memories back?”

“I think so. I remember most of my life before getting kidnapped. I taught self defense here, right?” Logan muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely sure of himself. When Charles grinned and nodded, Logan spoke again, hesitant. “I remember Y/N. Their face, watching me through the glass. Talking about curing me—helping me. I remember the doctor there trying to kill them once they found out the truth.”

A low growl rumbled within the grizzled man’s chest, and he slumped further against the wall. “What are you going to do with Y/N now?”

“Well, that’s up to them. They are a mutant after all—I offered them a place here. Whether they stay or not is not for me to say.”

This seemed to pique Logan’s interest. “Y/N’s a mutant?”

“Yes,” Charles stated matter-of-factly. “Though, they don’t use their powers because it’s far too dangerous. Which is why I proposed that they stay so we can help. Now, if you excuse me, Logan, I’ve got to grade some papers. Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” replied Logan, distant. He saluted Charles with two fingers as he wheeled away. “G’night.”

The rest of the X-Men warmed up to you rather quickly. Hank would joke around with you while he did your daily check-up, and Jean, Ororo and Anna introduced themselves with sweet smiles and baked goods that they made just for you. They’d stay with you in the infirmary until late at night, playing boisterous rounds of Uno and exchanging stories of their own childhood mishaps with their mutation. Kurt Wagner was a delight to speak to—you quite enjoyed your conversations with the lively teleporter. Scott Summers was a handsome fellow, who had acquired a broken arm from a training accident, which gave him a good excuse to hang around you. Charles often visited you as well, each time asking once again if you were planning on making your residence here permanent. He even offered you a job to teach the kids here some science—which you kindly declined.

The friendly nature of the mansion and the people residing there really made you want to stay.

But you knew you shouldn’t.

Especially not when Logan was so clearly avoiding you—it was a tell-tale sign that you were definitely overstaying your welcome.

You’d only seen him a small handful of times since you arrived. Lingering in the hallways, passing by the door, and once in Charles’ office when you dropped by to ask him a question. He had stalked away with nary a sound, not even bothering to spare you a glance.

So it was quite the surprise when he stepped into the infirmary while you were packing a small duffel bag with travel necessities nearly two weeks later, practically bristling at the thought of you leaving. Leaving when he hadn’t even said a single word to you. His jaw clenched.

“L… Logan?” you asked, nearly dropping the shirt you were holding out of shock. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

He stared at you for a long while, unsure of what to say. The man was on his way to a bar for a beer or two before he caught sight of you practically flying across the room in a rush to pack. He was not prepared for this conversation at all. A part of him wished you could just read his thoughts like Charles could, because his mind was running a mile a minute. There were just too many things he should’ve said, too many things he waited too long to say. And none of it seemed to want to come out.

So he opted to heave out a grand sigh, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, not once breaking eye contact with you. You had awkwardly resigned to folding the last few pieces of clothing, stuffing them into the bag.

The action prompted Logan to husk out, “You’re leaving.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Your muscles tensed at his voice. He seemed angry—frustrated—and you weren’t entirely sure if it was directed towards you, or himself.

“I have no place here,” you whispered, words nearly lost to the deafening silence.

Logan’s brows furrowed. “This is a school—a home for mutants. You belong here.”

Fixing him with a curious expression, you zipped up your bag, shaking your head. “It’s not fair to you, Logan. I can’t just keep pretending that me being around doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“So you’re leaving because of me.” Logan pushed off the wall, stalking towards you until he stood just in front of you. This close, you could smell the faint cigar smoke on him, accompanied with a fresh pine-like aroma. He smelled like the forest, like sitting in front of a fire place with a mug of coffee cradled in your palms. A lump formed in your throat, grip tightening on the strap of the bag.

“I’m leaving for you,” you corrected. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did all those awful things to you. I know it doesn’t absolve me of anything but—I really did think I was helping you. Oh… and thank you. For coming back and saving me.”

The hardness to Logan’s features seemed to soften just a bit. He watched you keenly, studying the genuine tenderness to your eyes, the way your lips screwed to the side in a fruitless effort to stave away the tears.

“Hey,” he said, stepping even closer. “I forgive you, bub. I forgive you, alright? Stop beating yourself up. Charles told me you thought you were helping me—and I believe it. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, the man truly responsible is dead, thanks to you. You helped me escape, remember?”

Your eyes flickered from the ground to meet his. “Of course I remember.”

A low rumble resonated from Logan’s chest. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing for damn near killing you. I found you passed out in the snow and I—I was terrified. I carried you, worried to death the entire time, thinkin’ you were going to die on me. But Charles found us—and you lived. We both lived. I want you to stay. Hell, if you want to leave, then go ahead. The door’s wide open. But don’t let it be because of me.”

He watched as your shoulders trembled ever so slightly, then sagged as you loosened your hold on the duffel bag. Relief seeped through his bones. For a moment, he was scared you were really going to leave.

Without another word, Logan nodded, stepping back. He turned to walk out of the infirmary, itching for nice, cold beer. Or two. Probably five. Oh, who was he kidding. He could blaze through twenty bottles and barely feel buzzed.

“Logan,” you called out.

He stopped by the doorway without turning.

“Thank you,” you croaked, wiping away a stray tear. A happy one. Maybe you could even ask if the job Charles had offered you was still on the table.

A minuscule smile played by the corner of his lips. He ducked his head, and strode away.

ONE MONTH LATER.

The snow was thicker than ever before. Nearly everybody was outside, either making rotund little snowmen with carrots for noses or playing a game of dodgeball. You caught sight of Kurt teleporting just above Rogue to dump a large armful of snow atop her head. You huffed out a laugh from behind the window when she started spewing out a long string of curses, cheeks tinted red from the cold.

Movement from your peripheral vision made you turn your head to look out the other window. You were met with the lovely sight of Logan hauling lumber nearly double his size from just over the hill, a layer of snowflakes icing the top of his dark tresses. You shook your head, wondering why he hadn’t asked anyone for help.

Ever the lone wolf, he was.

Commotion from the other window made you turn once more, watching with a snort when the kids began pelting Logan with dozens of snowballs, laughing with unbridled glee. The chuckles died away when the burly man dropped all the wood he was carrying, rolling up his sleeves with a wolfish grin. They screamed, scurrying away whilst hiccuping with laughter.

“Quite chilly outside,” Charles’ voice broke out from beside you. “Come have a hot chocolate with me.”

“If this is your way of bribing me to grade your classes’ papers, I’ll have you know I’m not easily swayed,” you teased, though fell into step beside him as he led you into his office. “I’ve got my own class to attend to.”

Despite only knowing Charles for around a month now, the two of you have grown very fond of each other. He was like a big brother to you—just as the rest of the X-Men had gradually become your family.

The professor scoffed. “That was one time! I just wanted your expertise, was all.” He gestured to the array of mugs on his desk, then to the thermos right beside them. “Please, help yourself. Paper grading wasn’t really what I wanted to discuss with you. I have another proposition to make you.”

You arched a brow while pouring the both of you a generous serving of thick, creamy hot chocolate. “Always with the propositions, Charles,” you said, sipping on your drink with a hum. “What is it?”

“I want you to join our missions.”

The lighthearted nature of your conversation visibly seemed to sour. “What?” you asked, placing your mug down. “Charles, I thought we made this clear—”

“You don’t use your powers, yes. I’m well aware. Let me rephrase. I want to help you… er, reacquaint yourself with your abilities. Just to try it out. And perhaps if all goes smoothly, you’d make a remarkably valuable member on our team. I promise, if we try it out and things go south, I’ll let it go. Never speak a word of it to anybody.” There was an earnest tone to his voice, hopeful and contagiously optimistic.

Your finger traced the rim of the mug, pursing your lips in thought. “Just to try it out?”

He nodded. “Just to try it out. I’m curious for you, Y/N. Haven’t you ever wanted to be able to control your powers?”

“More than anything in the entire world,” you murmured quietly, voice cracking.

It took me a while to control my powers, too, Charles said, but his lips weren’t moving. It took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you telepathically. The key is patience. And I do believe with enough time, you can gain control of yours as well. Imagine how many children who are struggling with their own mutations you’d be able to help if you had a grasp of your powers.

“You’re one hell of a motivational speaker,” you snarked after a moment to mull over his offer, despite the smile fiddling at the corner of your lips. “Alright, Charles. You convinced me. When do we start?”

The large, antique grandfather clock in your office merrily trilled thrice just as the hands turned to three in the afternoon. You glanced away from the homework papers you were grading, before filing them away for you to finish off later. You were in need of a long overdue break. Rising from your chair, you groaned softly as your bones popped with the stretch, rolling your shoulders to ease the mild tension.

Training all night with Charles yesterday certainly took both a physical and mental toll on you.

You needed to get out of your office for a bit—take a walk to clear your head. As you donned your coat and a dark yellow beanie to tuck just over the top of your ears because they grew particularly cold in the harsh winters, you strode out the doors.

Before you could make your way to the snowy outdoors, you passed by one of the training rooms, where you heard a familiar gruff voice.

Logan was teaching a group of about a dozen kids—self-defense class, if you could recall. He was moving his arms about animatedly, demonstrating with a dummy that seemed to be a brush away from falling apart. The kids were watching with rapt fascination, gasping in unison when Logan speared the poor thing straight through the abdomen.

A small grin splayed over your features as you leaned against the doorway.

A young boy raised his hand, asking, “When are we gonna be able to practice?”

Logan sheathed his claws and crossed his arms. “I’ll let you practice with your own dummies next week. But for now you just watch and learn—Y/N? What’re you doin’ here?”

Blinking at suddenly being shoved into the spotlight, you sheepishly stepped forward and waved to the kids. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about with Mr. Howlett’s famous self-defense class. Heard it’s the students’ second favorite class.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan chuckled, arching an eyebrow to the rest of the class. “And what would be their favorite, then?”

You grinned. “Mine, of course.” The kids groaned in protest, though laughing at your blatant sarcasm. You waved them away with a roll of your eyes. “Oh, hush. You guys love science.”

Snorting, Logan propped his fists onto his hips and directed a roguish grin towards you. “It’s not a competition—even though they obviously like me better.” He turned back to the dummy with a nod. “Anyways, where was I—er, yes, Rogue?”

The student’s arm was stuck up in the air, an excited grin painted over her lips. “Why don’t you and Professor L/N try dueling each other? I’m sure it’d teach us a lot more than that dummy,” Rogue drawled in her thick Southern accent. The rest of the students murmured their agreement, bobbing their heads to the idea. Besides, they were all curious about your infamous mutation—they’d never seen you in action before.

Immediately, your stomach dropped and you were quick to shake your head just enough for Logan to see. His features seemed to soften with understanding.

“That’s enough, settle down,” Logan gruffed. “Professor L/N came here to watch, it would be unfair to spring an entire demonstration on them without any warning. The dummy’ll do just fine. Look, it’s in tip-top shape!” His burly fist wrapped around the dummy’s throat.

And the head popped right off.

Logan blinked, stunned. The class burst into laughter. You joined them, hiding a smile behind your palm. Logan watched you keenly, before a crooked smile broke through his rough features, chuckling lowly under his breath.

“I’m sorry about them,” he said, making his way to you once he had dismissed all his pupils (though not before assigning them a butt-load of homework that made all of them groan exasperatedly). “I know you weren’t expecting that.”

Waving his words away, you were quick to shake your head. “No, no, it’s alright. I’m just… not entirely comfortable with using my powers yet. Charles and I are still working through it—I’m not really at the stage of combating an experienced mutant as yourself. Anyways, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of school-related errands to run.”

You crossed your arms with a hesitant quirk of your lips to assure him that you were okay, watching him keenly as he tried to mirror your expression. It came out more as an awkward stretch of his mouth, so he dropped it soon after.

Logan sucked on the rooftop of his mouth, before stoutly nodding, and turned around to walk away. You’d mentioned he probably had school-related errands to run. Hah. As if Logan ever worked outside of the classes he taught. All he had in mind was to head over to a bar and drink as many beers as the barkeeper would allow him.

By the time he reached the doorway, Logan abruptly stopped in his tracks. He could feel your eyes watching him go, practically searing the skin on the back of his neck.

“God damn it,” he whispered quietly beneath his breath. He couldn’t just leave you alone. Not when his class thrust you into the spotlight like that. Definitely not because he felt an irrepressible urge to spend more time with you. And especially not because he thought that little grin of yours was so darned cute. Of course not.

He turned back to you with a set expression, jaw clenched tight. If you didn’t know any better, he appeared to be angry. Or constipated. One of the two.

Either way, you were surprised to hear him addressing you by the doorway, in a brusque tone.

“The school day’s over. I’m heading out to grab a drink. You wanna come with?”

It took you a moment to respond, a little too frazzled to formulate a coherent thought.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slightly breathless. Logan pointedly looked away when you beamed at him. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

His thigh was pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him through his jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which leaned against the bar’s countertop, palms cradled around his tenth (or was it his eleventh?) frosty mug of beer.

You were slowly nursing your fifth drink, snorting into the rim when Logan made an off-hand comment about how stupid Scott looked on one of their most recent missions.

“I take it you don’t like him?”

“Who?” Logan asked, turning his head so he could look at you. Beneath the dim amber-glow of the bar’s lighting, your skin appeared flushed, eyes just a tad brighter. You were too damned close to him.

Nose wrinkling, you nudged his shoulder with yours. “Scott, dummy.”

His eyebrow rose. “Why, do you want me to like him? Do you like him?”

The questions made you splutter beer all over the counter as you choke-laughed, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “You’re not answering my question, Lo.” You began giggling again, before downing the rest of your mug, swaying slightly on the leather stool. Logan had half a mind to clamp his palm over your thigh to keep you from tipping over.

“I like Scott, yeah. He’s nice. I know he has a thing for Jean though—I’ve been trying to convince him to ask her out but Scott keeps saying it isn’t the right time. Jean likes him all the same, too. They’re just really stupid.” A fond smile grew on your lips and you began laughing once more.

Logan watched you in amusement, just before ordering another beer for himself. You were a giggly drunk, Logan realized, as you buried your face into your hands as uncontrollable laughter shook through you.

“Alright, that’s enough drinks for you. What’s got you crackin’ up, bub?” Logan sighed in part-exasperation and part-mirth when you leaned back so far your stool began to capsize. He was quick to shoot his arm out and yank you back forward. This only made you laugh harder, for reasons unbeknownst to him.

“I just—” You had to pause to heave a breath through your cackling. “Your hair just looks so funny—why does it stand up like that?”

God, you were so drunk. Your hand reached out to pat down the tufts of hair sticking upwards, but missed the mark and instead brushed over his jaw, slightly prickly with day-old stubble.

Logan watched you carefully as your laughter died away, a strange look shadowing your once gleeful one. His eyes flickered down to your lips, which were parted ever so slightly in thought. “You look much younger than you used to—back in that tank.”

Gently, he captured your wrist and stroked his thumb over your palm once, before setting it back down by your side. “Let’s go home. You’re drunk.”

“Yes, sir. ” You mock-saluted as he helped you off the stool and offered his arm when you nearly toppled over your own feet.

You swayed to and fro when walking back to the mansion, hiccupping between every giggle as you told Logan about this one time Kurt teleported into the kitchen and scared you so badly you hit him with a frying pan. Logan let himself laugh at that one.

By the time the two of you reached your room, a good night was right on the tip of his tongue before it was yanked away from him when you grabbed him by the shirt collar and tugged him towards you in a drunken fashion, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system. A startled noise fell from his lungs, and the corner of your eyes wrinkled as you smiled. You swiftly planted a soft kiss to his cheek, nose slotted right against his cheekbone. He was frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react.

“You’re a sweetheart. Good night, Lo,” you murmured into his skin with a lopsided smile.

You were drunk. So very drunk.

Logan had to remind himself of this when you pulled away. You wouldn’t have done that if you were sober.

The door groaned as you pushed it open, moonlight spilling over your features. You promptly slammed the door in his face, and he heard you giggling behind it just a second after.

He wasn’t able to snap out of his reverie until an entire minute later.

“G’night, bub,” he mumbled, knowing full and well that you were probably passed out on top of your bed by now. No doubt you’d have a raging hangover tomorrow. He shook his head, before heading off to his own room, a warm sensation clawing at his chest.

The familiar voice of a certain professor rang out across the kitchen, and you groaned at the sudden noise. The hangover headache pulsating through your skull wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when you had initially woken up, but it was still there. And Charles most certainly wasn’t helping.

“Morning,” he exclaimed with a knowing smile, eyeing you with a look you misliked. You grumbled under your breath, before shoveling a spoonful of scrambled eggs into your mouth so you didn’t have to respond to him. Charles didn’t seem to mind, continuing his amiable chatter. “I noticed you weren’t in last night.”

Humming in confirmation, you lifted your mug to guzzle down more apple juice.

“Funny coincidence,” Charles quipped, wheeling up right beside you. Without even looking at him, you just knew that his eyebrows were raised suggestively. “Logan was also nowhere in the mansion yesterday.”

You scowled, then set the mug down. “We just had a couple drinks together.”

“Mmh, right.” Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly in disbelief. “Well, nice to see that the two of you have… warmed up to each other. I’ve got to head back now but don’t forget about our session at three—just because you’re hungover doesn’t mean you can skip out on me.”

A discontent noise erupted from your lungs and you stuck your tongue out at his back when he turned away.

“I saw that,” said Charles, amusement lacing his tone. “Well, I didn’t actually see it. I know you did it, though.”

And with that, he left.

You groaned, before lowering your head to rest against the cool kitchen countertop.

A moment later, a voice disrupted the rare-found quiet. Logan.

“You alright, bub?”

When you lifted your face up, you blinked away the colorful blurs spotting your vision, Logan coming into view. He was wearing a simple white tank top tucked into a pair of faded jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. You eyed his biceps warily, which glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. You swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat.

“I’m good. What’re you up to?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Logan replied sheepishly. “Was in the training room all night.”

He leaned against the doorway, a mild smile itching at his lips upon observing your disheveled state. Your hair was mussed, wearing a simple wrinkly white shirt and a pair of grey shorts. The expression on your face told him that you were still working off the hangover.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, patting the seat beside you.

Logan pursed his lips, before moving towards you. “Yeah,” he said, swinging his leg over the chair. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The cold of the porcelain sent a shiver up your spine as you slumped against the toilet seat, grumbling under your breath. Logan watched you keenly as he dampened a towel, bunching it up in his hand, kneeling down in front of you.

Your first mission as an X-Man was nothing short of disastrous.

You’d warned Charles—told him you weren’t ready to use your powers in an uncontrolled setting—but he’d assured you that you’d be fine. Besides, the rest of your teammates were there for you.

Except the Brotherhood had taken down everybody else and you were the last person standing—and you lost control of your powers. Again.

It wasn’t until Logan stumbled towards you, pushing through the tornado of glass shards whirling around your hyperventilating form, barely even noticing the cuts appearing over his skin. His healing factor was quick to weave together the broken skin—all that mattered was getting to you. Your explosive powers were enough to severely alarm the Brotherhood, and they thankfully retreated soon after your outburst, though he doubted they’d stay away for too long.

Logan had grabbed you, pulling you close until your face was flush against his chest, cradling you atop the cold, hardened dirt, mumbling sweet nothings that you couldn’t really make out into your hair. When the air stilled, you pulled your face away, tear-stricken and bloodied.

The incident was far too similar to the first time you used your powers—when your best friend’s life was taken as a consequence.

A single, searing tear meandered down your face at the memory, and you bit down on your lip to quell the sob rising in your throat.

“Hey, bub.” Logan took your chin between his fingers, grounding you back to reality. It was just him and you—in a small bathroom. He was close, so close that you could see the buzzing lights reflected in the burnt umber of his irises, or how he had a small, faded birthmark just beside his left eye. He tilted your head up so you’d meet his concerned gaze. “It’s okay. You did good. You drove ‘em away. We would’ve all been in hot shit if it weren’t for you. Storm was knocked unconscious, Kitty and Rogue had their powers stripped away, Scott was no match against Quicksilver, and the rest of us were this close to being ripped apart. You did good.”

Your stomach lurched uneasily. “Feels more like I fucked everything up. I told Charles I wasn’t ready.”

Instead of a reply, Logan merely sighed, shaking his head. Softly he swiped the damp towel across the bloody gashes on your face, his fingers on your chin moving to cup your other cheek. His palm was cold against the flushed heat of your face.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered, the usual gruff tone of his voice nowhere to be found. “Wish you had the healing factor instead of me.”

“Nah,” you replied softly, wincing as you leaned forward, closer to him. The large slash over your abdomen from a broken metal pipe Magneto sent hurtling your way burned with every shift of your body. “You’d be dead a thousand times over if it weren’t for your healing factor. And I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

The towel on your cheekbone paused for a second. Logan scrutinized you for a moment, before returning to the task at hand. “Yeah, I guess I’m glad, too.”

A comfortable silence thickened between the two of you, only interrupted by your quiet groans of pain, which were always followed up by Logan’s sheepish apology.

“I still haven’t graded the kids’ homework papers—they’re expecting it back on Monday,” you gritted out, hand shooting forward to grip Logan’s shoulder, nails digging into his collarbone when he moved down to clean up the shallow wound across your torso.

He quirked an eyebrow towards you in amusement. “You’re crazy, you know that? Almost died today and all you’re thinkin’ about is grading papers. Pfft.”

“That’s not all I’m thinking about,” you weakly protested, smacking his hand away when he playfully pinched your thigh.

After wiping away all the crusted blood and dirt on your brand new X-Men suit, he was satisfied to see that your gash wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. He hauled himself onto the edge of the bathtub so he was sitting right across from you. “Yeah? What else are you thinking about?”

“You.” The single word came out as nothing but a low mutter.

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried,” he replied with a roguish grin, pupils darting between your eyes and your raw-bitten lips.

You huffed out a laugh. “Maybe both.” His forehead leaned against yours as you breathed him in, relishing in his calming presence. “I really like you, Lo.”

Those five words were what spurred him to push forward, slanting his lips onto yours, stealing your breath away. You made a small noise of surprise, before practically melting into him, looping your sore arms over his neck and tugging him all the closer. He kissed you slowly, careful about where to place his hands, because your body was littered with fresh scars. He settled on just above your waist, smoothing his thumbs out over the back of your ribs, as if to constantly reassure himself that you were here. You were okay.

His nose bumped into yours, and it hurt to smile—oh, it practically burned with each kiss—but you smiled into him anyway. Because for Logan, it was worth the pain.

“Ow,” you lightly complained when he accidentally knocked his knee against your busted one. “Watch it, old man.”

A growl caught in his throat. “You know, I was gonna say I really liked you, too, but I don’t think that applies anymore.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, clutching at your stomach a second later, moaning out with pain. “Don’t make me laugh! You ass!”

He could only smile at that, roping you towards him once more with his fingers anchored over your jaw. This time, the kiss was hot and heavy, more confident. Your hands ran through his hair, gently tugging at his roots, which made pleasant shivers spider down his spine. It was needy with want, his kisses wandering from your lips to the apples of your cheeks, to your trembling throat.

The hand on your back was only starting to traverse downwards when the door flung open, revealing a smug Rogue and an awfully mortified Kurt just behind her.

“I knew it! I knew y’all were a thing!” Rogue called out, clapping her hands excitedly. “Scott totally owes me twenny bucks!”

She scuttled away gleefully, leaving the blue elf staring at the two of you with wide, amber eyes, completely still.

“You can close the door, Kurt,” you hesitantly told him, before Logan could snarl out something unsavory. You were uncomfortably perched halfway between the toilet seat and Logan’s lap, with his hand flush over your ass.

“Er… right… I’ll just use the bathroom upstairs,” he breathily stumbled, before teleporting away in a hazy cloud of sulphuric fumes.

“Damn elf didn’t close the door. Of fuckin’ course.” Logan groaned, pulling himself away from you with a scowl. “You alright, darlin’?”

An embarrassed grin replaced the initial shock of being found. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Worst night of my life. The entire school’s gonna know by tomorrow,” Wolverine grumbled, before fondly glancing towards you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”

You hobbled up with his support, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheek. “You think the entire team bet money on us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan chortled as he helped you out of the communal bathroom, heading upstairs to your bedroom. “Charlie bet a hundred bucks on us. I heard him talking to Storm about it.”

You side-eyed him with amusement. “So did he win?”

“Nope,” Logan said, popping the ‘p’, looking far too smug to be ripping away a hundred dollars from his old friend. “Thought neither of us would have the balls to confess until next month.”

“You’re sick,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Did you kiss me just to spite him?”

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” countered Logan, shoving the door to your room open with his shoulder. “Professor losing a hundred bucks was just the cherry on top, you know?”

You sank onto your bed, dragging Logan with you, barely giving him enough time to slam the door shut. “Yeah,” you mumbled, pulling him into yet another kiss. “You’re awful, Lo.”

“Love you, too.”

Placing your hand on his chest, you pulled away hesitantly, unsure if you heard him right. “Yeah?”

Logan smiled, all warm and genuine. “Yeah.”

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persephone-reblogs · 1 month

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cute coffee shop dates with with bob. it’s a cosy little place downtown. they sell books too so it gives you the feeling of a library almost. lots of windows for the natural light to come through. bob is wearing a black jumper, tucked into some light wash jeans. the simplest outfit, and you think he looks stunning. bob orders his small latte with honey, and whatever coffee/tea you wanted as well. you guys always get blueberry muffins too. you and bob sit in a secluded corner in the back. it’s away from the hustle and bustle, but still close enough to have the atmosphere of a coffee shop. usually you guys talk, he tells you about work and whatever prank jake pulled on him that week. or sometimes you guys just sit in silence and read. bob will hold your hand on the table and play with your fingers. it helps you stay focused, you told him. sometimes though, he can’t help but just stare at you while you read. he could watch you do nothing all day and still find you to be the most interesting and beautiful person on the planet.

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persephone-reblogs · 1 month

Note

hi about logan x reader i saw your tag about top male reader but would you possibly be able to do bottom male reader. please i need to be called a good boy by logan ummmmmmmmmmmmmm

Yay!! Okay so I'm going to go a silly goofy route w this. Wolverine/Logan is much older than reader (he's like 200 something in this fic and he's 5'3 too like his canon. We love is a short dilf). Warnings: Age gap, bottom!reader, sub!reader, Top!Logan, Dom!Logan, biting, praise kink, mating press, reader is a dog mutant cuz it fits, pup and puppy is used a few times, most likely not accurate to the movies. Minors and Fem alined DNI!!! This is a bit slower paced and longer than most of my smutty stuff. It's kinda proof read too.

You were one of the newer X men. You recently moved into the Xavier foundry with the rest of the X men. You were a young, spunky dog mutant with tall ears and a tail that never stopped. Most of the mutants liked you, the others tolerated you. You didn't cause too many issues which kept everyone happy. One person took an extra liking to you though, the grumpy old man, Logan.

Logan was a broody, grumpy old man who you loved to bother. Logan secretly loved it, not that he'd admit that to anyone. Any time you saw him you'd wander over to see what he was doing, your curiosity was endearing to him. Not to mention how willing you were to please thanks to your dog counterpart. That mix had Logan hooked from the start, who wouldn't be?

Weeks pass and you settle into your new home. You started to go out on missions with the others and you even did good. Your good behavior didn't go unnoticed from Logan.

After a more difficult mission you headed to your room to unwind. After a few minutes you here a knock on the door. You huff and push yourself to your shaky feet, shuffling over to your door. You grip the door knob and open the door to see Logan. Your tail starts to wag a bit, Logan came to visit you? That was abnormal, it wasn't often Logan came to see you unless he needed something. You tilt your head as you look him over, he already cleaned himself up a bit.

"Hey, Logan, can I help you?" You ask tilting your head to the other side. Logan only pushes past you, walking into your room and looking around.

"Oh, I was just passing through, I wanted to come visit our new pup." Logan says with his natural smugness. Even though Logan was a bitter old man he still was as sassy as a teenage girl. You raise an eyebrow at him, closing the door.

"Oh really? I find that hard to believe." You scoff out, looking him up and down as you approach him. This causes a smile to cross Logan's face as he crosses his arms and shrugs, a hum comes from his throat.

"I just wanted to tell you that you did good today is all." He states with a grin, the small amount of praise makes your ears perk up and your tail wag. A small dusting of pink spreads across your cheeks, a small huff of appreciation comes out of your nose. You step a bit closer, sizing up his slightly smaller frame. You mutter a 'thank you' as you rub the back of your neck, waiting to see what he does next. He nods and response and ruffles your hair with his big calloused hand.

"Of course, gotta make sure you know you've been a good boy." He says sweetly, leaning in closer to you. The praise sent a shiver down your spine, fogging your brain for a moment. You scoff and look away, your face flushing more. Logan chuckles at the sight and starts walking towards you, backing you up into your bed. This had to be something out of a dream, an extremely horny dream.

"Why don't you sit." It sounded more like a command than an offer. His tone was commanding but soft, it was practically making you melt. You always did so much better when you had orders to follow and he knew that, so why wouldn't he exploit that, besides he wouldn't go too far so where's the harm in it?

You sit down on the edge of the bed like he told you to. His hands go to rub your ears, your tails wildly thumping behind you.

"Good boy, bub, just keep that up for me like the good boy you are." He coos softly to you, one hand cupping your face. Your face was on fire and you were already half hard in your pants, you couldn't be any more embarrassed. Yet the praise made it bearable, your brain felt a bit foggy, your eyes glossed over. It was a bit pathetic to be honest and Logan was getting off on it. The sight of you already so worked up and he's barely even had his hands on you, it did something to him. He could feel the lust swirl in his gut, the heat building in the tighting groin area.

His hands start to travel lower, rubbing your body all over. He watches your face closely as he grabs the back of your shirt and gently pulls it off with another 'good boy' slipping past his lips just for you. A shaky exhale comes from your chest, your eyes flutter shut as you feel his large, warm hands rub your toned back and shoulders. It felt nice, especially because you didn't get to experience a lot of positive physical touch. For you, this was pure bliss, this is what your heaven must feel like.

Your hands grab onto his T-shirt, burying your nose in between his pecs. You inhale through your nose, your tail wagging harder at his scent. You were already so worked up over nothing, it was adorable. You secretly prayed no one was around to witness you like this. The others would never let you live it down if they did see you. You're pulled out of your hazy thoughts when you feel his fingers curl around your hair and rub the soft locs. You grunt as your head is pulled back so you're looking up at him. You couldn't help the stupid grin that crossed your lips, earning a chuckle from Logan. All this attention was so much, you had no idea what to do.

Logan leans down and places a deep and soft kiss on your lips, your hands going to cup his face. Your fingers buey themselves in his messy mutton chops. He pushes you back onto your bed, straddling your thighs to keep you down. You stay propped up on your elbows and forearms, your glossy eyes watching him closely. His hands go down to his belt, unbuckling it slowly to taunt you. He knew what he was doing, it was no secret. You both knew he was getting off on teasing you, he always did. You let our an impatient whine as your face contorts into a frown. A wicked grin is plastered on his face as he sluggishly unzips his pants and pulls them down. Your tail thumps against the mattress once his boxers follow suit. It wasn't insanely big, but it was thick and veiny. You knew you'd be in for a hell of a ride. He gets back up and grabs you by your biceps, flipping you onto your stomach. His fingers grab the hem of your pants and boxers then yanks them down harshly.

Logan then grabs your hips and lifts your ass up. He rubs your back soothingly as his thumb shoves it's way into your hole earning a deep groan from you. His other hand slides down your body and settles on your thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze. He places a kiss on your lower back, his sharp teeth scraping your skin. Your body has already started to hear up, sweat forming on your brow with anticipation. You wiggle your hips and glance back at him eagerly.

"Be patient, bub, we gotta make sure you're prepped first." He says gently as he rubs your thigh to comfort you. He knew you were antsy, you had no patience for anything, but he appreciated that you were trying your best. He takes his thumb out and replaces it with two fingers. The feeling draws out a whine from the back of your throat that's muffled by your blankets and mattress. Logan let's out an amused laugh at the small sound, his smug smirk still there as always. His hand slides up to your ass, rubbing it. His blunt nails grazing your skin making the muscle underneath quiver.

"Good boy. You're such a good boy for me just like you always are." He murmurs as he bends down towards your ear, pressing you into your bed. You let our a shaky breath of excitement as you can feel his fingers slowly start to move in and out. A low drawn out growl rumbles through your chest. Your eyes squeeze shut as you start to softly pant into the bed below. He picks up the pace a bit, curling his fingers so the tips drag along your walls. His other arm is used to keep himself up, resting right next to your head. Your hand grapples into his forearm, your dull nails sinking into his skin to ground yourself. It's been a bit since you've jerked off let alone been touched by another man like this.

After a few minutes of making sure you're prepped he removes his fingers, giving you a moment to collect yourself. As you do he removes his shirt and tosses it somewhere in the room, his pants following close behind. He then presses his chest flush against your back, one hand goes to adjust your legs, opening them more. His other hand goes to rub your scalp, whispering praise in your ear as he does so. Logan places a kiss on the back of your neck before he slips his cock into you. A groan leaves him as you whimper quietly. It was a stretch, one that burned. After a moment the burning of slight pain melted into a burning of pleasure. You slowly start to rock your hips, his tip bumping you just the right way.

He pulls himself out halfway before thrusting back into you. He's slow at first, giving you a bit of time in between each thrust. The older man was so caring and gentle when he wanted to be, it was a stark contrast from how he usually was; sassy, moody, grumpy and smug. You kind of liked this version of him a bit better, but you were a sucker for his sassy jabs and mean jokes.

Once Logan knew it was safe he picked up the pace. Soon enough he was roughly fucking you, his hand that was tangled in your hair grips the mess of hair harshly, keeping your head down. The sounds that you were making were getting progressively louder as the pleasure started to build. You bite down on a blanket, your teeth sinking into the soft fabric to hopefully muffle the sounds.

"That's it, bub. Just like that, atta boy." Logan praises as he rails you. His sharp teeth sink into your shoulder earning a sharp inhale from you. Your healing factor made it so the mark he left didn't stay on your skin for more than a second. The redness and teeth marks fading almost instantly.

Logan trails kisses down your spine as his frenzied thrusts start to pick up more speed. His head was started to get hazy as he focused on the pleasure he was feeling. The need for more of you fueling his greed. The increase of speed made the knot in your abdomen tighten quickly. A high pitched whine comes from you involuntarily before you cum all over yourself and the blankets. Logan rubs your back and whispers praises as he swiftly finishes in you before resting against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"Good boy". He groans into your shoulder as he slowly pulls out, possessively wrapping both arms around you.

---

A/N: Yay long fic for you all!!! Send more asks for him and I'll deliver. I've got another coming out soon, I jus need to go skim through some fem x Wolverine shit for ideas 🤩💀

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persephone-reblogs · 1 month

Text

I WANNA BE YOURS ♡

pairing: logan howlett x puppy-hybrid!fem!reader

summary: logan finds you, a special kind of mutant, out on a mission. when he takes in this puppy girl, you quickly forms a bond to him. he tries to tell himself he doesn't like his new shadow or want the attention, but it gets harder to deny as the two of you grow closer.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), hybrids, breeding kink, praise kink, dumbification, fluff, canon-typical violence, blood, nightmares

a/n: thank you so much to @gor3-hound and @nexysworld for beta reading <33

Adamantium strains against the skin between Logan's knuckles as his fists collide with his opponents' bodies. His claws beg to come out, to slice through his own skin and into the men he's striking. Despite causing himself pain, it would make this little struggle easier.

Regardless, he reigns in the urge and continues to fight without them. He didn't need them yet. Having a skeleton of impenetrable metal served as the only weapon he needed for right now. These guys taking him on weren't anything special, simple lackeys hired to protect a facility they didn't even understand the operation of.

His unpierced knuckles land a few strikes to one's abdomen, and he pops the other's face with his elbow. He whips his forearm around and slams the first to the ground in a finishing blow. The other man comes crashing down close behind after he connects his fist with the center of his face.

He looks at both of them crumpled up and unconscious on the ground, shaking off the adrenaline from the scuffle with a few rolls of his shoulders. He swipes the set of keys that hang off the belt of one who went down first and reconvenes with the rest of the team at the point of entrance to the next part of this warehouse.

"Did you find a way to open the doors?" Storm asks him. The white-haired woman struts beside him to the large cement doors at the end of the hallway.

Logan holds up the set of metallic keys, giving them a little jingle as his answer.

"Wow, and without shedding any blood. Impressive," Cyclops mocks from behind. Him and Jean walk a couple paces to the back of him, their eyes scanning for any potential hindrances to the mission.

"Night's not over yet, bub."

The four of them reach the door, and fortunately, it only takes a few tests to determine which key is meant for this lock. Before either Logan or Storm can push the barrier open, the door swings back under the force of Jean's telepathy.

They head inside but brace themselves for what they might see. This mission came about after the professor discovered that this building was being used as some kind of location to traffic mutants. The team had dealt with cases like this before, and they were never pretty. Often, the victims were young and struggling, picked up off the street or gathered from false mutant shelters to be sold into a life of experimentation or fetishization.

Upon first glance, this section of the building holds nothing new. The room isn't large in comparison to the others before it and looks more like a connector between the last hallway and another one. It's dark, not much light to get a good look at anything that could be hiding away.

Storm is eager to keep moving along and guides them towards the entrance to the next hallway. His other two teammates overtake him as well and follow behind her.

"I'm gonna sniff around here for a minute. I'll be right behind you," Logan says and waves them forward.

The two women spare him a skeptic glance, but Scott couldn't be more eager to part from him. They head off in the other direction, leaving Logan alone in the quiet between these four walls.

He just wanted to be sure there was nothing here, whether it be something he could help or something meaning to do them harm. Though he kind of hoped it was the latter. He never felt very good at the 'saving' part of being on this team. Let him go in a room full of threats, and he was guaranteed to be successful. He'd take every last one down in record time and not even have to think twice about it. But give him one person to comfort and tell that everything is gonna be ok, and that would have him breaking a sweat. It's not that he couldn't do it; he simply had to work at it. He didn't have to work at being a weapon.

Treading over the pavement cautiously, Logan's eyes sweep over the few vacant shelves and lonely crates. The room truly seemed unoccupied. He could probably only justify a few more feet before having to go join the rest of the team. But then he sees it.

A cage towards the back of the room, a tarp over the top. It sat near a smaller door he hadn't noticed before. He wasn't too concerned with going in just yet. First he wanted to see if anything was confined behind those thin black bars.

It was larger than a simple pet kennel but too small to give the impression that held anything monstrous. He walks closer to it. No sound came from it nor could he see any movement, but his curiosity had been triggered. He had to know why this thing had been secluded.

Once he's close enough, he crouches down and pushes away the rough white material draped over it. His fingers undo the latch and open the door so he could get a better look inside.

He peers in and is met with a pair of eyes staring back at him out of the darkness. His first instinct is to back up and get into a defensive position, but whatever's inside doesn't give him the chance.

You lunge at him and knock him flat onto his back.

He hits the cement with a grunt, and his claws cry out to him again. He could easily unsheathe them and tear whatever you were to shreds. But before he does this, he realizes that this isn't an attack. He's not in any kind of pain. In fact, nothing is really happening to him. All you were doing was... sniffing him?

He could hear your rapid inhales and exhales as your nose trailed along the collar of his white tank top. Straining his neck back as much as he can, he finally gets a good look at you. You were human - smaller than most with wide, curious eyes - but you also had floppy ears erupting from your scalp and a long tail coming from your backside that was whipping back and forth.

Even with all the different kinds of mutants he'd seen, he couldn't help thinking this was bizarre at first glance. He knew it was possible for mutations to express physically even though most were internal. For god's sake he had literal claws and knew multiple people who were straight up blue. But he'd never seen anything like this.

You looked like just a mix of canine and human. In honesty, you were pretty cute. You didn't look like the type of thing someone would shout 'freak' at from across the street. Hybrid was probably a more accurate descriptor than mutant. Either way, he didn't want you on top of him.

"Quit it," he growls before grabbing your waist and pushing you off. Based on the fact that you weren't attacking, he assumes you're a victim rather than a perpetrator. He rises to his feet to stand above you, ready to fight just in case. "What the hell are you supposed to be?"

You sit there, tail still wagging despite his rough temperament. Your eyes have that gleam that likens your appearance to a puppy even more than your ears or tail do. He realizes you might not be able to talk or something, but he doesn't get too far with that thought before you speak.

"A mutant. Like you."

His eyes narrow.

"Yeah? How do you know I'm a mutant?" he asks. He hadn't shown you his claws and you hadn't seen his skin magically stitch itself back together. Maybe you were on the other side of this mission.

"I can smell it," you answer.

That makes his eyebrow slowly raise. "Smell it?" he says.

You nod. "Mutants smell different than humans," you say.

You rise to your feet and stand next to him. Leaning in again, you smell his arm. Your head moves down his bicep and to his elbow and forearm. He pulls his limb away with a scowl, but you'd already had a chance to register the scent that'd caught your attention.

"You smell metallic too," you say.

So your canine traits weren't just physical. Logan knew you weren't lying, having an enhanced olfaction himself. He'd just never met someone else who also had that ability.

"Your mutation is basically just being an overgrown dog then?" he asks with a bemused expression, "You like playing fetch? Want me to call you a good girl?"

You can't help the automatic twitch in your tail when you hear that phrase, but your expression darkens as if a storm cloud had formed inches above those folded ears.

"I'm not a dog. If I'm a dog, are you like a robot since you have metal in you?" you huff and cross your arms.

A sharp puff of air comes from his nostrils at your attempted retort. "Robot isn't exactly what they call me."

You grumble and roll your eyes. Your tail had gone still behind you and hung between your legs.

He continues to stare down at you, trying to decide what to do next. Even though you were a mutant, you didn't seem to be a fighter or have any skills that would be useful in combat. He wasn't just going to leave you here, but he didn't know how big a risk it would be to let you tag along.

"What are you doing here? Did someone lock you in that cage, or is that just where you spend your free time?" he asks.

"Someone took me and locked me in there," you say, your pout deepening.

"For how long?"

You shrug. Logan has the urge to roll his eyes just as you did, but he can tell your lack of knowledge is genuine.

"You don't know how long you were in there?" he prompts.

"No. Maybe like... a couple weeks or something. I don't know. It's hard to keep track."

Of course. Just like a puppy, you had a poor concept of time. He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his face. It did look like you'd been captive for a few weeks. You weren't in the best shape and had bruises littering your body. Your clothes were dirty and torn at the hems. As annoying as he found you in the few minutes he'd known you, he knew you didn't deserve this treatment. Locking a cute little thing like you in a cage was plain cruelty.

"Alright. Well what's your name? I'm Logan," he sighs.

You tell him, but just as the last syllable leaves your lips, footsteps burst into the room from the direction of the hallway.

Scott and Jean round the corner, clearly looking for their teammate. Logan turns around to see the new arrivals and relaxes when he recognizes the man in the visor and the redhead beside him.

"There you are. We thought you took off or something," Scott mocks casually.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words dissolve when he feels a thud against his back.

You don’t recognize the people who'd just shown up, so you hide yourself behind the man who found you. Pressing yourself against his back, you cautiously tilt your head to his side to peek at Scott and Jean. Your fingers clutch the fabric of Logan's tank top so tight they threaten to poke little holes in the ribbed material.

"What- what are you doing?" he grunts and tries to look over his shoulder at you. The way you were latched onto him prevented him from turning around fully. He lifts one of his arms to see your eyes scoping out the potential danger in front of him.

"Get- C'mon get off. They're not gonna hurt you," he continues, brushing you off by reaching back and lightly tugging your hair.

You stumble to the side, and he manages to grab your shoulders and walk you in front of him. He holds you there, presenting you to Scott and Jean. The way your ears pin back to your head makes him feel a little guilty about making you confront the strangers so directly, but they weren't gonna do anything to you. Assuming they were gonna rescue you and take you back to Xavier's, you'd have to get used to prying eyes and meeting new people.

Both Scott and Jean look at you curiously, Jean with less confusion than Scott. Clearly, he had a similar thought process to Logan while the woman next to him could sense that you were a mutant and what your abilities were.

"I found her in that cage back there," he explains.

The two of them nod. They take a few more moments to simply observe you before they move closer and ask for your name. You give it just like you had to Logan. They nod again and then begin running through a similar routine of questions. Theirs are more detailed though and manage to coax more information out of you.

Your responses give them a quick little rundown of you. You fit the profile of the people they usually found on these missions. You're young, early 20s, struggling because getting a job was nearly impossible with your ears and tail. You had no family. They'd given you up after your mutation began to manifest. Everyone thinks puppies are cute, but apparently, no one wanted a human child that shared features with them. You'd been taken from the shelter you were staying at like most others who found themselves in this situation.

As you answer each one posed to you, Logan feels you subtly sinking back against him. Your back meets his abdomen like two magnets slowly being pulled together. Despite the annoyed look on his face, he doesn't say anything or pull away.

When the brief interrogation comes to a close, Scott relays to Logan that they had found other victims in another part of the facility. Storm was with them now, guiding them to the extraction point where they'd be taken to safety. The four of you just had to follow along.

Scott and Jean lead the way. Logan follows behind and you trot along beside him. He notices you're staying close to him in particular.

"Did the guys who took you say anything else about why they wanted you?" he asks. The fact that you were kept separate was still lingering in his mind. To him it didn't mean anything good.

You shrug and look up at him. "They didn't really talk to me that much unless they were being mean or spitting at me. Or kicking the cage," you say.

You say it like it's casual, but he can tell it hurts. He knows how it feels to an extent. All mutants do. Not many people will openly talk shit about a guy with metal claws, but the sentiment is still there. The idea that you're inferior. That something is wrong with you. That you don't belong in this life.

He just nods, not knowing much else to offer as comfort. "Did you ever overhear them talking about you? Any reason they wouldn't have put you with the others?"

"I think they wanted to figure out if there was more of me. Or if they could make anymore at least," you say after taking a moment to think, "Cause you know. Guys like the whole puppy thing. Makes me worth more I guess."

He cringes at the ugly picture you paint with those words.

The group of you continues walking, footsteps being the only sound in the hallway. Your tail had started wagging again which makes him feel a little better about not offering anything in terms of reassurance. But when you reach the room where the other victims had been, your tail comes to a halt and droops between your legs.

A party of men is spread throughout the area. They walk around scanning the now empty space, visibly incensed at their captives being freed. You slide yourself against Logan's back again, but you don't try to peek at them like you did with Scott and Jean. It doesn't take much to figure out that these are the ones who kept you in that cage.

They hear the team and you approaching and turn to face you. Despite your efforts to hide, they spot you before you're completely concealed behind the bulk of Logan's muscular frame. The one closest scowls at your attempt.

"I'm guessing the three of you know what happened to the things we had in here?" he says, sarcasm lacing each word.

"You could say that. And those people are long gone by now, so it's probably best you move on," Scott answers. His fingers rise to his temple in preparation to operate his visor.

The men don't seem to be threatened. The amalgamation of them tightens, forming a more crowded cluster.

"Yeah, you're probably right. But you're not leaving with that one," the same one says and gestures to you hiding, "She stays here."

"Not gonna happen, bub," Logan responds so quickly it surprises even himself.

His teammates also look interested in his seeming budding attachment to you, but they know better than to squabble in front of adversaries.

You are the only one the words don't strike in any sort of way, but that's because you didn't totally hear them. You're too busy trembling, hoping with everything you had that Logan wouldn't force you in front of him again and then kick you into the group of guys.

But obviously, that doesn't happen. There's more arguing that you don't hear because you choose to tune it out. You can sense Logan becoming more agitated and the air around everyone becoming more tense. Your body grows more rigid, your ears glued back to your scalp. You just want this to be over.

As these thoughts whirl through your mind, the arguing comes to a head, and Logan launches away from you. You feel naked without his large body shielding yours.

Scott and Jean aid him. Your first inclination is to turn the other direction and just try to stay out of the way. You weren't confident in your combat skills. If you could seriously fight, you probably wouldn't have gotten snatched up. You didn't want to be the reason any of these people who were trying to help you got hurt.

But then you see someone coming up behind Logan brandishing a knife. It's out of your control, the way your muscles go taut and your lip curls back. You'd only ever been in a real fight once before in your life, and you don't remember feeling this vicious. You spring up behind the man, finding where his shoulder meets his neck and biting down hard.

The cries of agony and grunts of anger seem to go on forever. The smell of blood invades your nostrils as you deal with your target. He'd fallen to the floor when your teeth sunk into his flesh. You feel him thrashing underneath you as you rip and tear, but you don't stop until he's gone still. You then pull off and wipe your mouth, twisting around to sit on the abdomen of your incapacitated enemy.

Logan also had no difficulty dealing with the men coming at him. There were just more of them, so he took a little longer. After one last thud of a body crumpling to the floor, only heavy breathing sounds through the warehouse.

Jean and Scott seem fine. They stand there checking each other over, and you see them share a brief kiss. You glance over towards Logan next and decide to return to his side.

He's alone. The sounds of panting are mostly coming from him. His body glistens, muscles lightly coated in perspiration. His scent is stronger to you now, and it only grows more overwhelming as you approach him. Men lie at his feet with pools of blood around them, presumably the same crimson liquid that stains his hands, wrists, and forearms in streaks.

You make your next move without thinking. Coming up to his side, trying in vain to avoid getting your ratty socks soaked with blood, you press your cheek against his bicep and snake your arms around his.

He then looks down at you. His eyebrows raise at the blood that coats your mouth and chin and trails down your shirt. You hadn't seemed like any type of predator before. Your presence was more akin to a puppy that'd be torn apart by wolves than anything that could do anyone harm.

"How'd you do that?" he asks.

Your finger rises and hooks under your upper lip, pulling it back to reveal your canines, sharper than a normal person's.

He nods and watches you with some mixture of curiosity, irritation, and fondness.

"Pretty good," he says simply.

You beam at the praise, blood-stained lips parting into a wide smile. He feels your tail wag harder and brush against the back of his leg.

The touch is nice. It makes him more conscious of the way you're still holding onto him, your hand curled around his muscle and your hip against his. He's not sure what it is. A silent thank you, a note of understanding, or a pledge of loyalty.

But he doesn't need a thank you, someone to understand him or devote themself to him. He's just doing what he's supposed to.

He slides his arm out of your clutches and gently pats you on the head.

"C'mon, let's get going," he says and starts walking towards the exit.

You trot wordlessly behind him, which he's grateful for. But more than that, he's just happy Scott didn't have anything to say about your sudden bond to him.

Once the jet picked you up from the extraction point, the trip back to the school was a breeze. You mostly keep to yourself while trying to stick close to Logan. He sits you next to him and cleans up your face, but you sleep for most of the actual traveling time to the destination.

You hadn't realized how tired you were until the seat hit your back and the buckles of the seat belt latched over your chest. With that manifestation of security, your eyes began drooping and your head was drifting to your shoulder like it was your center of gravity.

Logan's voice is what wakes you up. It's unclear to you how much time has passed, but that doesn't bother you. You feel him gently jostling you before unbuckling the straps across your chest. He calls your name a few times until your bleary eyes open and focus on his face.

"There you are," he says, "C'mon. We're here."

You still watch him without saying a word. Your hand rubs over your face to try and pull yourself closer to being awake. He watches you before offering his hand.

"I'm not carrying you, so you need to get up," he says in a tone you were becoming familiar with. It sounded irritated but not directly at you. Like this man was just in a constant state of being pissy about something.

You take the offer regardless and let him pull you to your feet. The two of you exit the jet together, him helping you out to ensure you don't trip on the gap between the ramp and the ground.

Once you're out, your eyes widen. You expected a boarding school to be pretty fancy, but this was nicer than any place you'd ever been. The walls stretched up the sky, crafted with bricks and decorated with large glass windows. The path there was paved and bordered with kept plants. You could see beyond that though. The large expanse of the property. So much space to run and do things.

Logan watches your reaction with amusement. "It's a lot to take in when you first get here," he says.

You nod, and your eyes continue to dart around and absorb the sight of everything. Storm and Jean lead the others who were saved off to another part of the building to be reunited with their families or taken back to their lives or even given verifiable resources. But you don't want to go with them.

You grab Logan's hand and look up at him, shaking your head.

His first reaction is to try and pull his hand free of you, but you have a tighter grip than expected. "What? What's the matter?" he asks you while still trying worm his hand out of your finger's lock.

You don't know how to articulate it because what you want is very simple. You want to stay with him. You want to stay here. You don't want to go back out to the world where people point and laugh at you or turn you away from everything. You just don't know how to say that without it seeming weird.

Luckily for you, Scott gives you a bit of help. You're not sure if that's his intention or not, but either way, you're grateful for the help.

"Maybe we should take her to the Professor. He might want to see about her mutation or ask her about that stuff back there," he tells Logan. You can tell from the way Scott speaks that he doesn't really like him too much.

Logan thinks about it for a moment before nodding. Before leading you there, he uses his other hand to pry your fingers off of him. You frown at the loss of connection and shoot him a glare. That brings an actual smile to his face.

"Follow along, pup. Don't need you getting lost," he says as he turns to guide you down the halls of the school.

The sun hadn't even risen, so not too many people occupied the common rooms. You catch sight of a few. They stare back at you, but unlike what you're used to, they don't look at you with disdain or mocking. It's simple, innocent curiosity. The only thing that seems to worry them is the bright red stain going down the front of your shirt.

Inside the room had been an older guy in a wheelchair. The professor talked the nicest out of all the men you'd been around today. When he looked at you, you felt like he understood you. He didn't even seem perplexed like Scott or Logan had. He'd merely said you were "interesting."

He talked to you for a while. He asked similar questions similar to the ones you already answered, but the third round of them got even deeper than the last two. Once he revealed that he could enter your thoughts if he wanted, that made a lot of sense.

Though he didn't really need his ability to understand you. Your experiences were written all over your face, practically sewn into the seams of your clothes.

He could see how, like every mutant, you led a life dominated by rejection. But in a different way than most others of your kind, you were vaguely familiar. Seeing someone with a tongue ten feet long or with blue skin or claws was jarring. It was weird.

But you - you look like a cute puppy. You walk the line between disturbing and endearing.

Charles can also see how you long for belonging even deeper than most. It's as if your mutation gives you the drive to seek out affection, for someone to devote yourself to. He can tell this by the way you linger around Logan.

If he moved an inch, you followed in the same direction. If he looked away, your eyes followed along. You were only settled if he was looking at you, not in danger of leaving your vicinity.

After talking to you for a while, hearing about your abilities and getting to understand your personality, he offers to let you stay at the school. He tells you it might be beneficial for you, and if you don't like it, you're welcome to leave anytime. It's only meant to give you a chance to understand your gifts and learn to control them and use them for good.

Of course, you accept. It wasn't even a question.

"Wonderful. Scott, show her to the extra rooms she can stay in and the shower so she can clean up a bit," Charles says. He watches as your eyes flit to Logan and then Scott. He also sees Scott's uncertainty as to why he was given this job.

But he nods and gestures for you to follow him, which you reluctantly do.

You trail him silently up the stairs, and he gives you a little guide to where everything is. He gestures at the direction of the student wing and the staff wing and then takes you to the latter. He points out the different bedrooms and grabs you a change of clothes on the way to the bathrooms.

He's nice to you. A little stiff, but he still smiles and laughs softly at quips he makes or your skeptical reactions to things. You want to ask him about his sunglasses, but you figure that'd be rude so you refrain. When he leaves you at the bathroom door, he tells you to just call if you need anything cause he's right down the hall.

Stepping inside, you peer around the expansive room. You'd never seen a bathroom so large. It was nice like everything else was in this place. The counter was spotless and smooth. The tile was sleek with a soft mat beneath your feet at the door and waiting for you in front of the shower.

You undress yourself quickly and turn on the water, waiting for it to heat before stepping inside. There's some products on the shelf inside that you use. You lather the soap on your hands and rub it over yourself fast. It felt really good, especially since you hadn't had a proper shower while being held captive. But you still work at a sped up pace. Although the novelty of everything had impressed you at first, you were beginning to yearn to be by Logan again. It wasn't a need that would make you lose control, just a little itch like a bug crawling up the path of your veins.

Downstairs, Charles kept Logan behind in his office so the two could talk. They briefly recap the mission before moving to the subject that was the true reason for the extended conversation.

"It seems she's quite taken with you," the older man starts simply.

"I guess," Logan responds, his voice unamused with the idea.

Charles huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He goes to say something else, but the other man carries on the conversation himself.

"She'll get over it. She's like a little duck following around the first person she sees," he says and crosses his arms.

"I think you underestimate her intelligence, Logan. She's not a helpless animal-"

"I know that," he interjects quickly.

"She's one of us. She's formed an attachment to you for whatever reason. I would like her to stay here for at least for a little while to examine the traits of her mutation. I've never seen any that so closely mimic an already existing animal," he explains, "But I want to know that you're ok with that."

Logan scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be? That doesn't have anything to do with me."

"While she's here, she's most likely going to want to be around you. I just wanted to make sure that's not something you're wholly uncomfortable with."

"Please. I can handle it," he dismisses.

Charles watches him, ever-entertained by how hard he tries to present the idea that he's unaffected.

"If you say so," he says, "Just try not to scare off too quickly."

"I'll play nice," he says.

A few more words, and he's dismissed. He turns on his heel and heads out the same doors he entered. Just as he does, you glide down the stairs into his field of vision, tail wagging lazily behind you over the waistband of the sweats Scott gave you.

When you see him, it swishes a bit faster and your ears perk up. His eyes narrow.

"What are you doing down here? Didn't Scott show you where to go?" he asks.

You nod and prance down the remaining steps. Truthfully, you'd been seeking the man before your eyes, but you couldn't just say that.

"Am I not allowed to look around?" you ask.

His eyes remain hard on your face. "Aren't you tired? Mauling that guy didn't take anything out of you?"

A subtle pout forms on your lips, and you consider retreating back to the bedroom you'd been given. He clearly wasn't in the mood for you right now.

Logan sees the reaction his words brought on. He feels that little sliver of guilt shifting around inside him. Maybe his phrasing hadn't been the best... but then again why did he give a shit?

"How about we just get you back to bed? I'll show you around more tomorrow," he suggests.

You take what you can get and nod, your features slightly elevating at the form of peace he offers you. He retraces your steps up the stairs and down the hall with you on his heels. He spots the room Scott had picked for you. The door was ajar from how you'd left it to go find him.

He leads you inside but remains in the doorway himself. There really wasn't any reason to stay, so he should probably be leaving...

"Have you been here a long time?" you ask suddenly.

His eyes land on you again. You were perched on the end of your bed that was still fully made up, the comforter tucked in and everything.

"What?" he asks.

"Have you been here long? Scott said he's been here since he was a teenager," you say.

"Oh. No. Only a little while," he says. "I'm still pretty new here too."

That makes you happy, it's obvious from the hope that gleams in your eyes. "Are you like a teacher too? Or... something else?"

"What would that something else be?" he asks with a smirk, taking a few steps into the room with you, "Having a hard time picturing me teaching?"

"Well I just mean-" you try to justify before laughing a little, giving in, "Yeah. I can't really see it."

"Me neither. I'm not a teacher. I just help out sometimes," he says.

He walks even closer to you, causing your head to tilt up to look at him. Now you really looked like a puppy.

This close, he was all you could smell. You could see every individual hair on his forearm. It felt as though you could hear the strong beat of his heart. His eyes pierced into you from above, and you wondered if he was observing you in a similar manner.

"You gonna sleep on top of these blankets?" he asks.

The mention of something else besides him snaps you out of your little Logan-centric daze. You look around at the bedding and then back up at his head. The two styled points of dark hair look like he has two ears of his own mirroring yours.

"No. I'll fix them," you say and stand up to tug them free, "I don't need you to tuck me in."

"I wasn't offering to. I just don't want you getting up and trying to 'look around' again. Don't need you getting lost and wandering to my bed."

The idea brings heat to your cheeks and neck. It sounded nice for so many reasons. But the bed you had now outmatched the hard bottom of the cage you'd been sleeping on, so you weren't going to try and swing for more.

Once the comforter and sheets are peeled down, you climb back on the bed and sit against the pillows. There's a small pause. A puddle of silence pooling between the two of you. You don't know what else to ask, but you feel if you don't say anything he's gonna leave. So you pull out the first thing you can think of.

"What is your actual mutation?"

His brows rise with interest, and he closes the gap between you by sitting on the edge of your bed. Curiosity shines from his eyes onto you, silently questioning why you wanted to know.

"I know you're not actually a robot, but I can still smell the metal and stuff. What does it do?" you ask.

"The metal isn't my mutation," he says.

He raises his fist about a foot away from your face. His fingers are balled up tight against his hand. You cock your head, wondering what he's showing you.

Before you can ask any questions though, three shining metal claws emerge from between his knuckles. They come out slowly, a pace prolonged enough to be considered teasing. Your eyes widen at the sharp points and you scoot back, smooshing the pillows against your head board. All you can wonder is if he didn't take them out earlier or if you really had missed something so monumental.

His laugh rises in volume. "Relax, I'm not gonna cut you."

The claws come to a halt when fully extended. You wait just in case something else is going to happen, but nothing does. You bring your finger up and poke at the hard surface. They were so beautiful but unnatural too. You'd never seen anything like them.

"But I didn't see anywhere for them to come out?" you say softly.

He flexes his hand and extends his fingers, retracting the claws much quicker than they appeared.

"There is no place for them to come out of," he says and offers you his hand.

You frown at the little cuts the sharp rods left in their wake, but like little zippers, they close up. You blink at his hand. All evidence of his mutation was gone.

"So you can heal? And you have claws?" you say more to yourself than him, "Does it still hurt when they come out?"

He nods and watches you examine his hand.

Upon seeing his confirmation, you can't even help what you do next. You pull his limb a little closer and kiss each spot where a claw had emerged. Every phantom cut gets a soft smooch left where it would soon reappear.

"What are you doing?" Logan asks, her arm tensing up on instinct.

You glance at his face before releasing his hand. "Oh... sorry," you say and shrug sheepishly.

To your surprise, he doesn't scold or chastise you, doesn't get up to leave in a hurry. He simply pulls his hand back and gives you another look before saying good night.

"Get some good sleep. Like I said, I'll show you around tomorrow," he says.

You slip down in the bed, resting your head on the plush pillows and pulling the blanket up over your form. He heads out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

A deep exhale leaves his lungs. He shakes some of that tension loose. What had he been doing? It almost felt like some different person had taken over him in there. Another version of himself that didn't have to be reminded to 'play nice.'

The few weeks you're supposed to stay at the school stretches out into a longer timeframe. It'd now been a few months since that day he found you in the cage and set you free. Though that month or so you'd spent locked up turned out to be worth it because you now had a place that made you happier than anywhere you'd lived before. You had a family.

You had Jean and Storm who were helping you train so you could one day go on missions with them. You had the Professor who taught you more about yourself than you had ever thought to ask. Scott was there too.

And of course, you had Logan.

Logan. As much as he tried to seem reluctant, to appear uncaring and nonchalant, he had grown to enjoy your company more with each passing day that you followed him like a shadow.

It was irritating at first. Before, he'd been able to drift through the school relatively unnoticed. Now, every single place he went, he was trailed by whoosh whoosh whoosh. The sound of your tail going back and forth. Anything he tried to do was accompanied by the feeling of two glimmering eyes trained on him. He'd tried to brush you off, but you didn't waver.

"Don't you have anything better to do than stalk me?" he'd ask, shooting a side eye your way.

"No," you'd respond.

"Well, find something."

"I don't wanna."

And who was he to argue with that?

In a way, the bond you seemed to have formed with him was flattering. It seemed like he could do anything, and you'd never view him as anything but the greatest creation to grace this earth. So he just lets you follow him around. He assumes after a while, you'll see him for what he is and lose interest, or you'll just grow bored of him and find something else to be the object of your obsession. Though so far that day hadn't come.

After a while of you always at his side, he started to cave and include you in his little routines.

One day he was doing sit ups at the foot of his bed while you sat nearby. His body rose and fell, abdomen kissing his thighs in regular intervals. But every time he came up, he found himself looking over at you.

"Hey, pup," he said, the nickname he developed for you coming out effortlessly, "C'mere for a second."

Your ears perked up. You weren't usually involved in what he was doing. You scoot over to him and kneel at his feet, awaiting a command. You could be so obedient sometimes it nearly made him feel guilty.

"You wanna help me with something?" he asked. As he expected, you nodded right away, so he continued, "Just hold my feet down. These only work if your feet stay flat. So just make sure they do."

You gave him another dutiful nod and got in position. Your hands held his feet down as he worked out just like he asked. Each time he came up off the ground, you looked at him with a big goofy smile.

That was just the first thing. From then on, the two of you actually did stuff together rather than just going about your things nearby one another. He'd help you train, and you'd help him clean Scott's bike when he finished using it.

Tonight, exhaustion aches in your bones after running around all day. On top of that, you'd had so much stuff to do yourself that you'd barely even seen Logan all day.

When the sun's finally down and the students have all retired to their bedrooms, you find him in the living room. He's leaned back into the couch, nursing a bottle of something. You assume it's not beer since you're at a school, but with how often he lamented about that limitation, you wouldn't put it past him to sneak one in.

You hop over the arm rest and curl up on the opposite side of the couch from him. He looks over at you, not displeased with your presence.

"There you are. I thought you finally got tired of me and found someone else to bother," he teases.

"I could never do that," you reply with the same playful cadence. You scoot a little closer. "I was just super busy today. The Professor was having me talk to some of the students, and then Scott needed me to grab something for him from the shed. It was really hard to find, so it took a while. Then I had to do my own training, and Jean made me try on some sizes for my suit..."

As you chatter on about your day, Logan finds himself nodding along, even occasionally reacting to what you say. He's not rolling his eyes or telling you to leave him alone. It's weird, but he can't say he wants to feel differently.

"Sounds like they're working you like a dog," he says when your story has reached an end.

Your face darkens like it had on the day he met you, shooting him a quick glare as a reminder not to say the forbidden d-word.

"Right, sorry," he corrects, "It just sounds like they're running you ragged. Don't let 'em work you too hard. Scott can get his own shit."

He still didn't understand your hang up about that word. He could call you pup, puppy, or any variation of that, and you'd react with nothing but joy. But utter d-o-g in your vicinity, and he felt like he was at risk of getting his throat chomped on. Luckily, it only takes his small apology for your normal demeanor to make its return.

"It's ok. I don't mind helping. I like having stuff to do," you say and shrug.

"I thought your 'stuff to do' was watching over me," he jokes and leans forward, placing his bottle down on the table.

You're not sure why, but you take that as an invitation to scoot even closer to him.

"I thought you wanted me to find better stuff to do."

"Fair," he chuckles, "Maybe this is one of those things where I'm not gonna realize I miss something until it's gone."

He brings his hand up from the back of the couch to massage the base of one of your ears. The soft fluff feels almost luxurious against the rough pads of his finger tips. He knew you loved the sensation. It had been an accidental discovery, something he did one time as a joke. But the way you melted into the touch had been more than just funny to him.

You lean into it now and nuzzle his palm.

"It was just one day. It's not like a permanent new routine."

"For now. Then soon enough, I'm gonna catch you trailing somebody else with hearts in your eyes," he says and gently tugs your ear.

You laugh at the tug and the stupid words. "You will not. Plus, I don't have hearts in my eyes for you."

"Oh really?" he teases. He leans in, his face hovering a couple inches away from yours. "I think I can see some now."

The two of you stay locked in a stare for a few lingering seconds. He'd never been this close to you before. You'd never heard his voice lower in that way, sounding almost desiring. Heat starts to crawl up from your belly through your chest to your neck. Before it can reach your cheeks, you turn your head to face the tv.

"Shut up," you huff, choosing to play the interaction off as a joke.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his grin. He chuckles and his arm returns to its place behind you, above your shoulders. Quiet blooms between the two of you, kept from being total silence only by the hushed noises of the tv set across the room. It doesn't feel awkward though even with the sudden shyness he'd brought over you.

You angle yourself and lean in so that you're sitting against his side. No words come from him, he simply lowers his arm to sling around your shoulders and keep you there. His thumb idly pets back and forth over the smooth skin of your forearm.

The heat of his body radiates from his side and into you. Makes you feel safe and comfortable. Like you're where you're supposed to be. It's easy to sink into him further and tilt your head to rest on his chest. Before long, your eyes feel a little droopy. Blinking feels sticky, and your mind just wants to retreat to the soft embrace of sleep.

Logan can tell. He's not sure of the feeling this knowledge brings him. Pride? Contentment? Affection? Instead of thinking about it harder, he just pulls you a little closer and lets you drift off. He considers saying something, letting you know he doesn't mind and that you don't have to try and stay up. But nothing comes from him and the quiet continues.

He watches you slowly slip away. Your neck loses the wherewithal to stay upright, and your breaths soften, blowing in and out in a thoughtless rhythm.

The feeling that flows through him takes him by surprise. Pure endearment towards you, not a hint of anything else. He lets you sleep there for the next hour or so. When you're still out cold after that time has passed, he's unsure of his next move. He doesn't want to wake you and shatter the peace that had settled over the room, but he had to head to bed himself and wasn't going to leave you stranded on the couch in the common room.

The light of the tv glows across the two of you as he mulls over his options. When he finally decides, he grabs the remote and shuts the device off, cloaking the room in darkness, spare the distant blinking lights that could be seen through the windows. He rises from the cushions that had molded to cradle his weight, making sure to keep a hand on you to prevent you from slumping over.

This time he doesn't shake you or offer a hand. He reaches around and tucks an arm under your legs. His other supports you across your shoulder blades as he lifts you into his arms. He traverses the furniture with caution, making sure to avoid bumping into a stray corner or tripping on a catch in the rug. Then he moves up the stairs. Your limp body bounces with each step.

He nudges the door open to your bedroom and takes you inside. Your scent seemed to fill the entire room. Every time he took a breath, he got a lungful of the heady smell. Your bedroom was so you now. The way you'd decorated it and splashed your personality over every inch, it'd be hard to believe that just a few months ago it had been so sparse.

What had been a blank bed, covered only by a plain duvet and thin pillows, now held your extra fluffy cushions, a nest of blankets, and your steadily-growing collection of plushies. Trinkets lined your shelves and tables, and you even displayed a few posters over the walls. It was you, all around him.

He walks the few paces to the edge of the mattress before laying your body down on the foamy surface. He drapes a nearby blanket over your form. Even though he's technically accomplished what he meant to, he doesn't leave yet. He lingers like he can't seem to help doing around you.

You're still fast asleep, unaware of the change in locations. He watches a haphazard swallow move through your throat before you settle into the familiar setting.

He finds himself not wanting to go back to his room. He'd been at the school longer than you and never made his own so nice. Really, he didn't think he could make it as nice. But that was just because nothing about him was as nice as you.

When the resolve to leave finally surfaces in him, he reaches out and rubs the base of your ear.

"See you in the morning," he murmurs. Unlike before, the rest of what he wants to say doesn't get tangled up in his throat. "My little puppy girl."

That night won't leave your head for the next week. It almost feels like a dream. You'd woken up in your bed the next morning, assuming that's what it was. The undeniable change in location was the only thing that made your mind accept it as reality.

In the following days, things stayed the same for the most part, though you would have sworn, Logan acted a little less grumpy around you. Only by a microscopic degree, but enough for you to note the shift.

Nothing that big happens though. You don't even repeat the cuddling incident again. You kind of just assume that it was a one time thing. A nice experience, but not one to be repeated.

The memory of it floats through your mind often though. The pulse of his heart beating against your cheek, how you could hear it in your ear clear as day. Your stomach flutters at the thought of him actively pulling you closer, wanting you that close. You can feel your dedication to Logan blossoming into something more. It was already rooted so deep inside you that you didn't think it was possible, but you could feel it. The branches of reverence spreading in your chest and growing into something closer to adoration.

You could feel it now, sitting next to him on the bench in the school's spacious yard. He'd been tasked with watching some of the students for the afternoon, so of course, you tagged along. Shade speckled his face with alternating blotches of sunlight and gray. The stray beams of light made his eyes glow, and his hair shine all pretty. The sounds of the students practicing their abilities clouds the background of your focus, and they become even more distant when he suddenly turns to you.

"You're staring," he teases with that little smirk of his.

Your eyes flutter at the accusation. "No... I was not."

"Yeah you were. Even worse than usual."

"I just was thinking and zoned out," you defend, turning to face forward.

He hums in acknowledgement, obviously not believing your excuse. "Were you thinking about me?"

"You wish."

"I don't have to wish, puppy. You're not a very good liar."

You really weren't. Your tail swished with each beat of this little back and forth. Your ears pinned back to your head, folded over by the guilt of being caught. Everything you were feeling was made apparent by your supposed 'gifts.'

"Well whatever. Even if I was, it's none of your business," you say. A smile pulls at your lips. Your tells weren't solely from your mutation.

"If you say so," he taunts, one last jab before he returns his attention to the kids he was supposed to be supervising.

Nothing he said hinted at anything more than playful banter, but the way he spoke had them wrapped around your heart like unbreakable restraints. The way he said them made you feel like he wanted it this way. Wanted you to hear that smug cadence in your mind for the next few days. Maybe he found you entertaining. Maybe your emotions were a new game he discovered he liked to play with.

Hours later, you're curled up in your bed, by yourself as per usual. Everyone in the school had gone to bed, you and Logan had parted a while ago yourselves.

Sleep weighs you down to the mattress, but your ears perk up automatically when they register a distant sound of distress. It's faint. If it happened alone, you would've just assumed it was part of your dream and not done anything else. But more follow it.

Your eyes crack open, still glazed with drowsiness as you come to. You listen for the sounds that disturbed you. For a moment, there's nothing. Just the gentle breeze outside your room and the crickets chirping in the cut grass in the yard.

Then it happens again. A normal person wouldn't be able to hear these sounds. They were reserved for you with your enhanced senses. It sounds like grunting and groaning though you can pick up the pained undertone of fear. The worst part of it to you is that immediately you know it's coming from Logan.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, freeing them from the fleece warmth of your blankets. Padding out of the room, you cross the hall to his. You open the door in the specific way so that it doesn't creak and then shut it behind you. Your feet are gentle on the hardwood as they bring you closer to the source of the noise.

Once you're in, it's no mystery. Logan lays on his back in the center of his bed, shoulders twitching in agitation. He mumbles to himself, different words you can't make out. Your head cocks at the sight.

Approaching the side of his bed, you just watch him for a few more moments. When he doesn't wake up, you feel the urge to intervene. It felt wrong watching him suffer. Something pulled at your insides to help him.

You reach out and nudge his bicep. There's no effect. You do it a few more times but still nothing happens. Finally, you actually grip his shoulder and shake him gently, whispering into the darkness a simple "Logan."

That wakes him. No mistake about it. He gasps and snaps up. His claws come out from his hands without a second thought and slash at you. You hop back right away, tripping over your own feet and crashing onto the ground.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. The adrenaline coursing through you wasn't so much out of fear but rather confusion. Your mind was still a bit bogged by sleep itself, and at this moment, you're less concerned with Logan's reasoning and more so the logistics of a potential fight with him. Even though you had been training for the past several months, you had absolutely zero belief that you'd be able to beat him in a fight. Or even really compete for that matter.

Fortunately for you, it doesn't come to that. His eyes recognize you not long after his fists took the swing. You watch as his face morphs into a handful of different emotions in the span of about five seconds.

"I- what- how- I didn't-" he starts before getting a handle on his ability to speak, "I'm sorry."

Your body starts to come down from the brief high when it's clear he's not going to attack. You feel less wound up and let out a sigh. Your eyes remain inquisitive while gazing at him though. What did he dream about that made him freak out like that?

You guess it's not the best time to ask, so instead of pushing your luck, you push up off the ground and get your footing back. You step up to him at the edge of the bed and stand between his thighs. You plan on asking him if he's ok, but his arms reach out and yank you to his chest before you have the chance.

His hold is tight on you. The little half-hugs he'd given you a couple times before didn't compare at all. His arms were locked around you like they never intended to let go. You could hear him panting in your ear, and you could feel his heart thundering against both of your rib cages like it wanted to be released from its chamber.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he whispers.

You shake your head and wrap your arms around him too. The gesture relaxes him a lot, you can feel the tension seep away.

"Are you ok? I didn't mean to bother you, you just sounded like you needed help," you say at the same volume.

"You didn't bother me. I'm ok. I'm sorry. You don't have to worry about me like that."

His skin is warm and clammy against your own. You gently pat his back as some form of silent reassurance. Even if he wasn't as distraught as he had been a few minutes ago, you could tell the events that occurred were gnawing at him.

One of your hands drifts up, and you thread your fingers in his hair. It's like pulling a lever. He exhales deeply and pushes his face more against your neck.

"I'm sorry, pup," he murmurs.

You nuzzle the side of his head, and your heart nearly stops because he reciprocates this gesture with a few of the softest kisses you've ever felt, placed on your throat.

"I'd never hurt you on purpose. You know that."

You nod. Of course you knew that. And you would never say this to him out loud, but you felt so deeply for him, you weren't sure that your perception of him would have changed had his claws landed the strike on you.

Pulling back your head a little, you nudge his so you can see him. Both of your eyes connect for a moment before you lean in and kiss him. His lips are softer than you'd expected. His scent permeates your senses, but it's not one of booze or the brand of cigars he smokes. That's there, but your nostrils sense deeper. You could smell his essence. The way his blood runs hot as your tongue swipes into his mouth.

The kiss grows deeper. No words are said. Neither of you need them. Your fingers tighten on the dark locks of brown hair, and you climb into his lap. His hands land on your hips almost instantaneously. The only sounds between the two of you are sharp exhales and shallow inhales.

"What are you doing, bub?" he murmurs against your lips, breaking the silence. Despite his questions, he wasn't stopping you. Not at all. His fingers dig into your flesh and pull you a little closer.

"Wanna make you feel better. And show you that I know."

You weren't sure what you and Logan were after that night. Boyfriend-girlfriend, friends with benefits, or maybe simple companions. You didn't really care because regardless of the answer, you were happy.

Kissing was the only thing that transpired that night, but that was ok with you. It didn't dampen your outlook on your relationship with him in the slightest. You'd made out for a while, tangling up with each other and the sheets before he pulled back. He didn't want to go further when you both were coming down from all that emotion. And you agreed. You didn't need more. You felt elated from receiving that much affection in the first place. Your tail whacked against the mattress as you curled up to his side and put your head on his sternum to rest.

The next morning though, he had been ready for more. Once he fell back asleep, his dreams had been much more pleasant. He woke up stiff and aching for you, and you were more than happy to provide some relief.

You alleviated that throbbing between his legs multiple times that morning, and you'd been taking care of it at least once a day every day since then.

The team could tell something was going on between the two of you, a deeper bond than your initial affinity for Logan. You walked with a faster wag in your tail, and he seemed less jagged at the edges. Others were less likely to get cut now if they reached for him the wrong way.

Each of your steps also came with a small jingle now since Logan had given you his dog tags. You'd been lying against his side, basking in the afterglow of one of your escapades when he dangled the metal chain between the two of you.

"Want you to have these, pup," he rasped.

You'd looked at him with curiosity swimming in your eyes. Excitement mingled there too though.

He chuckled at the look before boosting your head so he could put them on you.

"I know my pretty puppy doesn't want to wear a collar for me yet," he teased, getting a pout out of you, "I just want you to have something of mine. You don't even have to wear 'em if you don't want to."

You'd worn them every moment since he gave them to you. Wouldn't take them off for anything. The physical representation of your attachment stayed secured around your neck at all times. The way it made you feel had you thinking a collar would be a pretty nice next step.

It'd been just over a month since you became something more with him. Your tail zips back and forth as you clean up the training room, thinking all of this over. A little smile rests on your features too. Jean helps out nearby, laughing gently at your mood.

"You have it bad," she teases.

Your head turns, and you grin, exposing those elongated canines. Shrugging, you prance over to help her finish the area she was tidying up.

When the two of you get everything back into shape, you head out into the sleek hallway back towards the main part of the mansion. Your shoes squeak against the tile as you bound towards the doors.

Entering the primary floor from the rooms below always brought a bit of adjustment for your eyes. The lights downstairs shone bright, fluorescent white. Coming back to the soft lamps of the common rooms had you blinking while your pupils scanned the room for Logan.

You catch sight of him standing near the two large doors that acted as entrance to the school. Right now, you can only see him from behind, but you spot Charles next to him. It looks like they're talking to someone, though the former's bulky frame prevents you from seeing who.

Your legs carry you over to the pair. You come up on the side of Logan that Charles doesn't occupy. Tucking yourself under his arm, you look up at him first before your eyes land on the other person speaking.

The sight of her makes your head tilt to the side just the slightest. Every feature on her embodies beauty. Her red hair, similar to Jean's in color, sits slicked back on her head. Deep blue coats every inch of her body. Seductive yellow eyes flit between the two men she's conversing with, and now that you had appeared, they cast to you as well.

You'd seen her before around the mansion once or twice, and you didn't really trust her. She didn't seem like a bad person, but she worked opposite the team. Even though Logan had assured you she was just offering some information about a common goal, you didn't feel confident that Mystique's motives were of such pure intent.

Still, you don't interrupt the in-progress discussion. You stay quietly pressed to Logan's side, tail coasting against the back of his leg. He doesn't wrap his arm around you as tight as normal or rub between your ears like he often did, but he gives you a little pat on the shoulder to acknowledge your presence.

Mystique finishes listening to Charles' point before directing her full attention to you.

"I knew you all wore uniforms, but you two didn't tell me your team had a little mascot too."

You bristle at the comment but try to remain composed. You were better than a thoughtless animal that snapped at a little poke. Charles hadn't even noticed your presence. He looks over at you and realizes what Mystique's quip referred to. He introduces you briefly.

"She's new to the team and is still training, but she's not a mascot," he concludes.

"So more like a stray then? Cute. I never would have guessed you wanted a pet," she says to Logan.

Tension creeps up your spine, and you stand up straight, pulling away from Logan's side.

"I'm not his pet," you huff and look at her. Your pouty way of asserting yourself probably didn't do much to project the image of independence you wanted. "I'm-"

You go to continue, but she cuts you off.

"You really should teach your dog not to bark, Logan. It's not polite."

That sparks a small growl in your throat before you can shut it down. Her eyes widen in amusement which only makes it feel worse for you. The most humiliating part is that you know all of this is inauthentic. She's doing it for the purpose of riling you up, getting you upset and making you feel bad. You know this, but your reaction gets the better of you.

Before you can do anything regrettable, Logan's hand curls over your shoulder. He keeps you rooted where you stand, quelling the flames of conflict before they have a chance to spread.

"Back off," he says, quick and curt with Mystique. He turns to Charles next, still keeping his voice firm. "You don't need me to hear the rest of this. I think I'll let you wrap it up."

Charles nods, knowing it would be better for him to focus on removing you from the potentially volatile situation instead of being another observer for some intel.

Logan guides you away from them, hand moving from your shoulder to the back of your neck as he takes you upstairs. The anger inside you melts away with the growing distance between you and Mystique. Only the stain of embarrassment remained.

"I'm sorry," you say. Your words sound compressed, the weight of your shame hanging off them.

"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong. She wanted you to get upset, so that's what she got."

The pair of you move through the rest of the hall without another word. You go into your room. Once the door is shut and it's just the two of you between the four walls, you stomp over to the bed and flop down onto the mattress.

Darkness clouds your vision while your face rests against the blankets. Your tail rests against your thigh limply. You hear him coming over and then feel his hand rubbing your leg near the lifeless appendage. The mattress dips as he sits next to you.

"C'mon. You're ok."

You shuffle around so your head is resting in his lap. "I looked pathetic."

He sighs. One of his hands rubs your back while the other pets your head. "You did not."

"Yeah I did."

"No. You didn't," he says, "You didn't do anything that bad. No one's gonna think less of you cause you got a little mad about someone talking shit to you."

You know he's right. Everyone here had an experience like that. It's how most of them ended up here, reacting even worse than you had. It still doesn't make you feel any less dumb. A deep exhale seeps from your lungs.

"I just don't understand why everyone looks at me like that. We all get it bad enough from humans, but then some of the others look down on me too. I'm the same as all of you. I don't say Mystique looks like a smurf cause she's blue, so I don't see why I have to get called a pet," you huff.

He smiles a little and scratches your ear, letting you vent.

"Even you guys looked at me different at first. I know you did. I'm not the only mutant with physical stuff. Why does it have to be a whole thing with me?"

"You're just a little different, bub. You confuse people, but it's not your fault. Nothing about you is less than any other mutant. Mystique doesn't even think that. She was trying to get under your skin."

"Yeah..." you say with a little dejection in your tone, "I still just wish people would treat me like normal. Or at least normal for a mutant."

"I know you do, baby," he hums and pats your arm.

By this point, you're far enough away from the harshness of what happened downstairs. You sit up and scoot closer to him crawling into his lap. He wraps his thick arms around you and rubs your back.

"There's my girl," he murmurs and pecks your temple.

You nuzzle him like a puppy seeking more affection from its owner. Your backside rests on his lap, your arms snug around his abdomen.

"I'm just curious though, pup. What's the big thing with being called dog? It's not that different than puppy," he says, a hint of caution in his voice. He figured now was as good a time as any to ask. He knew it was the main part of what Mystique said that set you off.

You don't react with anger or defensiveness which pleases him. Instead, you shrug.

"Cause. Puppy sounds cute. Dog is just so... bleh," you say, "It makes me sound like a gross animal that someone has to wrangle."

His eyebrow rises. You can see the amusement in his eyes, but he successfully kills his laugh before it leaves his throat.

"Mmm. Makes sense. Can't have anyone thinking you're gross."

"Exactly," you say and kiss his cheek, "You get it. I just... I don't wanna be your pet, I wanna be yours."

You breathe out the words and push yourself closer on his lap. He appeases your desire for less space and pulls you to his chest.

"You are mine. You don't have to worry about that," he says.

"And I still wanna be your little puppy."

He chuckles. His head ducks down to your neck to lay a few kisses there. One of his palms drifts down to gently knead the dough of your ass.

"You also are my little puppy. My little puppy that follows me everywhere. Mine to hold and love on. Mine to play with. Mine to deal with when she gets bratty."

The last word comes out teasing and brings a happy sound out of you. "I wasn't being bratty before. She started it," you say, playing along.

"Hmmm, you're right. Maybe fussy's a better word," he mutters and nips at the soft flesh of your neck.

"Nuh uh. I was being totally normal," you say and nudge at his face with your nose, getting a little squirmy on his lap.

He responds by flipping you over onto your back. The mattress creaks with the bout of pressure and a squeal leaves your throat. You can feel his length against your hip, half-hard already from how you had wiggled on his lap.

"Oh please," he says, "Why do you think I brought you up here? I can tell when my pup needs to calm down. And I know just how to do that, don't I?"

You whimper and nod. He grins before returning his lips to your neck. He nips a few love bites onto the delicate area, drawing little whines from you. His hands hold you in place and move with your body's wriggling. He gropes at your hips and waist, paws at your tits, and slides them around to massage your ass.

"Such a good girl. So responsive for me," he coos.

The condescending affection sends a pulse down to your clit, and your hips roll up to meet his. One of your legs hooks around his waist to pull his body closer.

"Logan. Don't tease," you pout.

Your whiny plea doesn't garner any sympathy from him though. He laughs against your neck and pulls back to smirk down at you.

"My little puppy needs to learn some patience. You think if you don't get my dick in seconds that it's teasing," he taunts.

You whine again and press your leg down on him. He doesn't make any move to pull his cock out though. One set of his fingers comes up to your jaw, directing your lips to an angle where his can land on yours. He kisses you nice and deep, swallowing up any bratty urges that were springing around inside your head. His tongue is warm and soft, gentle against yours.

Meanwhile, his freehand does start to slide down below. It travels beneath the waistband of your bottoms. His warm fingers glide over the plush skin of your pelvis and slot between your lower lips to find your swollen nub. He flicks at it, instantly getting a mewl from you.

You can feel his smug smile against your mouth, but you don't have much time to react to it before his middle finger starts swirling around your bud. Your leg releases his body as it squirms with your other on the mattress. You moan into his mouth and boost your hips into his touch, wanting more of that blissful friction.

"Sweet girl," he coos. The words are muffled by your skin, but you could pick those syllables out of any lineup. "That's your favorite spot, isn't it? Always gets you wriggling for me like a little puppy."

"Mhm," you whimper with a faint nod.

Your heels dig into the mattress to give you some leverage to push your hips up so he can tug your pants off. He takes the opportunity and flings them off the bed. With you bare to him like that, he leaves your lips and moves down. He pulls your top off next and smooches between your breasts and over your tummy before landing between your legs.

He kneels on the floor at the edge of the mattress. His hands hook around your thighs and pull you in his direction.

"C'mere, baby. Give me that puppy cunt. Gotta get it all wet, so it can take my cock."

With that, he buries his head between your thighs. You gasp and throw your head back. Your hands fly to his head to grab at the two dark points of hair.

Logan gives his all to the task of pleasuring you. Whether it was his cock or his mouth, you were never getting anything less than his best. That's obvious right now as he eats you out like it's all he has to live for. He laps at your poor little clit before sucking it into his mouth. It gets some good suction from his lips before he pulls away and licks a broad stripe over your cunt.

He prods his tongue at your entrance, pushing the soft appendage against your hole. You whine more, and he feels your heels dig into his back as they had the mattress. Little expletives float from your mouth into the air as you experience such a rush of euphoria.

"Taste so good, pup. So fuckin' sweet," he mumbles. His lips open and close over your pussy, making out with it.

You rock your hips back and forth, essentially humping his face. He groans and only works harder. Your cute reactions only spurred him on. He twists his tongue just how he'd learned you liked and uses the perfect amount of pressure to get you gushing for him. Your arousal begins to coat his chin, his dark facial hair glistening with your wetness.

"Nice and wet. I'm just gonna slide right in, huh baby?"

"Yeah," you pant. Your hips buck when his nose bumps your clit, but he keeps you held in place.

He kisses your clit before dragging his tongue over you anymore. The soft touch pulls a whimper from you. Your brain starts to get all muddled and hazy. The dreamy feeling always took over when he had you like this. He knows it's coming on too. He can tell by the sudden softening of your movements. You're less jerky and more fluid in how you fidget.

"Oh, that's it. I think my pretty puppy's ready for me," he says, voice smooth on your ears.

He wags his tongue over your little bundle of nerves a few more times before standing to undress himself. His shirt comes off first, dropped to the floor with your garments. His pants are next to go, crumpled on the ground and kicked off his ankles.

Crawling back on top of you, his larger figure boxes you in on the soft surface. His cock is fully hard by now, red and angry, leaking desire from the tip. He guides it to your center and rubs it through your soaked folds.

A soft grunt leaves him as your nectar coats his shaft and drips onto his balls a little too. He only slides it against you a couple times, not wanting to waste the stimulation humping when he could be nestled deep inside.

He brings his tip down to your hold and pushes it in. Your walls accept the familiar intrusion and he groans at the comfort of your velvet walls contracting around him. He pushes his length in all the way until he bottoms out.

Then, adjusting himself and gripping at your hips, he starts to thrust. The motions start as gentle rocks. Taps of his pelvis against your ass. You flutter around him. Moans leak from you, and he smiles at the obvious pleasure coursing through your body.

He fucks you deep, just how you always asked for it. You weren't concerned with whining for harder and deeper right now. This was enough. The feeling of his cock buried in you soothed you like nothing else. Your eyes roll back and puffs of air come from your nostrils.

"Fuck, honey. Feels like I can barely last with you," he grumbles.

"Can't even think when I'm with you," you babble.

Your arms come up to pull him closer, and he lets you. He presses his body into yours, in-turn, shoving his cock as far into you as physically possible. You cry out with the pressure. It was the best kind. Deep and satisfying. To the point that you can feel it in your tummy every time his belly pushes on yours.

"You may not be my dog, baby, but one day you're gonna be my perfect breeding bitch," he grunts.

Your jaw goes slack, eyes drooping with lust. Your head tilts back and he leans into yours more.

"Gonna have you full of me forever. Always gonna be mine."

You can't even respond. Your mind isn't coming up with any coherent response. All you can do is whimper and whine like the needy pup that you are.

"This is what you need sometimes, puppy. Need me to stretch you out on my cock. Get all those thoughts out of your head. Cause puppies don't have to think. Not when you have someone like me taking care of you."

Your thighs start quivering, a sign you were reaching your peak. He knows this and drills into you harder. His balls slap against you every time he pistons his hips. His heated skin rubs against yours. He occupies all your senses, overloading you with him.

"Logan... gotta... gonna cum," you whine.

"Then cum for me," he mumbles simply, "Cum all over my cock, and I'll be right behind you."

You nod. Your back arches up. It takes you a little more, but when you get there, you crash into the throes of release. A sharp yelp bursts from you. Your feet kick a little and your legs press against his sides in an attempt to shut him out.

You get so fucking tight when you cum. Your hole clenches around him, calling out to him to spill every drop of his seed inside your wanting orifice. He growls and drops his head in your neck. He feels it building between his hips. The pressure grows until he can't take it anymore. It snaps and the flood gates open.

He bites at your neck, not hard enough to break the skin but with enough need to leave a little mark. Hot, sticky cum shoots out of him in thick ropes. Warmth fills your insides and you feel like you're sinking into the mattress below you. Both of you are panting with the intensity of the high.

You've already come down by the time he's starting to. After he nuts, Logan tends to get a little sappy. His arms pull you in tighter and he pecks at your neck a few times more muttering something unintelligible about his baby puppy.

"So what do you think?" you ask and twirl into the room, showing off your new outfit.

It matched his. Black leather snug on your body, lined with the same gold on the seams of Logan's. The bold X that shown on his belt could be found on the zipper of your top, dangling against your chest.

He smiles at you, standing from the bed to walk over and get a better view.

"Looks pretty good," he says upon approaching, "Seems a little tight though. You got room for your tail in that thing?"

You laugh at his joke and spin around again, showing the back where the suit had accommodated for your tail to poke through. It whips back and forth before you turn to him again.

"Just perfect for you then," he says and pulls you close, patting your ass and kissing your forehead, "Look at you. An official member of the team."

You nod and struggle not to bounce all around the room with the excitement vibrating through your cells.

"We're gonna be like so totally cool together," you say.

"Yeah. Totally," he imitates affectionately. He cups your jaw, watching your cheeks squish in and your lips puff out. Leaning down, he puts his mouth on yours in a soft kiss. "You're gonna do great."

The words come out as a whisper against your lips. One of your canines slips over your bottom lip as you take it between your teeth. But the display of timidity only lasts a second.

"I know," you beam.

Locking your fingers around his palm, you drag him to the door and out into the hall. Your arm makes his swing as he walks along behind you. He rolls his eyes lovingly at your confident display, but he can't keep his gaze off your happy self. He lets you pull him without resistance.

Now it would be his turn to follow you.

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