#v: passing time (charles)

[noknowshame]

doing a Saw marathon was such a great idea these movies are so funny. I never realized before that after the first movie its not even a ~spooky mystery~ who Jigsaw is. like yah there's the puppet but we know who's doing this. his name is john. he's right there. hi john :)

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[p1astr81]

very random but could you do one where reader is a ferrari heiress and her and oscar have a secret thing going on and they try to see each other during race weekends (with some fluff please)

This was a bit angstier than I anticipated 🙈

Y/n Ferrari. A name that carried status wherever she went. A name that came with expectations.

One of those expectations being to not fraternize with the enemy. Which was easy.

Until he came along.

Sauntering into the paddock with his stupid floppy hair looking like a prince that just walked out of a Disney movie. And his ridiculous laugh that sparked humor in other people even when nothing was funny. And his chiseled face like it was crafted by michaelangelo himself.

It all started as genuine hatred between you two, kicking off after he nearly crashed Charles out.

“Touch one of my drivers again and I swear to you Piastri-“

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know the trust fund princess ran the team.”

You scoffed. “Are you the pot or the kettle?”

“What?”

“I’m calling you a hypocrite.”

But it slowly turned into a playful banter.

“Where’s the princess off to this time?” He called out to you as you passed him as he was exiting his hospitality.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Prince Charming?”

His brows raised at the new nickname. “Calling me handsome now?”

“No you idiot. I’m making fun of your ridiculous hair.”

“What? Should I cut it then?”

“Absolutely not.” You looked horrified at the idea.

A smirk curled his lips. “Ah, so you like it then?”

“Ha! Only in your dreams would I ever like anything about you.” You didn’t let him get another word in, walking off too quickly.

And then the banter slowly turned into tension.

“That dress is going to have a lot of eyes on you.” Oscar commented, taking note of your bright red sun dress with a low v-neck.

You hummed. “Eyes like yours?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

“Saying I look good?”

Oscar shook his head. “Whatever the Ferrari princess wants.”

And the tension soon transitioned into a restrained pining.

Your paths crossed after taking the grid photos for the 2025 season. “Your hair looks… slightly more put together today than it usually does.”

He felt like an object of study under your gaze. “Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.” He chuckled.

“I think it was.” A pause, then, “It looks good.”

Oscar froze. Then swallowed, and found his words again. “Did someone put you up to this? Charles? Lewis? Was it Ollie? Are you feeling okay?”

You laughed. A genuine laugh. “No, no one put me up to this, and yes I’m feeling okay.” You laughed again.

Fucking hell, Oscar enjoyed that sound. It made him feel like he was walking on clouds. This was dangerous. “Okay,” he started and wavered. “Thanks.” He muttered.

You took note of the blush on his cheeks, but you didn’t mention it. You sure as hell made sure to get him flustered every time you saw him, though.

And then the pining turned into… something. A situation of sorts.

You rushed into his room in the hospitality, tearing the hood off your head.

He was on you in seconds. Hands wrapped around your waist and his lips devoured yours. “Did anyone see you?” He rasped into your mouth.

“No, I don’t think so.” You confirmed in a whisper.

His hands slipped under your hoodie and he tore it over your head. He paused, caught off guard by the low-cut shirt. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

You grinned, shoving his shoulder. “Ah, c’mon charming it’s just a bit of cleavage don’t lose your head.”

He ignored your teasing, picking you up by the waist and carrying you over to the small sofa. He let you fly from his arms and you hit the cushions with a dull plop. He kissed the exposed swell of your breasts, sucking on the skin.

“Quit! Someone will see there!” You yelled in hurried whispers, and gave his head a small push.

He pulled back, gazing up at you with a dazed look in his eyes. “Good. Maybe then everyone else will stop trying to make moves on you.”

He dipped his head again, but before his lips could attack your chest-

knock, knock, knock. “Osc! Do you still have my charger?!” Lando shouted from the other side of the door.

Oscar’s eyes went wide, as did yours. You both swapped glances between each other and the door.

Say something, you mouthed.

“Uh, yeah.” He hesitated. You wanted to face palm yourself.

“Great! can I have it back?”

He looked to you in panic. You gave him a look that basically said, ‘this is your problem now’.

“Uh, yeah.” He grabbed the white cord while you did your best to hide.

He opened the door just enough to poke an arm out.

“What’s that about?” Lando asked in reference to the cracked door. “You got a girl in there or something?”

“No!” He answered far too quickly. “I’m, uh, I’m naked.” He covered.

You heard lando laugh. “Alright, mate.”

You both let out sighs of relief when the door clicked closed.

“You’re helpless under pressure if it’s not out on the track.” You shook your head.

And when he asked you out, options for a date location were very limited.

“I didn’t know where to go that we wouldn’t be seen so…” he gestured to the homemade full-course meal laid out on his dining room table.

You smiled. “I didn’t know you could cook, charming.” You took the chair he pulled out for you.

He shook his head. “That damn nickname.” He muttered, sitting across from you.

“You don’t like it? I think it suits you.”

“I know, because of my hair.”

You tilted your head at him. “Well, that is a factor.” You conceded. “But I think your pretty face lives up to the name too.”

His face flushed immediately, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Didn’t you say you’d only call me handsome in my dreams? Am I dreaming now?”

You shook your head. “Maybe you’ve hexed me.”

After that, it became official. Now both of you were concerned with not getting caught.

Singapore was scorching hot. Even inside the lobby of the Hilton as you tried to collect more towels for your room.

As you waited at the front desk, you felt a hand slide across your back. Not a lot of pressure to the touch, just… there. You jumped, ready to fight, but you gasped when you caught the eyes of the perpetrator. “Oscar! I didn’t know you were staying here!” You cheered in hushed tones, glancing around for prying eyes.

He looked just as happy to see you. “I could say the same.” He laughed. “What floor?”

“Five.” You answered.

“Two.”

You let the silence float between you. “I could-”

“Yes.” He anticipated your proposal. He had since the moment he caught you. He was just waiting for you to say it.

You smirked at his eager reply. “I’ll take my towels back to my room and I’ll see you then? Just text me your room number.”

Oscar nodded as the lady came back with three towels in her hands. You gave Oscar a small smile as you parted.

Too focused on you, he’d forgotten the reason he came down to the lobby in the first place. Awkwardly, he shuffled from the front desk and to the elevators.

Shit. His room was a mess.

He frantically threw things in his suit case and shoved stuff in the closet. Three hurried knocks landed on the door just as he zipped the suitcase closed.

“Hey,” he greeted, red in the face and slightly panting from all the running around. He waved you into the room.

Finally alone, you stand to your tip toes and place a sweet kiss on his cheek.

It wasn’t enough for him. He held your face in his hands, capturing your lips in his. It wasn’t hungry nor hurried, but a tender reminder that you belonged to each other.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You confessed with a soft exhale.

“You just saw me earlier?” He wasn’t stupid. He knows what you meant by that.

You shook your head, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. You kicked off your shoes and stepped from your leggings. You went for his suitcase and unzipped it, ignoring his protests. “I know you, Os. I know you’re not this clean.” You chuckled, gesturing to the spotless floors.

Plucking one of his shirts from his suitcase, you took off your own shirt and replaced it with his. The covers of the bed welcomed you, as did the embrace of his arms. You snuggled your head into his chest. “This. This is how I’ve missed you.”

The next weekend you attended was Abu Dhabi. Safe to say, you were both having intense withdrawals.

Oscar more than you.

You stared at the messages, guilt pricking your skin. Your sweet Oscar. Cast to the side because of your own fears.

After qualifying had long passed, you sought him out. The paddock was relatively empty by then, only the few stragglers of team personnel. Your hospitalities being right next to each other’s was certainly an advantage, one you used to its full extent. You sat outside, scouting for Oscar. You jumped up when you spotted him, quick feet making your way over before he could spot you.

When you reached him, your fingers closed around his wrist and dragged him between the buildings and around the back. There were no cameras. No people. Just solitude.

He looked drained from the day. “I’m sorry.” You blurted. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?” You took hold of his hands. “I’m just so afraid of him breaking us up.” You shook your head.

Oscar pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around you. He held your head against his chest. “Of course I know that.” He stroked your hair. Dull nails scratched your head. “Like you said, there’ll be a time.”

You pulled back enough to see his face. “I want it to be soon. Like maybe during break?” You suggested. “You’re right. I don’t want to keep living in secret.”

“What?” He panicked. “I don’t want to force you to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head repeatedly. “No I want to do this.” Your eyes darted around, and then, “actually I want to do this now.”

“Wait what?”

Oscar didn’t get a response, you were already dragging him.

“No, wait. Like right now?” He panicked.

“Yes.”

Jesus, he was about to die and he only gets thirty seconds to prepare.

Hand in hand, he trailed behind you as the cool air from the Ferrari hospitality welcomed you. Your father was there, talking with Charles. He had yet to see you.

“Papa?” You called, standing in front of him.

He turned, brows furrowing when he saw Oscar. And then his eyes went wide when he saw your interlocked hands.

“I’m dating Oscar. And I’m happy. He makes me happy. And I know he’s not Italian or a Ferrari driver, but I think being with someone who makes me happy is better than both of those.” You rambled in English, ensuring Oscar would understand.

Your father looked between the two of you. The silence stretched, making Oscar more nervous by the second.

And then Charles started laughing.

“I know. Everyone has known for months. You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think you are.” Your dad spoke, clapping Oscar on the shoulder and squeezing him. “I’m just happy it was him and none of the others.” He smiled.

Oscar let out a heavy sigh of relief, earning a laugh from your dad.

[adelliet]

Wolverine x f!reader

MIND READER

Summary: Your parents sent you to your older sister Jean Grey to spend more time with her. However, you had no idea that one of her colleagues would also want to get to know you, but in a much deeper way.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, strong language, age gap, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), little bit of choking, unprotected sex (p i v), loss of virginity, cum play, aftercare, kinda fluff

Masterlist

“C'mon sis, don't look so grumpy” Jean said to you as you make your way to the X-men Mansion. You sigh and roll your eyes with arms firmly tangled on your chest.

“It's gonna be fun…my friend's are nice” she keep tried to ease the situation, that you're going to stay in this school for gifted for a week. It was your divorced parents stupid command, to get closer to your sister. You would rather eat a moldy banana with mayonnaise, but unfortunately, you had no other choice. Not even the banana.

When you walk in, your eyes widened as you saw the enormous place from the inside. From the outside, it looked really boring and old, so you were pretty surprised that it looked really fancy. “You're living in this?” you asked Jean and she nodded with a giggle afterwards. “Trust me, this is just the beginning” she said and you follow her through the halls.

You tried to avoid all the students passing by and you immidiately understood why it's called school for gifted. All of them were mutants. You didn't have to read everyone's minds to realize that, some of them were clearly obvious, because of their unusual physical form. Some of them looked pretty normal, but they were giving you a weird energy, not the typical one from a normal human.

“So, act nice and don't be mean 'kay?” Jean stopped at the last door on the end of the hall. You nodded annoyingly and put a fake smile, as soon as she opens the door and walked in. “Hey guys!” you peeked behind Jean and quickly scan all of the people that were in the room.

“So as I promised, I'm here to introduce my little siser!” She stepped aside to reveal you, making you anxious at all the eyes being glued to your face. You waved at them and suck your lips into a thin akward line. “So that's her!” a pretty tall man with a weird glasses on his eyes walked towards you, his hand in front of you. You claim his head and shake it, reading his mind without permission. *She's really just like her sister, beautiful* you made a disgusted face, trying to keep smilling.

“Hey, I'm Jean's boyfriend-“ “Scott Summers” you cut him off and finishing his sentence, leaving him speechless. Suddenly, you felt a painful ringing in your ears that Jean gave you as a warning. You promised her you wouldn't read these people's minds, but you can't help it, it's your natural instinct.

“How did you-“ “Don't worry about that” you cut him off, again, and quickly put a convincing smile. The next person who shake your hand was a blonde pretty girl, that looked really sweet. However, when you tried to read her mind, there was no thoughts about you, but about herself. She wasn't happy with herself, with her powers. You started feeling bad for her.

“Mystique” she smilled, even tho you knew it was fake. You wish you could help her, but this wasn't the best time and place to do that. Maybe another time. “Hey kid” a blue furry beast was approaching you and you startled by his deep voice and visage. “H-hey” you carefully grabbed his hand, which looked like a lego peace in his palm. “Hank McCoy” he had a white labotary cloak, which you inferred he was probably a scientist.

There were three other people in the room, Storm was radiating the sweetest energy. She was even worried about hurting you, when you were shaking her hand. One of the two men was a gentleman sitting in a wheelchair, who clearly informed you via telekinesis, that he could also read minds. His name was Charles Xavier, apparently he is the founder of all this. And the last but not least guy was looking pretty hot, like really fucking hot.

You felt goosebombs jumping all over your body when he walks towards you. His mischievous grin hits you right into your core, which started unexpectedly pulsating. “Hey kiddo” his deep voice tickled your ears and when you grab his enormous hand, your jaw dropped. Again, you read his mind without authorization. There was imagination of you, naked and being fucked by this man right in this room.

You flinched and released his grip. Your shocked face made that man scoff, before he leaned closer to your face. "Logan, nice to meet ya" he whispered before backing up onto his place, where he was originally standing. You were frozen, your mind was keep replaying that image of his, bended over a table that Charles was sitting behind.

You weren't even woken up by Jean's coughing, which was a clear indication that you should move. When that didn't happen, your sister decided to step in. “Alright! We should probably head away now...right sis?" Jean laugh and shake your body, when she grabbed your shoulder. You nodded, still speechless from Logan's thoughts.

"Bye! See ya later guys!" your sister led you out of the room and the moment the doors close, she tightly grabbed your arms and lower herself to your level. “Hey what's wrong with you?" you felt better now, so you finally answered her properly. "I'm fine" Jean was still firmly holding you, raising her eyebrow suspiciously. "You sure?" you nodded and gave her a fake smile, that convinced her.

Of course, she could read your mind and find out what's really going on in there, but both of you promised each other to not read each other's minds. You've honestly followed this rule since you were little, so why break it now?

“Okay, let me show you this place and then I'll help you unpack your things hm?” you nodded, not that you really have a choice, and walk beside her. However, the thought of Logan still hasn't left you. His soft hair shaped into ears of a beast, his sideburns that beautifully accentuated his face and his coffee coded eyes. God, his eyes were the second thing that stuck in your mind, after that deviant thought about you.

You were folding your clothes and putting them in the wardrobe right opposite your bed. Jean was helping you, using her mind to speed up the job. Few hours passed since you met Jean's colleagues and you still haven't stopped thinking about Logan. You didn't want to mention him in front of your sister, but your curiosity and desire got the better of you.

“So…um what exactly are Logan's powers?” There was pretty quiet silence, before Jean answered. “He has animal-keen senses, which includes healing factor and adamantium skeleton” you hummed and pursed your lips while nodding. Yoi were thinking for a second before asking again.

“So he's immortal?” “More or less... rather delayed aging, but we could easily kill him with our minds” Jean smilled while putting your shirt in the wardrobe. “Why'd you ask?” “Just curious…” surely you weren't just curious, but on the other hand you wanted to know what makes him so speacial to be on the same level as Jean. Seems like having a fury powers pays off.

“And how old is he?” your question caught your sister off guard and when the pieces fell into place, she dramatically gasp. “Do you have a crush on him?!” Fuck. Your eyes widened and you gave her a double look. “No! No I don't-“ “Look at me” Jean knows whenever you lie without using her powers, you always avoid eye contact and play with your fingers. Unfortunately, you did avoid eye contact and played with your fingers.

“I don't I just-“ “Look, I'll be honest with you, Logan is not a good guy,” you finally look into her eyes, when her voice changed into serious one. “He was hitting on me, even tho he knew damn well I was with Scott!” she threw her hands in the air, looking really frustrated while you just innocently stared at her and listen. “He's the type of guy that will use you, before he throws you away like a piece of trash” you incredulously raised your eyebrows. You tried your best to believe, that Jean was lying, but her face was dead serious.

“Really?” You squeal quietly with a disappointment in your soft voice. “Yes…” Jean sigh and came closer to you, when she notice how much that information hurt you. "I want the best for you sis and that's definitely not Logan" she grabbed your arms. "There are plenty of other handsome boys your age, who deserve you a hundred times more than he does" you nodded, even though you were refusing to trust her words. You didn't care about other boys, you cared about Logan.

"I understand, Logan's charm is irreplaceable" Jean acknowledged, making you smirk and nod in agreement. "But still…just don't fall for him 'kay?” you silently nodded, knowing that you already fell for him. You were aware that your sister was just trying to protect you and all that, because it's her responsinility, howerer, emotions cannot be controlled, neither can desire.

It was late at night, the moon was already glowing through the blinds of your room, which was lit just by a small night lamp. Your eyes were glued to small letters of your favorite book. You read word by word, line by line and paragraph by paragraph, until you turned the pages one by one. Time passed but your appetite for sleep was nowhere to be found.

You've no idea what time is it, but thanks to stars in the sky, which gave more light into your room, you deduced that it was pretty late. You naively thought that reading a book would make you tired, but that didn't happen. You didn't feel the slightest hint of tiredness as your mind was filled with thoughts of the man you were forbidden from your sister.

Every nerve in your body, every muscle wanted and still wants to feel Logan's hand like the first time, to hug him, to smell his scent, to feel him. You've probably never been so miserable like that for a man before. It's strange how much emotions can control you.

Since reading didn't help you fall asleep and you needed some sleep, there was only one possible way how to get tired. Coffee. For all the people you know, coffee gives them a boost of energy and wakes them up, but for you, it has the exact opposite effect. A good coffee with milk makes you tired, therefore you are always 100% sure that you'll fall asleep like a baby after it.

Since it was late at night, you didn't want to bother Jean to tell you the way to the common kitchen, so you quietly tiptoeed around the halls by yourself. It took you a while but your sense of direction did not fail you.

You peeked around the corner and besides a beautifully clean and cozy kitchen, you also saw Logan standing there with a beer bottle in his hand. At first, you thought you were just dreaming and already fell asleep, but it felt too real to be just a dream.

“Hey sweetheart” Logan greeted you when you caught his eye. "Hey" a quiet squeak left your lips, as were trying to find a capsule for coffee machine. “Lookin' for somethin'?” “Y-yeah a capsule…” Logan walked closer to you, leaving you breathless as the distance between you was almost immeasurable. He grinned, before his hand opens a cabin above you and handed you a capsule.

You weren't even able to say thank you when he stepped away from you. He insidiously left you full of anticipation just so he left you and don't do anything. You started to get to know his character, he likes to play with people and that's what makes him dangerous, but also so terribly charming.

You turned around and clicked the capsule into the coffee machine. You awkwardly waited for the coffee to be made, as the annoying noise echoed throughout the kitchen. You subtly glanced to the side and immediately dodged, when you noticed Logan watching you.

"Is there any reason you're getting a coffee at this hour?" he stepped forward, but leaving a fair space between. "I can't sleep" you chuckle as you realize how stupid it sounds. "And coffee helps?" you nodded and turned your head over to him. "No argument against taste" he takes a sip from his bottle, signing that his sleeping aid is beer.

You smiled before a soft exhale escaped your lips. You stared at each other and you couldn't help but read his mind. It was a view from third person. You and him in this kitchen just like now, except that you were sitting on the counter while Logan was hungrily kissing you and exploring your whole body with his hands. Your heartbeat raise and you almost melt at the image, when suddenly you went back to reality as a beeb sound from the coffee machine rang in your ears.

You subtly cleared your throat and poured coffee into the mug. But before you could turn around to get a milk from fridge, Logan overtook you. Without a blink of an eye, he was behind you and holding a cartoon milk box. "Need this?" he was standing so incredibly close, his breath was brushing your cold ears. You inhale shakily and nodded.

"Tell me when to stop" he whispered, pouring the milk into the mug already half filled with coffee. You started feeling your core pulsating, but as if that wasn't enough, his free hand touched your weist. You gasp, breath caught in your throat as his grip on your hip tightens. "Tell me when to stop" he repeated himself, his lips now touching your ear, the milk still pouring and his hand on your body slowly moved downwards.

You realize that his sentence had two meanings and wasn't just about milk. When the milk almost overflowed from the mug, he put it on the counter and finally had the opportunity to give you all his attention. Both of his hands were on you, one was going down, second up. You knew this was wrong, that you should've already stop him, but you couldn't. You wanted this, you needed this, you longed for this.

You could sense from his touch that he's being really careful and gentle, which is hardly against his nature. But he would do the sacrifice for you. One of his hand was already up your neck, hugged it lightly, so that he had you under control, while the other was getting dangerously close to your private part. Your eyes were keeping flickering, trying so hard to keep your vision clear but Logan's fingertips were leaving you breathless.

"Do you want it?" he groans, his low voice makes your pulsating faster. You nodded harshly, wanted to say something but all you could manage to do was just a quiet tiny moan. That was enough for Logan. His hand slides under your pajama shorts. He chuckle and moved his head even closer to yours, when he realized you're not wearing any panties. “Coincidence?”

Like everyone, you don't wear any underwear underneath your pajamas, because it's way more comfortable. However, you certainly didn't plan on deliberately not wearing panties, if something like this happened. However, Logan believed the version in his head, that you predicted the future and decided to not wear panties on purpose. Either way, the conclusion is the same, Logan has better access to your core.

You close your eyes and exhale softly, when you felt his cold fingers against your wet folds. "So wet, just because of me?" his rhetorical questions was turning you on even more. His dominance knew no bounds and so did his fingers, that were gently rubbing your labia. You bite your lips when he puts more pressure into his movements, trying not to look like a needy slut, even tho you were.

Everything around you started fading away, the only thing you could focus on was Logan and his fingers on your pussy. You could feel his growing dick trapped in his pants, poking your ass. Your instincts made you move your hips towards his fingers, rhythmically and without realizing provoking his dick. His breath started being cut off more frequently, you tortured him. You desperately wished you could read his mind right now, but you were too overhelmed to do so.

You lost yourself when he slowly insert his finger inside, finally making you whimper and throwing your head back, so you were leaning againts Logan's shoulder. “Oh you like that don't you?” He grinned, watching your scrunched face as he felt your throbbing arousal. His hips lightly rubbed against your ass, trying to feel some friction too.

You started seeing stars even so your eyes were tightly closed. Logan's handy finger was curling inside you, reaching that good spot you could never reach yourself. Wet juicy sound wafted through the kitchen and for a moment, you forgot where you are or what your name is.

“Good girl” he complimented you as he subtly slipped a second finger in. Stretching your walls while holding your neck tightly, showing who's in control, even though it was clear from the beginning. You were enjoying it so much, you had never felt such pleasure before. You move on your tiptoes as you felt the heat, spreading from your crotch to your whole body.

Logan's curling inside you picked up the pace, his hot breaths turned into chuckling, as he felt your clenching around him. "Come on baby" he supported you giving you a last straw. You left a load moan and cum on Logans fingers, before you relaxed and came back from your high. Your chest was moving rapidly, as you tried to catch your breath. Logan laughed and pulled his fingers out of you which he tasted and grunted. He didn't need to say anything to prove how delicious you are.

He released your neck and leaned his elbow on the counter, watching your red face. "You've never been touched before, have you?" he smirk, but before you could answer you heard a familiar coughing. You turn around and saw Jean, leaning against the doorframe. "What're you two doing here?" her arms were crossed and eyebrows furrowed. You had no idea how long she's been standing there, but you hoped not too long.

"Just talkin'" Logan saved your ass and wanted to leave the kitchen, but Jean grabbed his wrist and looked him deadly in his eyes. "Let me talk to you for a sec" she dragged him into the corridor without leaving him a choice. Jean pathetically thought she tricked you into not hearing their conversation, but she still doesn't realize how strong your telepathic powers are.

*Stay away from her* your sister angrily whispered to Logan, making you feel embarrassed, like you couldn't stand for yourself alone. *If you hurt her, I'll kill you* *Jesus calm down woman! Why should I hurt her?* You were deciding whether to leave or stay, but the second option seems better. You sip from your coffee as you were listening to Jean's confrontation. You couldn't help but think back to Logan's hand placement and even though it was just a few minutes ago, you missed it.

*If I ever see you with her again I-* *Don't worry, you won't, trust me* after that, you heard footsteps walking away. You quickly straightened up and peeked who walked first. When Logan made a quick eye contact with you, you got anxious. What if Jean really intimidated Logan and he meant all his words? But all these negative thoughts fell aside when he winked at you, before leaving your sight. You smiled and giggle under your nose, as you took another sip from your coffee.

"Fuck me sis" Jean breathed out, feeling exhausted like she just ran a marathon, even that it was just a stupid argument with Logan. You raised your eyebrows, your smile not leaving your face. "Somethin' wron-" "Are you serious?" you provoked Jean by pissing her off even more than she already was. "I told you to stay away from him" "Hmm no, you said not to fall for him and that he's a bad guy" you corrected her, keep smiling. She gave you a real nasty look that you've seen just couple of times. Now you knew you are fucked.

"Fine, I'm saying it now. Stay away from him, okay?" you wanted to pull up the fact that you are an adult so that she has nothing to command you, but you didn't want to piss her off even more. She already looked quite tired and it must've been pretty late. That's why you decided to be a good girl and submissively agree to her order. "Great...now go to sleep" satisfied with your answer, she exhaled and gave you another order to fulfill.

"Night sis" you walked past her, devilishly smiling while holding your cup of coffee with both hands. You knew that Jean was losing her temper with you, but you enjoyed it. On the way to your room, you could already feel the fatigue falling on you. But you still thought that if you didn't go get coffee, Logan's fingering would be plenty enough for a sweet sleep.

The next day went smoothly. You started smilling more, stopped being grumpy and helped with cleaning the school. All that happily surprised your sister, but she didn't complain at all. Your work was helpful. You mopped the floors, swept the dust and sorted the textbooks in a library. However, under normal circumstances, you wouldn't do these chores at all. Logan was your only and sufficient motivation.

Since the moment you woke up, you couldn't stop thinking about him. About his husky breath tickling your ear, his hand tightly holding your neck, his soft fingers curling inside you, poking your walls until you came. You couldn't stop thinking about him. Your highest record of the day was one minute, when there was uncleanable dirt on the floor and you had to go on all fours and scrub it with great force.

Your heartbeat raises whenever you met Logan in the hall, who gave you a slight smile and wink, creating a waterfall between your legs. The enthusiasm was so strong that you really volunteered to clean everything you could, even with joy. Logan brainwashed you so much without hypnotizing you in any way, he's really dangerous.

The whole day went by pretty quickly and before you blinked twice, it was dark outside again and the moonlight glittered nicely in the reflection of the flying dust. In addition to the high praise and involuntary hug from Jean, you also received recognition from Charles, which is said to be rare or something. Of course you appreciated that, but you didn't do it just for some praise. Your main intention was to meet Logan whenever and wherever you could. You were quite limited, since that order from Jean yesterday, but you always managed to throw a flirtatious smile at each other.

Just as yesterday, you were laying in your bed, reading your favorite book, which you've already read like five times. Even so, you get goosebombs all over your body, whenever you're done reading it. But today was a little different. You were already quite tired. After all, you were like a maid all day and you deserve a long rest, but your body needed something else. You need to feel Logan, at least see him, somehow interact with him. It felt like he was a part of you, of your body and without him, you wouldn't survive a day.

It was pretty late, when you checked the clock it shows an hour after midnight. All the students, including the teachers, are definitely asleep, except for you. Your sexual scenarios about Logan in your head couldn't leave you and your desire grows every second you think about him. If you could, you would have searched his room already, but the fear of Jean catching you again was bigger and kept nudging you in the back of your mind. What if she caught you durring the act? She would definitely send you back home and you can't risk that.

That's why you sigh with disappointment and decided to turn off the lamp and go to sleep, when suddenly your heard a soft knock on the door. You froze, deciding whether to go open the door or just shout from your bed. The first choice seems calmer and quieter. "Hey" you froze when you saw Logan standing in front of you. For a moment there you though his hidden power is mind reading too.

“H-hey” nervously with incomprehension in your voice you widened your eyes, that were filled with expectation. "I hope I didn't wake you up" he gave you puppy eyes that made your heart melt. Yesterday you didn't even have time to take a good look at his majestic face, which you saw properly when you met him for the first time.

"N-no I couldn't sleep anyway" you cough akwardly, your face still surprised from that shock. "Okay and um sorry to bother it's just…I ran out of toothpaste and I was wondering if I could borrow yours?" he shows you his toothbrush and empty toothpaste, looking at you through his thick eyebrows. You look down at the toothbrush, then back up into his chocolate coffee eyes, where you got lost for a moment.

“Yeah, sure come on in” you stepped aside and opened the door wider, leaving space for Logan to walk in. “Thanks, you're a life saver” you chuckle and close the door behind him. Adrenaline was starting to run through your blood at the thought of being alone with Logan in your room this late at night. If Logan could finger you in the kitchen last night, what can he do in your room now?

"Bathroom is?" "Oh right there" you pointed at the door right next to the massive wardrobe. He nodded and smiled, before disappearing in that room. You sat down on your bed, right in front of the bathroom door, staring at them, your mind filled with millions of scenarios about Logan. Was that a sign that he appeared in your room just now? Or did he do it on purpose? Or was that a fate? Those, maybe pathetic questions, filled your head together with the imaginations and your mind was a total mess by now.

You were so busy with your thoughts that you didn't realize how fast time was flying and suddenly, Logan emerged from the bathroom. You quickly shake your head and smiled at him. “Thank you” he smiled back and walk slowly towards you. Your smile fade away and your face turned into craving one. "But there's something else I need" he licked his lips, his eyes flicked from your bottom to your eyes. You knew what he was implying and you shivered with anticipation. "W-what is it?" you harshly asked, your heart beating really fast, in a moment you though it would even burst out of your chest.

“You know damn well princess” he put a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. "Read my mind" he commanded and didn't need to tell you twice to do that. You saw an image of you and Logan, in the exact same place as you are right one, just with one difference. You were sucking his dick. Your eyes widened when you went back to reality, looking deep into Logans eyes, which were black, full of lust.

"Can you do that for me darlin'?" he rubbed your cheek as you were leaning into his touch. The warm from his palm spread all over your face. A flame of fire began to form between your legs, making your core pulsating and clenching around nothing. When you pit yourself together, you nodded and grab the waistband od Logan's pants. He watched your every move, his erection already twitching with impatience.

"That's right..." he whispered, caressing your cheek and hissed, as his pants fell on the floor and the cool air touched his dick. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him in his full beauty. You've never seen this in real life, moreover, so close and so huge. The thought of him being inside your mouth or inside you excited you, but also scared you at the same time. You licked your lips as your mouth filled with saliva.

"Come on, open your mouth" Logan slides his massive hand into your hair, scratching and massaging your head. You swallowed loudly before opening your mouth and approached his tip. “Grab it” he quickly ordered before your lips even touched him. Your eyes met his, as you wrap your hand around his base, making him breathe out loudly. "That's it, now your mouth" he gently, with a little bit of strength, pushed your head closer to his penis, till his pink tip was fully covered with your wet lips.

He kept pushing you forward, hissing. "Yeah baby...that's it" you were already halfway through, his tip touching your throat already. "Now your hand" you instantly understood his short sentences. You slowly began to stroke him off, but your mouth was stiff. Logan helped you, pushing your head back and forth. Your eyes were glued on his, as you were watching him licking his lips and quietly whimpering. “Mhm good girl”

Your eyes started filling with tears as the pace of your sucking and the strength of your hand quickened. Logan was slowly losing his senses as he tried really hard to reach his climax. His hips thrusting inside your mouth, slowly at first, but gradually speeding up. Your innocent face from tears, while you had his dick in your mouth, was driving him crazy.

"Yes...yes" he clenched his teeth, the wolf look on his face makes your panties soaked. "Ohh yeah" he threw his head back, your hot mouth felt like the best pussy he ever had. He couldn't last long, few more moves of your head makes him curl his toes and dropped his jaw. "Fuck!" that was his final moan, before he emptied his balls inside you, pushing your head so far, that your nose bumped into his lower stomach.

His heavy breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the room. He gave you a soft grin, gently wiping your tears from your blushed face. "You're so beautiful" Logan grunted, making you chuckle as you lick the remains of his cum from your lips. "But I'm not done with you" he got on his knees and gave you a lustful smirk. Before you could manage to recover from previous activity, Logan held your thighs tightly, spreading them far enough to make your pussy peek through the soft fabric of your pajama shorts.

“God..." he huffed as he saw your wetness already leaking on the sheets. "You are the muse of all my wet dreams" he groans as his face was dangerously fast approaching your core. "From the moment I saw you," his hands slides under your shorts. "I wondered how you taste" without a second thought, he tore off your shorts and tossed them aside. You gasped, adrenaline racing through your body.

Logan gave you one last devilish grin, before burying his face into your pussy. You immediately throw your head back and grab his silky hair, as you bit your lips tightly. His tongue was briskly without mercy moving around your labia, sometimes gently slipped in, but he always doubted only on the surface. You tried your best to keep your moans and whimpers in quiet, but it was impossible.

"Logan" you rolled your eyes as his nose poked your sensitive clitoris, pushing you further to the edge. Your hands tugging his kitty hair, whenever he find that good spot. However, this was all just a foreplay, as the real fun began when he finally slid his tongue inside you.

Your jaw fell open and you put your head back in place as you watched Logan's face. His sideburns brushing and tickling your skin, leaving red marks. His eyes met yours, they were so dark that you could see your reflection in them. You loose it all when he smiled at you, his teeth brushing against your core. He held firmly your thighs, as your natural instinct made you move your hips to the rhythm of Logan's tongue.

His groans send pleasurable waves into your lower stomach, sending you even closer to your orgasm. His clever tongue was stretching your walls, tasting your juice and sucking your skin as much as he could. He sense that you were close, not only because of your uncontrollable moaning of his name and not only because his animal instincts sensed it, but mainly because of your clenching around his wet hot tongue.

You tried to ride on his face, to finally reach what you desired all day and what you deserve, but Logan was too malicious to indulge it to you that easily. He removed his tongue from you just a second before you'd finally release. You let out a disappointed breath, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you look at Logan.

"Not so easy princess" he climb on top of you, making you fall on the bed submissively. "I wanna feel you" he kissed you hungrily, not wasting any time and pushing his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste yourself. You immediately started cooperating, not only with your mouth but also with your hands, which you wrap around Logan's neck.

His hands were traveling through your whole body, trying to memorize every inch of you just by a touch. Soft moans left your mouth matching with Logan's impatient growls. You were relaxed until you felt something poking in your inner thigh.

Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets, when you came back to your senses. You stopped kissing him and pushed him away a little. "What?" he whispered, his eyes full of lust but his eyebrows were furrowed, confused. You hesitate for a moment, whether to tell him or not, but every time you felt his tip against your private area, you heart skipped a beat and the stress level were rising incredibly fast.

"I am um...virgin" a really quiet, almost silent whisper left your lips and your cheeks started turning red. The embarrassment and shyness raced through your blood, as you waited for Logan's reaction. He chuckled, showing his bright white teeth. "I know" you gave him a confused expression. Your mind started wondering who told him that and started suspecting Jean. "I don't need to read minds to figure that out"

Before you could recover from Logan's words, his lips were on yours again. You were relieved that he took the information in stride and you weren't so nervous anymore. It wasn't long before his hands were under your t-shirt which was gone in the blink of an eye. Likewise, Logan's shirt also ended up somewhere on the floor and your naked bodies were firmly attached to each other.

Your heart was beating, your veins were pulsing and your core was already clenching around nothing, yet. After a long make out session, Logan pulled away from you a little. His eyes looked into yours and he could feel your fear and excitement at the same time.

"I'll take care of you" his palm cupped your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. You close your eyes and nodded, trying to calm your breath down. He really gave you the sense of security that you needed the most at the moment. Logan gently kissed you, before you felt his wet tip inserting between your labia.

You squeak between the kisses, the pain started increasing as Logan pushed deeper and deeper. "It's alright it's alright" he whispered, his lips still glued to yours as his hips moved forwards. Your face tensed while trying to ignore the pain. It felt like his dick is endless and he kept pushing, leaving no room for anything else inside you. Before long, he was fully inside you. Logan waited, the kissing sound filling the silent room and your walls got expanded.

It only took a few more passionate kisses and eager touches, before you got the urge for some friction and started really slowly moving your hips. Logan smiled devilishly as his lips were still firmly fixed on yours, a low chuckle left his throat. "Oh someone is eager?" he started moving his hips too, matching your motions. At first he moved slowly and carefully, his intention wasn't to hurt you but to please you.

His pace was smooth and gentle, whenever his balls touched your ass, you whimper as much as your vocals let you. Logan tried to keep kissing you, but when his thrusting started to pick up the pace, he couldn't focus on your lips anymore.

You lost all your senses the moment Logan's tip reached your cervix and started poking into it. His eagerness to reach his orgasm took over him so much, that he lost control of his hips. He was thrusting into you as fast and hard as he could, your moans getting louder and caressing Logan's eardrums. Your room was filled with nothing but synchronized sighs, wet clapping sounds and bed creaking.

“Jesus….fuck” it was clear from Logan's choppy moans that he was on the edge. His tip was twitching inside you, every vain was about to burst and drops of sweat from his forehead fell on your naked body. He looked like a wild animal and that only added to the atmosphere. You started feeling the heat in your lower abdomen and the need to pee was increasing. Your nails dug deep into Logan's back, while he was clenching his predatory teeth.

"C'mon darlin'" he caressed your cheek a few times, wiping your tears away. He knew you were close thanks to your clenching core that sends him even faster to his orgasm. One, two and on the third hard thrust, you tensed your whole body before you completely relaxed and cum on his cock. You arched your back and moaned loudly, tears falling from your eyes. Logan was still going, desperately trying to reach his orgasm too. Your face makes it easier to finally inject everything into you and before you recovered, he pulled out and cum on your stomach.

White sticky liquid was covering your stomach, while both of you tried to catch your breath. Logan collapsed next to you, closing his eyes and gaining some energy, before he hugged you and pulled you closer to him. You automatically cooperate and laid your head on his muscular shoulder. You were quiet, your nostrils were massive as you were still trying to catch up the oxygen that you lost during the previous act.

You looked up at him, admiring his red sweaty face, which still looked majestic. It didn't take long, until Logan locked his eyes with yours and smiled, as he rubbed your arm. "What're you thinking about hm?" without realizing, your smile fades into a neutral expression. You sigh sadly and break eye contact. "I'm thinking about Jean's words..." it was quiet briefly. "What words?" you were thinking, whether to tell him the truth or not. "She told me that you just going to use me and then throw me away like a piece of garbage..." you decided to tell him the truth, even if it might affect him.

"Really? Is that what she said?" he chuckled mockingly, making you look at him again. But your disappointed and thoughtful face didn't change. Logan sensed your worry and sighs. "Read my mind" he said with a low rough voice, waiting for you to do so.

You saw yourself and Logan, sitting at a checkered blanket in the middle of the park while Logan fed you with strawberries. You giggle, but it wasn't the only vision that warmed your heart. Suddenly you were at the cinema, holding hands and while you were paying attention to the movie, Logan was mainly watching you. The next vision was in the kitchen, you baking cookies together. You also couldn't notice the small detail, that you were wearing his sweatshirt. These were enough reasons to make you blush and conjure up smile from ear to ear.

"I don't want to use you and I definitely don't want to throw you away like a piece of trash..." he pulled you even closer. "I'm serious bub" Your teeth started showing, as you couldn't stop blushing. "I really like you like a lot and uh…” you cut his speech by kissing him. It was cute but a soothing slow kiss that reassured you both, that you meant it. When you pulled out, Logan tiredly grinned and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

You just watched each other for a while, enjoying each other's presence while you were still naked and your stomach still dirty with Logan's cum. "You tried it on Jean even though she was in relationship?" you asked suspiciously. Logan chuckled and shook his head. "Yes but not anymore" "Uh huh" you jokingly agreed, making Logan furrow his eyebrows. “You don't bealive me?" "I do" you agreed provocatively.

Logan devilishly smirked and attacked you, making you laugh and giggle. After a short tickling and prodding, Logan finally stopped. "Let's get you clean up bub" he said after he noticed his semen still laying on your naked body. He picked you up like a princess and carried you to the bathroom, where you both showered with a few passionate kisses and ended up clean and fragrant under the covers.

You fell asleep in his arms, being the happiest person in the whole world at that moment.

You woke up thanks to the rays of the sun that annoyingly shines directly into your eyes. You inhale before looking up, smiling as you saw Logan's sleepy face. His hair was tousled and he smelled like home. You wanted nothing more.

However, this beautiful early morning moment was interrupted by footsteps approaching your door. You knew right away that it was Jean and before you could wake Logan, she quietly opened the door. "Good mornin'!" she whispered and smiled. You nervously smiled back, unfortunately broking your promise. You controlled her mind so that she wouldn't see Logan sleeping right next to you, naked.

It must've worked because she was still looking at you with a massive smile on her face. "I won't bother you anymore…just get ready for breakfast, then you'll go help me with books!" You grunted in annoyance before Jean finally closed the door, leaving you two finally alone.

You dropped your head and sigh. "You cunning woman" you heard a dark raspy voice next to your ear, before Logan showered you with millions of meringue kisses on your cheek. You playfully giggle, trying to push Logan away, but it was useless.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked after he finally let your face go. You nodded, giving him a questioning look that asked him the same. "Well, since I slept next to the most amazing girl in the world...I slept great" he gave you another passionate kiss, filling your stomach with butterflies.

You don't know how to say it or explain it to Jean yet, but the only thing you know 100% is that Logan fucks really good.

[rqnarok]

LINGER | 4,3k

old man!logan x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Being another mutant who survived Charles’ seizures, you are forced to live alongside Logan. The things between you and Logan goes on and off, fragile and indefinite—yet it always lingers.

TAGS AND WARNINGS: smut, mdni! mentions of blood, death, and grief (not logan), lots of angst but lots of fluff too, old man!logan x mutant!reader but unspecified mutation so it’s up to you! minor injuries, nightmares, miscommunication, kind of slow burning (?), pining, logan calls himself ‘old man’ several times, petnames, reader being called ‘kid’ by logan, unrequited love but actually requited (just angst all over…), logan howlett is bad at feelings, love confessions, virgin!reader, dirty talk, praise kink, p with little plot, fingering (f receiving), insecure!reader and insecure!logan, logan loves reader, unprotected p in v.

NOTES: not proofread! bello! ‘m not new to writing but new to writing fan fictions hehe! old man!logan is kinda my everything and this fic is kindaaaa self indulgent. listened to “linger” by the cranberries while writing this :0 feel free to send reqs and feedback to my inbox. this was mere my writing practice and my attempt to gain motivation in life. oh, sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes, eng is not my first language! hope this isn’t my first and last fic.. see u all <3 or not....:p

'Shamed what happened back in the East. 

A saying you heard but don’t know where. Even who said it. Still, you remember all of it—their cries of death, their pain, their suffering. 

A haunting vivid memory in X-Mansion, where all of your friends are lying on the ground, in pain—and you could not do anything. You just watched. In pain, too. There was a thought which you think that it was the end. You were already accepting it with open arms, welcoming your exit.

Then your mutation saved you from your fate. Your survival, at the price of grief. 

“You’re doing it again.” 

Jolted by his comment, you dart your eyes away from the road and into your lap. “Do what?” You mutter quietly, not sure if he even hears it. 

But he always does. “Never mind.” Logan sighs in the damp air. You both know it is better not to talk about what exactly happened back then. Talking is not what you two are best at either. “I asked you a question earlier, you hungry?” 

“A little, yeah. Yeah.” Your gaze sways to his driving figure: how his right hand grips the steering wheel way too tightly, how his soft blue shirt is all wrinkled, how his tired eyes look with those heavy eye bags, and the grey hairs all over his untrimmed beard. He looks worn out. But so are you.

The two of you have been doing this for God knows how long. Wandering from one place to the other with Charles in the backseat. Looking for a place to settle but not really looking for it either. It’s simply a suicide travel. 

He makes a turn towards a cheap-looking diner on your left. 

Northern Mexico. 

A place where you both decided to settle indefinitely. Alongside Charles, who lives in the abandoned smelting plant not so far away. Logan takes up a job as a limo driver in El Paso and every time you tell him you don’t want him to be so far away during the daytime, he always says: One of us has to earn the money, kid.

Kid. 

To this day, after time living together, you aren’t sure of the nature of the relationship between you and Logan. Companions? Friends? Strangers?

Well, one thing you are sure of is you are not his adopted child and he does not see you in that way, either. He sees you in the same way he sees Charles, as his responsibility. 

Before all this, you were aware of him: what he looked like, his mutation, his reputation. But you do not know him personally. You passed him once or twice in the hallways after your studies. That was it. 

All of a sudden, he’s all you have. The only other sane mutant you are fully sure, survived Charles’ seizure. Still, you two weren’t friends before and sure aren’t friends now. In this shared house, you and Logan are strangers—forced to live together on the sole base of sentimentality.

Deep down, you know there is something more. Something vulnerable, down there. Something fragile. There are moments like where-

Your thoughts are frozen by the sudden creaking sound of the front door. The sight of Logan all bloody and bruised entered your wandering vision. The book you were reading is now abandoned as you get up from the comfortable sofa. 

“W-what happened?” Rushing into him with quick movements, this is not the first time he returns all beaten up but it is still a blow to you every single time. You can’t stand the thought of losing another person in your life, even if you convince yourself that he is a mere stranger. 

His white shirt has reds in many parts, and he’s bleeding all over the house, “Some fuckin’ kids tried to mess up with the limo. F-fuck.” With the blood smeared all over his hand, he managed to get into the shared bathroom, his breath coming out short. 

“Wait!” You rushed to his figure with an aid kit in your trembling hands. He slouched forward, cursing himself. Gently, you wrap your arms around him before he falls and help him lean his back on the white tiles behind. 

He shakily opened the buttons of his shirt and you could see everything. While you grab all you need and start cleaning his wounds, he looks at you with his half-lidded eyes. The intense gaze that always makes you want to shy away from him—you are not so sure why. 

After a while, you kneel beside him and break eye contact, “Did you kill them?” you question him carefully as you tread his wounds. Not sure how he would answer tonight. 

Logan grunts when you touch one of his nasty wounds, still looking at you,  “No. But you should see them.” 

You feel uncomfortable at his reply, retreating your hands and facing the mirror, looking down at the sink, “I don’t want to see them, Logan.” At some point, as you search around for more supplies to treat his injuries that still haven’t healed by his mutation, you break down crying. Out of your realisation, you have been holding back your worries and sobs since you saw him. 

Logan, who notices this, pulls you abruptly into him and seats you on one of his thighs. “Hey, hey, why y’crying huh? Hm?” 

You hate this. You hate how you suddenly cry at the sight of him, at the reminder that this is all finite. His big calloused hand starts rubbing up and down your back, gently shushing you. You hate how he knows you all too well by now. 

“I told you to stop doing the job. I-I told you that this… this would happen. I’m always scared. I thought— ” You let out one big sob or whimper, you’re not so sure. Not when he’s cradling you in his arms like this. “You can’t heal like you used to, you can’t barely–”

“Hey, shh, pretty girl,” Pretty girl. You blush at that. “I’m here with you now, aren’t I? That’s all that matters.” He shushed you oh, so tenderly. Such a paradox could live inside a man like him. Logan forces himself to smile, “Aren’t I? Come on, feel me up.” Logan sits you up straight on his lap. 

He always does this. Giving out, you delicately place both of your hands on the sides of his face, feeling him up. He watches you brush around his greying beard while holding your waist in place, drawing circles on your skin. “There ‘ya go. I’m here.”

When you feel calm down and tired, you rest your heavy head on his shoulders, “Maybe I should take a turn going to town–” 

He cuts you off while lifting your chin, forcing you to look at him right in the eyes that you were trying so hard to dodge. Without him saying any words, you know he is saying no. Your assumption is confirmed when he shakes his head slightly, looking down at you sternly. 

“It’s just me and you, Logan.” You say meekly and defeatedly. 

“Exactly. That's why it’s gotta be me, baby.” 

Moments later, you continue mending his cuts. And moments after that, you’re both lying together on the bed. Holding each other in slumber. Your head on his chest, his hands on your back. 

Through these delicate moments, you know him. That he is not simply a stranger to you. That this means something more. 

But he does not talk about those moments. Which makes you feel like your perspective is an illusion that you made by yourself, untrue. A false memory that you created in your head because you do feel something for him. 

In the morning, you wake up alone. Logan is nowhere to be seen around the room. Only traces of his scent are left on the white sheets wrapping around your figure. 

When you open the bedroom door, there he is. Sitting on the kitchen chair, his slouched back facing you while he sips on his black coffee which he secretly hates. He likes the coffees that you frequently make for him more. You don’t know that. He never told you. 

“Logan?” you call out to him. But he didn’t budge away from reading the newspaper. As if you weren’t there at all. As if moments like last night never happened. As if it’s true that you are merely a responsibility to him. A burden, even. You hang your head low at his ignorance and retreat to your room.

Such a paradox could live inside a man like him. 

Other moments happened too. One afternoon, his phone suddenly rings while he is out visiting Charles. With all the self-control you have, you try to ignore it, ignore everything that connects to him because it upsets you. But your curiosity gets ahead of your mind and you pick his phone up. 

“Hello?” you place the thing on the side of your left ear. No sound, nothing, nada. Before you know it, you feel a presence behind you and Logan is looking down at you with that look again. 

Snatching his phone away from you, not so gently, he mutters, “How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my stuff, huh?” The way he remarks and the way he looks at you makes you feel small and embarrassed. These are the moments where he is not going to cradle you in his arms–you know that. 

Your eyes darted to the floor. The lines on the wood oak floor suddenly seemed very interesting, “I’m- Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. So I thought–” 

“You thought? What? You have the right to?” Logan cuts you off before you finish your poor excuse of explanation. “You have your own pile of shit and I have mine. Stay out of my shit. You understand?” 

Sometimes there are sparks of rage inside of you that make you gain bits of confidence, “Well, we technically live in the same place, so–” 

Though, Logan quickly dims off that spirit by not letting you finish, “Understand?”

You limit yourself to a nod in agreement because you don’t trust your voice. Confusion often fills up your body to the brim. These are the moments you hate. How he treats you differently at one time and another. You hate how he makes you so weak. You hate how he has you wrapped around his fingers. You hate that you don’t have the same effect on him. 

“It’s not your fault, darling.” Charles reasons you one time when you visit him for weekly check-ups. “That man has issues! Even after all these years, I still could not fully understand him and his... complexities.” You force your lips to quirk up a little and pretend as if you justify that, too. But you're in so deep.

Weeks after weeks, it went on like that. You, confused. Logan, indifferent all the time. You miss his touches. Was it just a game to him?

Paralyzed, the color red clouded your vision. You see bodies lying everywhere, dead bodies. The room smells like dread. With what is left, your power manages to slow down the pain that rushes in you. Protect you from the incursion. 

Here, there is no way to hide. Their cries echo through the halls. Their screams still haunt you. 

If you could have saved yourself, you could have saved them too. But you watched them die.

You watched them die. 

You watched them die. 

Inside the dark of your room, you did not realize that you had been thrashing and screaming in your sleep. The nightmare came to you again. Grief shows through in the form of tears, flowing into your cheeks as you open your eyes in fear, “I let them die, I let them die, I let them die–” 

“Sweetheart?” a voice comes from outside your room. Near but so far away.

You kept repeating those words until a figure finally came up in front of you, Logan. He calls out your name, “Hey, no, no–” Now he is touching you all over, trying to stop you from moving rapidly and hurting yourself in the process. Sitting you in front of him and making you face him. Closing your eyes for a brief second, your chest heaving up and down, you remember again and you panic, “I-I watched them die–” your voice wavers. 

“No, shh, keep those eyes open. You’re okay. I’m here.” His hands hold your face and his thumb brush off some of the hair in your wet cheeks. 

“I could’ve saved them. They were dying, they were in pain–” You cry out as the scene on that day played out again. Daunting and haunting you without your consent. Always lingering around on the back of your neck. Only one person knows what it feels like.

Logan’s eyes soften while he remembers that bitter memory too, “So were you,” His voice coaks out, soothing you, “So were you. ‘s not your responsibility.”

At this, you put your arms around his neck and grip him tightly, finally comprehending what is happening. “Calm down, baby. Logan’s here. ‘M not leaving.” He hushed you back to your senses. 

After minutes of him comforting you in silence, his eyes dart to your bleeding lips which you bite to stifle your sobs. With much surprise, Logan parts them and caresses them. Looking at them then back at your eyes, then at your lips again. Your foreheads are now touching and you find yourself nose-to-nose to him.

In your chest, your heart beats so loudly that you fear he may actually hear it. Then with that look that he gives you again, every logical thought and pride you were trying to build, collapses inside you, making you putty in his arms. As you always do. 

But tonight, something more is happening, “Logan.” You managed to call out his name in a whisper, begging for something. He feels the same way too, “I know, baby. I know.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any signs of discomfort as he starts to kiss each one of your cheeks. He tells himself repeatedly in his mind, “No, not her. Anyone but her, you dipshit. You’ll lose her if you do this.” A belief that he has been telling himself every day.

What you don’t know about Logan, after all this time, is how he is afraid that if he touches you, if he shows you his feelings, you will be gone from this world. If he cares about you, he will lose you. He is in fear that the cruel world will take you away. As it always does to people he cared.

Bad shit happens to people I care about. And he managed to hold onto this thinking and compose himself every time.

Until now. 

Your whimpers and pleads get to him–he cannot hold back anymore, he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. He peppers your face with kisses, everywhere but where you need him the most, your lips. “L-Logan…” you feel your face getting hotter every moment. “Ah, p-please–”, you greedily grind your lower body onto his thighs. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He groans while breathing all over your face, “You have no idea what I would do to you, the shit I’d do for you.” One of his hands gets under your nightgown and he succeeds in squeezing your tit. “Ah!” you squeak in surprise and quickly get embarrassed when he chuckles at the noises you make. 

When your gaze meets him, the force can no longer be stopped. What you both try to bury deep down, what you two were locking away in a box, is bolting itself abruptly. The thumps of his heart match yours. There is no going back now.

While breaking a promise, he makes a new promise to himself: that he’d protect you before all the bad shit happens. He will not let any of it get to you. 

After a brief staring contest and lingering doubts, he loses himself, mutters ‘Fuck this shit’ under his breath, and locks his lips on yours, melting you completely into his embrace. You gasp into his mouth and tighten your hug around him. His tongue finds yours sensually as he cradles your head to deepen the kiss. It was the first time he kissed you. 

“It’s just you and me, kid.” He blurted out against your mouth and you could not conceal your smile. Whatever you both were trying to suppress, it’s now roaming free in liberation. 

His mouth grins at your reaction and before he can stop himself, he confesses, “‘M sorry for how I acted these days. This old man was so fuckin’ afraid of how things would turn out.” 

You were about to say it’s okay but he continues, “But he will try his best from now on. What d’ya think? Hm?” Logan looks over at you hesitantly, afraid of what you’d reply. His ‘confession’ does sound way better in his head, when he practiced beforehand. You didn’t know that, of course. 

A giggle went out of your lips, “I think I’d like that.” you say breathlessly before kissing him again. 

Our brain is meant to be effective. It is not designed to be right at all times. Well, sometimes we are right, but we experience the wrongs more. What we thought we knew, we don’t. What we thought we didn't know–maybe we do. Especially about another person and their feelings. Similar to what you thought Logan Howlett feels. 

Following that night, things had changed between the both of you. The ‘boundaries’ separating you two are torn into pieces, in a good way. Now you are reminded by the nature of your relationship through everything. When he comes back home to you every day, when he puts his arms around you while you are cooking dinner, when he kisses the crown of your head before sleeping, when he fixes your favorite kitchen chair, and many other whens. 

Including now, when he kisses you so roughly and gently at the same time, fueled by the desire he kept while he was still stubborn back. Logan hiked up your dress until he could feel your breasts, pinching one nipple.  “Missed you– missed you so much today.” He says while kissing down between your chest and your stomach, “Missed this,” somewhere in between. You are not so sure. 

“Tell me, did you miss me too, Little Missy?” Logan, who is kneeling before, tilts his head upwards so he can see your face. You cover your blushing face, shying away from him and his question like you are used to, “You know the answer.”

He picks you up from the kitchen with one hand and puts you down on your shared bed, “Oh, you don’t wanna say it?” You shake your head in an attempt to tease him. Lying down on your back and with parted legs, you can feel his rough beard while he kisses your inner thigh. “Aight' then, we may just see it.” 

By seeing it, he means ripping your white underwear, the one you adored the most and has a pink ribbon, “Shh. I’ll buy you another one.” Logan quickly says before he can hear your protesting remarks.  

“Really liked that one... ah!” The tip of his tongue probes your entrance without much warning, lapping up and down your cunt. “See, baby? You missed me so much. She’s dripping here.” 

You feel embarrassed with how he is looking at you down there as if he is inspecting you. Unconsciously, you try to close your legs slightly. Logan does not like this as delivers a soft spank to one of your butt cheeks. “So shy all the time when it’s just your old man.”  

Now, his rough hands are gripping each one of your thighs and keeping you in place. His tongue lapped at your pussy—from your hole to your clit, circling and sucking until you can feel his beard slicked up by your juices. Whimpering, your hands desperately pull at his hair, pulling him closer and closer as if he isn’t already eating you up. 

He chuckles darkly when you whine pathetically at the movement of his one thick finger entering your wet hole. “Such a pretty pussy, baby.” He huffed and looked up at you with pure animalistic need as his fingers worked your walls, hitting that gummy spot that had you crying.

“Please! P-please—Logan. Want you inside,” This plead makes Logan stop his actions and glance up at you, questioningly. You weren’t sure about a lot of things, but you are sure about this. “‘M ready, pleaseplease…”  

Logan has been denying you his cock for who knows how long. All this time, he gets you off by his mouth, thighs, fingers, anything except his cock. He always has an excuse, “You’re not ready for me, baby.” Or “This ain’t about me, kid.” Or “My old bones are too tired today. Next time, yeah?” Each one of them frustrates you. 

Your virginity is making him hold himself back. You know this, he knows this. Deep down, he still thinks he is a filthy man who does not fully deserve you and that he is ruining you. He thinks by not penetrating you by his cock, he gains some sense of decency but he really is just unsure. Not about you, no, never. About himself. 

But when you look at him with those big eyes while sprawling yourself bare to him, how could he deny you? “Are you sure? Fuck. Can’t hold myself back anymore.” Logan takes off his crumpled white shirt, undoes his belt, and tosses them away, making a clinking sound that echoes through the room. His eyes grew dark with raw desire as he brought down his pants and fists his large cock in his hand. All while looking at you. 

“Yes! Please, please, give it to me. ‘Can take it!” You snapped with excitement and lean up, pressed a kiss to a part of his greying beard—the older man grins at your eagerness. “You’re going to be the death of me, pretty girl.” Logan lifts both of your legs and puts his mouth on your mound once more, making sure that you’re ready and you haven’t changed your mind.

Between his hunger licks on your pussy and the probes of his thick fingers, he mutters, “I fuckin’ love you.” And that statement itself makes you cry out his name and come all over his fingers and tongue, “L-Logan!”

“Atta girl.” You arch your back in a euphoric state of your orgasm. He could smell you. Every part of you. “So beautiful. Can’t believe you’re all mine.” 

He helps you remove every fabric you had on, your pretty white sundress, your bra, your socks—everything that is separating you and him. Now you and he are completely bare, “All this for your old man, huh?” He mumbles the rhetorical question into the chilly air, his hands ghosting over your perked nipples and pinching them softly, then kisses each one of them. He goes down on you again and kisses your clit one more time. 

The sight of him makes your breath caught in your throat. You swallow your spit at the look of greying bread glistening with your cum, at the sight of his thick cock springing against his stomach. “Is my baby ready for me?” You nod your head eagerly at him, assuring him that this is what you want. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself between your bodies, “Use your big girl words, darlin’” He nudges at your already wet entrance, waiting for your response, taking his time with you. 

“‘M ready..! I want this, want you.” You pamper kisses all over his face the same way when he comforts you during your nightmare. His forehead meets yours and he kisses your lips gently as a form of understanding your needs. “Hold on t’me, my sweet girl.” 

Then his tip slips inside and you gasp into his mouth, “Good girl. My good girl. You can take it.” You tighten your grip around him as he pushes himself deep inside you, “D-Doing so good, baby. Just a little more,” down to the hilt—his cock bottoms out, “There ya’ go, princess.” Logan coos at your trembling state. 

He swallows your moans with a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring the insides of your mouth. “Feel so fuckin’ good. I fuckin’ love you.” There he says it again while he pulls himself all the way out to just the tip, then all the way back in—making you throw your head upwards.

Logan growls and kisses your bare neck, leaving some marks on it but you don’t care, in fact, you want him to. “I love you too, Logan.” You utter those words to him as he rams into you, his thrusts going faster and faster as he loses himself watching you. The friction of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt is addictive, the pleasure makes the older man grunts. 

He thrusts harder, his hips slamming into home, the sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room, alongside your little ah ah ah's . 

"Cum for me, baby. Come for your old man." With one final, powerful thrust, he releases inside your tight heat, his warm seed filling you as he curses and lets his head fall onto your embrace.

"Ah!" You shudder as you clench tight around him and milk his cock. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your body giving out of control as you experience another release of the night. 

Logan lifts his head to scan over the scene before him. He had never seen anything like it and he had seen a lot of shit. Your figure is all fucked out and filled. He didn’t think anything could be more beautiful than what he has right now. And he says it again before bringing his lips into yours, “It’s just you and me.” 

You tiredly return his kiss and look at him with a soft smile, “It’s just you and me.” 

His meaningless and plain life becomes something again because of you. You are the anchor of his life and his reason not only to stay but to fight and protect. 

Logan knows there are things that can be stopped, but then there is love.

He is in so deep too. This time, the both of you willingly let it linger. It’s just you and him.

[mickyschumacher]

[FOREVER & ALWAYS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and charles have been dancing around each other for a while now. it's time to bring the theatrics to an end. or in which charles decides to cross the line of 'just friends'.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), unprotected sex (wrap your willies), teasing, titty lover!charles, fingering, not really public sex but sorta, bathroom sex, p in v, oral sex, mutual orgasms, cumming inside, reader has a vagina

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: guess who's back?? back again! yes, it's true. i have finally actually written something! (if anything blame my uni, work, and internship.) proofread-ish as per usual! hope you like it ♡︎

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

It was no secret.

There was nothing clandestine about those bluey greens eyeing you from across the room nor the discreet yet purposeful brush of your fingers when you passed each other.

The hitched breath when you felt him behind you was audible over the loud chatter and clinks of glass. You could almost see his dimpled grin from the back of your head as the cameras flashed in your eyes.

Your gaze darted to the feel of his hand grazing your arm, its linger falling into a debate, itching to find your waist. But much like your cat-and-mouse relationship, his hand remained at the border, merely hovering.

"Chérie," Charles' voice whispered in the shell of your ear. Sweetheart.

You sucked in a sharp breath, struggling to keep your eyes on the camera at hand. With your fingers clenching at the satin material of your dress, you hummed quietly in response.

"Don't panic but your dress is stuck underneath the buttons of my shirt."

"What?" Brows immediately furrowing, your head innately turned only to be nudged back by Charles. You pouted. You should’ve known the cream spaghetti dress that had been in the back of your closet and screaming to be worn would pull something like this.

You pressed your lips together and held your breath once again upon the feel of Charles’ hand on your waist. “After the photos, just walk with me and we’ll fix it, hmm?”

Your head nodded before your brain could even refuse entering such a dangerous territory. The minute of waiting for the cameras to stop flashing was torturous. The bright lights were making you sweat enough as is… and now you were playing the waiting game.

A quick ‘thank you’ slipped from Charles’ mouth, accompanied by a nose of acknowledgement as he led you away from the mob of people you couldn’t care less about.

Your heart was in a hard game of tug of war, slamming heavily against what was your chest but felt like your ears. You could feel the straps of your dress nestled underneath the buttons of his shirt, making Charles cling to your back.

You tried your best to give small smiles to the people you passed, recognising very quickly the route you had taken to fix your hair a couple minutes before the event.

A relieved sigh fell from your lips upon arriving to the bathroom, managing to hear the click of the door over your heartbeat along with the amused huff arising from Charles.

You narrowed your gaze towards the Monégasque, meeting those sparkly ocean eyes through the large mirror in the centre of the bathroom. You rested your hands on the quartz bench, stilling yourself as you felt the warmth of Charles' body radiate off of him.

"In rush?" Charles queried, moving his eyes to the side of your face. His heart skipping a beat or two as he watched the corners of your mouth rise up.

"Hardly." you quipped back, feet restlessly tapping against the marble floors.

Charles smiled softly in response, moving his hands to the back of your waist. His teeth sunk into his lips at the feel of your sharp breath. Goosebumps littered across your bare skin as his fingers grazed the nape of your neck and gently moved down. Gingerly playing with the straps of your dress, he took his time with each one, ensuring he could feel the warmth of your skin.

Very slowly you could feel the straps becoming unstuck, pulling away from the tension of his buttons. Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek, carefully watching Charles through the mirror. "Are you done?" you managed to whisper, not having even an ounce of trust in your voice.

"Yup..." Charles pursed his lips, pretending to furrow his brows as he purposefully unwinded and winded the straps around the buttons of his shirt. "... nearly."

You could feel the final strap detach itself from Charles, letting a little air roam between the both of you as he removed his hands. Almost immediately, you turned around, eyes widening at the sudden proximity. Your ears burned at the way his eyes darted across your face as though he was trying to take in every single atom of your being to memory.

Your throat felt dry. But you managed to play the amused smile. "You are such a liar," you retorted to his previous behaviour.

Charles' dimples devilishly twinkled at you. "I hardly think that's a crime. If anything, you're the criminal here," he said, hand moving to move one of your loose tresses past your ear.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and raised a brow. "Oh? Do tell. You shouldn't leave me hanging."

It was Charles' turn to suck in a sharp breath, intentionally taking a step back to let his eyes rake over you. "Well, walking in today with this dress was one thing..." he started, taking a step closer to you before he put his hands on your waist, trailing the warm skin of your back ever so softly. "And now this..." he grazed the straps of your dress.

A gentle laugh fell from his lips, the blue and green hues moving to your face. "I didn't get to tell you earlier but you look beautiful today," Charles whispered, making your skin flush a red that only he could bring out.

Curiously you watched his eyes follow his own fingers, trailing every curvature and crevice of your face, memorising the softness of your skin, every texture he could bring himself to feel. "I can't even believe you're real," he murmured, on the cusp of falling into a trance.

Charles spotted your furrowed brows and smiled. "Sometimes I think I'm living in a dream and I just... made you up."

You blinked blankly in spaced increments, unsure how to respond as your pulse quickened. There was level of mutual understanding from what he had said. You, yourself, weren't sure if Charles was real.

Whatever you had harboured for him had changed the way you lived.

How was it possible that the very world you lived in was only brighter with his presence? Even the sounds of it's functioning sounded sweeter with him. As though the world had been waiting for the very intersection of time and Charles itself to spin again.

Before Charles could even muster a response to his admissions, he felt your hand brush against his cheek moments before your warm lips met his and closed the distance between the both of you. It was brief but Charles thought that momentarily the world has stopped spinning, leaving only the both of you to exist in this continuum.

"How was that for real?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you pulled away to rest your forehead on his. Your blood rushed to the surface of your skin, dotting your body with shades of pink and red while your hands shook at your sides.

Charles' chest heaved, voice thick with emotion as he watched you close your eyes with some sort of magical fear. He breathed out slowly, thumb reaching out to tilt your chin up. Comfort filled his chest upon seeing your glittering eyes. He smiled. "Not good enough."

His hands travelled to your face with a speed unbeknownst to you, bringing his lips to yours. Your sweet fragrance was intoxicating, unwillingly infiltrating his very being but accepted with open arms.

A sigh of pleasure fell from your lips as your body began to show signs of malfunctioning: mind in a state of lavender haze, knees buckling, goosebumps littering every inch of your skin.

Your hands reached out, feeling the taut waist of Charles and bringing him closer towards you. Your mouth quirked at the feel of his teeth grazing your lips, momentarily pulling away from you as though he needed to catch a breath of air.

But Charles didn't need it that much. Not when he could elicit a shudder from the tips of your feet as his tongue delved past the soft confines of your mouth. Not when he was sure that the tightening of your hand on his shirt was going to undo him.

You felt dizzy, needing to part your lips away from him. The sounds of your breaths heaving reverberated throughout the bathroom. Charles' lips were still on you, grazing the skin of your neck as he rested his hands on your waist.

Charles' voice was hoarse, as if the words were coiled in his throat and he could only just get them out. "J'attendais de faire ça… depuis toujours." I've been waiting to do that… for forever.

You smiled softly at his words, thumb gliding over his hand. "Would it be crazy to say that I've been dreaming about this moment?"

You weren't crazy was what Charles would've said if you hadn't taken his ability to speak away from him. Charles would daydream about this. It consumed his very being. Every second that raced by, every minute that flitted by, every hour that brought the night closer... it was all you. Everything and nothing was you.

Your teeth sunk down on your swollen lips, head tilting to the side. "We should probably get back to the party," you so maturely advised only to feel Charles' grip on your waist tighten.

"I really don't want to," Charles mumbled, chin nestling into your collarbone.

A small laugh slipped past your mouth. Cheesy to say, but it was music to his ears. "Charles, it's your party. You kind of have to."

"I'd rather just sit here with you." Charles removed his chin, blue eyes planted firmly on your face as he moving your hair behind your ears. His hands fell to your arms, gently tugging them towards himself while he took comfort sitting on the marble floor. "God knows how many seconds I've missed without you. I need to make them up."

You stared at him in awe, entirely baffled at his way with words. You could only smile in return, taking his hand to sit down on his lap before they found their new resting place around your waist once again. Your own hands were no different, hanging around his neck as you held his gaze with a gentleness beyond him.

Charles closed his eyes upon feeling your fingers in his hair. He could hear your sweet voice surround him. "Well..." you started with an amused tinge to your voice, "what are we going to do in here?"

Charles peeked open an eye, a small grin forming onto his face. "I can think of a few things," he suggested with a faux innocence.

You shook your head, suppressing your smile. "Your ideas wouldn't involve anything disgraceful, would it?"

"With you?" Charles questioned, eyes twinkling with a familiar tint of mischief. His head neared yours, hovering over your lips before finding the surface of your collarbone. With a lingering kiss, he spoke, hot breath flowing past your dress and down the valley of your breasts. "Never."

A shaky breath escaped your lips, feeling Charles' teeth skimming your skin, peeling off the straps of your dress from your shoulders while his hands busied themselves with the intricacies that had gotten you into this situation in the first place.

Moving your hands out of those straps, gently you shimmied off as much of the dress as you could, letting it pool at your waist.

"Oh fuck," Charles whispered under his breath, taking in the sight of you. "Belle." he praised, moving his lips down the valley of your chest, absorbing the warmth of your skin. Beautiful.

Your lips parted, letting a soft sigh fall, hands running through Charles' brown locks. The feel of his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs made your heart race while the coolness of his rings against your searing skin made you shiver.

"Shit," you gasped as Charles' tongue found your pebbled nipple, head lolling back to push yourself into his touch. The grip of his hands on your thighs became tighter at your sounds. He took the time to circle your mounds, lathering them with every inch of himself, teeth purposely grazing to send ripples down your back.

Charles' pants felt impossibly tight, bulge pressed up against your thigh, only inches away from the burning heat between your legs. A small grin made its way onto your face, hips rocking forward.

You carefully watched the pure bliss sprawling across Charles' face as he moved away from your breasts. His hands moved from your thighs to your lower back, creeping towards your ass. Your eyes closed, feeling his clothed cock grind into your pussy, hands in his hair now firmly gripping those brown locks.

As the hairs of your body stood straight, an electric current seem to run through you. You felt dizzy again. But this time, it wasn't mind-numbing. No, you felt alive. Every sense was heightened. The soft lips of Charles' messily trying to kiss you, attempting to resist the collapse you were bringing him under as you ground into him. The sounds of your hot and heavy pants mixing together with only the pray it was covered by the music of the party. The unconscious feeling that someone could knock on the door that practically catch you was thrilling.

Charles could only just hear the moan of his own name fall from your swollen lips, lost in all the lewd sounds and desires whirling within him. He forced his eyes to open, breath falling into stutters upon the sight of you. A hum of acknowledge was all he could muster, for the fear he would entirely fall apart under you overwhelmed him.

He intently watched your lips, brows furrowed ever so slightly. Trying to understand what you were saying was proving to be difficult with this newfound lust-ridden tinnitus in his ears. But he was sure he understood you. Whether you said it backwards or in another language, the look on your face would tell him exactly what you begged.

"I need you."

Everything happened in a rush. Neither of you were quite sure how it happened nor when.

You both would remember a few glimpses: the desperation of Charles' hands trying to take off his pants, the feel of your hands on his chest, taking what felt like forever to undo the menacing buttons of his shirt, your heaving chest shuddering as his tongue found its way to the valley of your breasts yet again while he pulled off your dress, and the sparkling tint in your eyes when you found his gaze spelling out those three special words.

Charles' carefully watched your body quiver, your own eyes following his hands as they dipped between your legs, gently traversing your throbbing core. The whimper from your mouth as his finger took a stripe of your folds made him feral.

Your eyes followed his fingers, watching your arousal coat him entirely. Charles grinned, letting his dimples touch you in the right places. But his voice was nowhere near as light. "So wet. For me?" He queried with a harsh strain on his chords.

You moaned at his words, nodding as though you were hypnotised. "All for you," you responded, surprised at the rasp of your voice.

From that point out, you were simply a mess.

You had imagined what it would be like to feel Charles' fingers in you but God, it was better than anything you had ever come up with. The way his fingers pushed into your pussy, thrusting in and out at the most tantalising pace was chaotic. The occasional ghost of his thumb over your clit sent currents of pleasure so sharp it had you in shambles.

You couldn't help but buck your hips into his hands, greedy for more. And Charles was more than willing to help you fulfil that burning need. He pushed his fingers in further, making your lips part upon the feel of his cold rings against your scorching core.

"Oh fuck," you cried out, suddenly finding it almost difficult to breathe.

Again, Charles kept his eyes on you. Focused on the way your back arched for him while your body writhed at his touch. He was as insatiable as you were, moving his fingers faster, curling them at just the right spot, feeling the walls of your pussy clench around him. All the dreams he had of you gripping his cock were now beginning to flash through his mind.

You hands shot out to his arms, fingers sinking into his skin only slightly. "Charles," you mewled, "I'm going to– I..."

Fuck, you couldn't even finish a sentence. The end of the tunnel was so close... white was beginning to dot your vision, the tingling feeling sitting in your core that had been coiled up was now unwinding...

But it was your most unfortunate fate that greed had too infected the Monégasque. Any white light you had seen had reverted back, grounding you in reality.

"Charles, no, no, no... please," you begged, watching his fingers come out of your core, leaving you clenching around nothing.

Your pleas were terrifyingly turning Charles on by the second. He leaned forward, bringing his lips to quiet you with a soothing kiss. "I know," he murmured softly against your lips, voice strained more than ever. "But I really need you."

You were so caught up in your own pleasure, for a moment you had forgotten about Charles'. The entire time, his hard cock had been pressed against his stomach, standing in an angry and aching pain, pleading to be touched.

The rushed return of your lips upon his was enough to tell him to what he... what you both wanted.

Charles' hands moved to your waist, shifting you ever so gently over his cock. You watched the brush of his cock against your engorged folds send him into a state of convulsion for a second.

Christ, when was the last time Charles had felt this vulnerable? As though he was genuinely sure he couldn't last a second any longer.

"Putain." A high-pitched hiss spilled from his lips as he ground his bare cock against your pussy, savouring the pure craze he sent you by grazing his tip against your clit. Fuck.

"Cha, please, please don't tease," you whispered with your eyes closed, unsure whether you could handle this any longer.

Charles managed a soft smile, only finding himself in agreement with your words. He let out a shaky breath, aligning his length with your body. He looked up at you once again, finding your eyes now fully on him. "Tu vas bien?" Are you okay?

You smiled in return, nodding. "Perfect."

Charles grinned, keeping his eyes on you as he moved his hips, gently pushing his cock into your warm folds. His lips parted, watching you carefully adjust to the stretch he had brought. The sheer pleasure running through his spine could barely be put into words. "Chérie," he rasped, "can you take some more?"

You paused for a second, letting out a low blow at the mere sound of how needy Charles was. Slowly you nodded, head lolling back as he fully unsheathed himself into you, filling your every crevice with him.

His hips began to snap against your own, swollen lips pressed up and groaning against the skin of your neck. His cock rutted into you, feeling your walls grip him tightly as he imagined, allowing him to relieve the aching torment you had brought him under.

For a moment, in the lust haze, you wondered if anyone could hear you out there. You wondered if they could hear the obscene sounds coming from the both of you: the lost moans or the slaps of your sticky skin covered in a worked-up sweat as Charles pushed deeper into you.

Charles was also in a similar conundrum. He wondered if who else had seen you like this. And by this, he meant the blessed sight before him. The way your hair stuck your flushed cheeks, the absolute dazed look in your eyes, the angelic whimpers of need, the way your necklace shined against your skin, or the dance of your eyelashes as you looked at him... you were beautiful.

Charles' hands gripped your waist even tighter, his moans becoming more repetitive. Your ears perked at the sound of your name falling from his lips.

"I..." Charles began, voice drenched in an emotional frequency only you were tuned into. "I..." he breathed, holding your gaze.

For a mere flit of a second, you could the glassy sheen over those perfect eyes of his and you knew exactly what he meant.

"I know, Charles," You softly murmured, "Je t'aime aussi." I love you too.

With the deeper thrusts and a grazing brush over your clit, you could see those white dots again as your body began to shake. The vice grip you had on his cock told Charles everything he needed to know.

A silent gasp fell from your lips. Your surroundings began to blur, orgasm hitting you in waves, each one harder than the one before. In the midst of the flood, you could hear Charles' moans. "Tell me where to cum, please," he groaned, fastening his pace.

"Inside," you responded, only hearing a guttural moan fall from Charles' lips, his own hips stuttering to the music of your voice.

Again, you could feel him in every crevice of your pussy, but this time your walls had been painted with ropes of his warm cum spilling into you. And you clenched around him, taking every single last drop you could get.

Charles felt your body gently collapse against him, equally as tired and fucked out as him. He smiled gently, pressing a soft and exhausted kiss to your forehead, feeling you return a small kiss on his chest. "Je t'aime... pour toujours." I love you... forever.

You kept him close to you, hugging him tightly. "...et toujours. And always.

The pounding music of the party slipped past the cracks of the locked door. You spotted the clothes you had sprawled across the floor and winced. Pulling your body from Charles, you giving a cheeky smile. "So about that party..."

Charles blinked, also hearing the music. He groaned, head falling to your bare chest. "Please no."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[bonbonly]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙖𝙨𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙞𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙨 ✶ the lights, cameras and props aren't enough to hide your mistakes when you've angered a few of your associates ; this follows my hollywood!au and as always 18+, minors dni! ✶ drivers involved: carlos sainz jr., charles leclerc, max verstappen, lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, jenson button, fernando alonso, daniel ricciardo, sebastian vettel ✶ warnings: smutttt, p in v, breeding kink, slapping, cunnilingus, blowjobs, spanking hehehe

🎥 producer!carlos sainz jr.

"famed actress (y/n) (l/n) criticizes Sainz 55's production company... i'm not here to be second..." carlos reads through the headline of the front page, before throwing the newspaper at your face. you flinch and turn your head to the side, breath shaking as you continue to bounce on his cock. your arms are tied behind you with his belt, the leather bound so tight that you swear it might be cutting off circulation. your mouth is stuffed with your panties, the lovely mascara you had bought was now running down your cheek; like delicate rivers streaming across the globe as he put it. he shifts in his seat, causing you to let out a muffled cry as the tip of his cock pushes further into you. his hands are behind his head, a grin on his face as he sees you all helpless and vulnerable like this. just like when you first came to his office asking for him to make you a star.

"after everything we've been through, cariño, this is how you'll repay me? wanting to leave?" he laughs, a coldness in his voice that cuts into your skin. goosebumps trail your body as he gently blows on your hardened nipples, begging for his attention. when you pause just a bit from riding him, he rolls the newspaper and smacks your ass, sending you forward onto his chest. he won't touch you nor help you. instead he bucks his hips forward, relishing in your cries. he can hear your muffled apologies, and he merely shakes his head, "from the top, mi vida, for an award winning actress, you sure are terrible at delivering a good performance for me to enjoy. come on, make me cum before i decide to throw you out, permanently."

you roll your hips, nodding your head as you continue, your thighs burning from exertion.

🎥 actor!daniel ricciardo

"that was my scene, you know that was my scene," daniel hisses into your ear, fingers deep inside you in your trailer. you gasp out loud, gripping onto his shoulders as he continues his relentless assault, waiting for you to cum for the third time. you moan, mouth open wide as he spits into your mouth, grabbing your chin so you can stare into his eyes, "this is my big chance to get back on the big screen. i'm not letting you ruin that for me."

perhaps wanting to outperform him in front of the cameras was a mistake. you do recall seeing the cameraman flinch a bit. you did great, you always did but they could see daniel ready to pounce on you as soon as the director yelled cut. now you're in your trailer, being shoved down onto all fours. he grabs his phone and props it on the table as he slips off his shirt. "we'll see who's better now, cunt" and he brings his head down, eating you out from behind. his tongue slips into your dripping pussy with ease, smiling as you're mewling and shaking. fuck, as much as you hated him for always trying to get in your spotlight, you couldn't let this opportunity pass. you might even help him get a few more roles if he could make you squirt all over his body.

🎥 actor!max verstappen

"ok, i made my sister win those oscars, what are you going to do about it, hm?" max scoffs, leaning against the wall during the afterparty. you snarl at him, smacking him across his face.

"i would've won. i would've won all these years had you not been busy screwing me over like this," you watch him stumble backwards, your handprint blooming on his face. his expression of shock turns into one of anger and he grabs you, dragging you off to the bathroom. once inside, he bunches your dress up and bends you over the counter, laughing as he sees your pussy gaping for him. "schatje, i didn't know your pussy was this sweet, waiting so patiently... crying for me to fill you up."

you're screaming as his cock buries to the hilt inside of you, slapping your ass hard so that every time you sat down, you'd only be reminded of him. he licked his lips, bringing your back to his chest as his pace became faster, "oh fuck, maybe if you became my personal little slut, i'll try talking to the association to give you all the awards next year."

you smile at his words, "fuck... i can get behind that."

"maybe though... it's a maybe. maybe i might change my mind, and fuck this pretty pussy of yours raw, fill you with my cum again and again until the media comes to know of our future child," and despite his words, you're clenching around his cock because you always loved a little thrill in your life.

🎥 producer!lewis hamilton

"how ungrateful of a whore do you have to be?" lewis laughs, watching you on your knees as you suck his cock. you bob your head around his throbbing member, the sinful noises you have to offer fueling him as he grabs the back of your head and shoves you deeper down. "fuck, you sound gorgeous."

he can see you smile through the deed. he looks up to see your offer to switch to his production company for a year. an interesting contract, he knows you'll renew it if you're successful with him. especially if you're worshipping his cock like this. he grabs his phone, and takes a few pictures of you. he even records his cock ramming into your swollen cunt, your tits bouncing as he fucks you raw against his desk.

"rec-recording for oh!" you arch your back, cumming once more before whining as he continued to fuck you, "recording for memories?"

"you could say that," lewis grins, his thumb hovering over carlos's contract. if you were willing to go against carlos's back to contact him again and again, despite all the times he rejected your offers, then how loyal would you even be when you signed with him? you're extremely talented, though, he'd be a fool not to sign you. your cunt was also pure heaven.

🎥 actor!charles leclerc

"how inexperienced do you think i am?" charles scoffs, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. you're on set of a film with him, already getting off on bad terms because you couldn't stand the fact that this newbie was receiving more attention than you. it was a sex scene, one you signed up for because this was just normal for you. only difference was that in this makeshift room with no light at all spare an artificial moon outside the window, charles was fucking you for real. no fake socks, no skin color underwear. he had shoved those panties to the side a long time ago and rubbed your clit hard right before the director yelled action. method acting, that's what the assistants on set whispered before leaving.

"you think i don't know anything, isn't that right mon ange?" he whispers, low enough so that no sound system can pick up his words, it's only meant for you. you gulp, trying your best to make your moans seem fake. the bed's creaking beneath you, tears in your eyes with how good he's fucking you. you shake your head, words failing to come out because now you're arching your back, your nipples brushing against his chin and he smirks, taking the opportunity to lean closer and wrap his mouth around your areolas, flicking his tongue around as you're squirming underneath him.

"oh fuck!" you whisper, silently screaming to the side where the cameras cannot see you, "i cannot believe you..."

"meet me in my trailer after, i'll prove to you that i'm not just some stupid rookie with a pretty face," he nibbles at the shell of your ear, and you bite down onto his shoulder as you're cumming around his relentless cock. the poor set crew had a lot to clean up after this scene.

🎥 director!sebastian vettel

"no, no, no!" sebastian yelled out, rolling his eyes. you'd messed up the take for the 50th time. "schatz, what's going on? what's wrong with you?"

he hops off his chair and walks over to you with a frown on his face, "you usually get these in one take! are you not feeling well?" he places the back of his hand on your forehead, and you shrug your shoulders,

"just not feeling it today," and that makes his face harden. so in your trailer, he's sitting on a chair, your legs in the air as he contorts your body so that your face is against the ground, he lets the blood rush down to your pretty little head for a few seconds before pulling you back up onto his lap. clothes are long gone, he's mouthing the fat of your tits,

"i have a schedule, i have days to finish this film and if you're going to be a brat," he pauses, slapping your face gently so that you get the idea, "on your knees now. right now. you can't say your lines? make that fucking mouth useful then, du hure."

🎥retired scriptwriter!nico rosberg

"you keep coming back here, acting like i'm going to... oh fuck," nico groans out loud, watching you spread your legs out for him. you were always such a tease. even before he quit the industry, you always tried to coax him into a quickie before the ceremony would start. nico falls to his knees, crawling over to you on the bed. he grabs a pen and bites the cap off, spitting it to the distance before biting the insides of your thighs. you yelp in surprise, giggling as a hand comes to tangle in his hair and he glances up at you with hooded eyes and half a smile.

"i guess i could write a script for you," he murmurs, licking your clit rapidly as you buck your hips against his mouth. he wraps his lips around your puffy folds, tugging and sucking before writing all around your cunt and on your thighs. the feeling of the pen's tip alongside his tongue lapping up the gummy walls inside you makes you let out a wanton moan, body arching as you chase after your release. the pen dips further into your skin, the small dose of pain sending your mind into a dizzy mess he shoves the pen to the side and lets his fingers scissor inside your juicy cunt.

when you wake up the next morning with his cum leaking, you also finally see what he's written all over you: my pretty little dumb slut. you're already grabbing the pen to write all over his bare chest.

🎥 film critic!jenson button

"oh," jenson pouts mockingly as he sees you crying, "oh did my words hurt miss princess's feelings?" he grabs your jaw and tilts your head to look at him, "well too fucking bad. you want to insult my intelligence to the press? you want to see me replaced? darling, if it isn't me writing these film reviews, which other journalist's cock is going to have that cunt sinking down on them, hm?"

and before you can answer, his grip tightens, "if it isn't me, i will personally see to it that each review i write is worse than the one before, i have credibility sweetheart. you want to ruin my reputation? i can go one step further."

you knew fighting with him was pointless, but there was a bit of fun in it. up until now, it seems that he really was at his last straw with you. he throws you over his shoulder, shutting and locking the door to his office before throwing you onto his swivel chair. he rips your clothes off like a madman, a hand around your throat as he squeezes gently and soon his hard cock is sliding along your wet folds that yearn just for him to stretch you out. "i should take a photo of you right now and send it to the press. they'd love to see another dumb whore on the front pages."

"i...i'll have you photographed as well," you hiss, bucking your hips to see if his cock will finally slide inside you. he smacks his member a couple times against your cunt, loving the way you're begging for him to fill you up.

"go ahead, i have nothing left to lose. you do that, and there'll be permanent evidence of our affair. you don't do that, i'll still make sure there's evidence," and as you tilt your head in confusion, he lets out a laugh, "going to fill you up with my cum and see if a baby will put you in your place."

he fills you up in one thrust, watching the way your eyes widen as you moan out loud.

🎥 retired actor!fernando alonso

"what do you mean you no longer want to take acting lessons with me?" fernando roars, crossing his arms. his princess, his sweet girl was wanting to cut ties with him? seriously? he worked so hard to bring you to the actress that you are today, giving you all the skills and talent in the world! the reason you were so big now and praised for your performances was because of him! he helped you!

and now you wanted to leave him because some young actor named... what was it? charles? or was it max? or was it even daniel? who even knew anymore!?! but you were being wrapped around SOMEONE'S finger. no, no, this wouldn't do. your stubbornness had its limits, and he was for sure going to make you regret trying to leave him. he has you over his lap, smacking your ass as he makes you count.

every time you hiccupped and forgot to count through the tears, he makes you restart. by the time your ass is covered in his handprints and the tears are now loud sobs, he flips you over and lets you bury your face in his neck. "come on, mi princesa, you cannot leave me, after all i've done! i thought you liked our private lessons!"

"i do, i do! i'm sorry, no one treats me good as you do," you whine, kissing him. he caresses your cheek, using his thumb to wipe away your tears. he lets you show your forgiveness by letting him fuck you as much he wants for the night! you don't know how many times you've cummed, but the more he thrusts into you, the louder you wail. you feel like you're on heaven, his big hands groping your tits, slapping them as his hips snap faster and faster each time. you're screaming as you squirt all over his cock, laughing half-way through with how good you feel. you're unaware that as soon as he's done with you, he's going to pull a few strings to make sure his princess doesn't pull out another move like this again. he's your mentor after all, he's doing what's best for you!

got more ideas/requests/questions for my hollywood!au? send them in!

[millieisawriter]

Love spell... or not

javier escuella x reader

summary: javier feels drawn to the newest member of the gang - a fortune teller of mysterious background. he views your tarot cards as sinful, yet can't help his growing attraction. one drunken night solves one problem, and causes another.

part 2 javier's version

part 2 charles' version

wc: 3.8k

tw: religious guilt, mentions of sin, sex under the influence of alcohol, unprotected p in v sex, mentions of religion during sex

all pics taken from pinterest

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

You were a young girl, traveling with two sturdy horses to pull your wagon, telling fortunes from one town to another. It was a decent life, though far from honest. When the townsfolk eventually discovered you were also a sly con artist, it was your cue to pack up and move on.

It was a good business − very good, in fact. You’d warn a man that his horse might be stolen, and later, when it inevitably went missing, he’d applaud your foresight, blissfully unaware you were the one who took it. Then you’d offer to divine its location for a fee and reunite him with his stolen steed.

Were your skills just a fraud? Of course not, you had great knowledge of techniques for seeing the future, for reading people’s fate. But knowing how to manipulate fate, well, that was just good business.

One night, when you met the first man you didn’t manage to con, you also found a new way to survive.

“Good evening, mister,” you greeted your target, “are you interested in hearing what the spirits have to say to you?”

All Dutch wanted to do was go outside to take a piss, and then come back right to his table, where the rest of the gang waited. They had just arrived in this territory, and what could’ve been better of a reconnaissance than a night out at the saloon? He didn’t expect to meet you at the back of the building, leaning against the wall nonchalantly.

“I’ll pass, miss,” he replied, “goodluck trying to find someone who believes in that sort of thing.”

But you were determined to obtain his pocket watch, that you’ve noticed some time ago, having observed the group. “It works best on people who don’t. Aren’t you even a little bit curious, mister?”

Dutch considered the offer. He was a gambler at heart, after all, and he couldn’t resist a game he didn’t understand. “Alright then, miss. Let’s hear what the spirits have to say.”

You invited him upstairs, to the room you had previously paid for. It was small, lit only by a dim oil lamp, with the perfect ambiance for a tarot reading. You gestured for the man to sit at the rickety table, while you took the chair across from him.

“First of all, I’ll need a personal item of yours.” You explained convincingly, as if the rule was real. “Something close to you, something the spirits can… connect with.”

Dutch smirked, shaking his head as he reached into his coat. He pulled out the watch, exactly what you wanted, passing it to you. “Fine, but if something happens to this watch, you’ll regret it.”

You laughed softly, brushing off his subtle warning. “No need to worry. You and your watch are in good hands, mister.”

He raised an eyebrow as you tucked the watch into the top of your corset. “What are you going to do with it?”

“It has to be close to the heart.” You explained, as if the rule was sacred. “I absorb the energy of it and ask the spirits for guidance.” Your movements were graceful, but not rehearsed, you pulled your deck of tarot cards from your satchel.

It seemed like a strange practice to the man, he was no stranger to deception, he’d spent his life perfecting it, but your conviction was… well, working on him. He wasn’t even sure anymore if you were pulling a con or genuinely communicating with the supernatural.

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang remained by the table. Dutch had been gone longer than expected, which was unlike him. Especially since they didn’t even hear any gunshots, which meant their leader wasn’t starting any trouble. Odd.

“What’s takin’ him so long?” Arthur was the first to ask.

“If he’s not back in five minutes, we’re checking on him.” Javier stated, draining his drink and setting the glass down with a thunk.

Oh, how big their surprise was when Dutch had returned, but wasn’t alone. Right next to him were you. He let you finish your reading, and eventually confronted you. However, instead of punishing you for trying to trick the Dutch van der Linde, he offered you a place in the gang.

“Gentlemen,” Dutch announced, spreading his arms theatrically, “allow me to introduce a new… friend of ours. She’s got a knack for seeing opportunities where others don’t. I think she’ll be… valuable.”

You saw this as both a chance and a challenge. And you liked the idea.

Of course, Dutch wasn’t going to explain the whole situation at the saloon, where everyone could hear. On the next day, back at the camp, that was where he explained the circumstances he ran into you.

Javier had been different to you from the beginning. Everyone else was either interested in your fortune-telling skills, like Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen, or simply didn’t believe it but still respected it (or didn’t care) like Arthur or Sadie. While Javier… he wasn’t the slightest bit friendly to you.

You were mysterious, and strange. It wasn’t that you were a con, that was okay by him, everyone in the gang was a criminal. However your cards, omens, spirit-talking was what clashed with his faith. To him, you were worse than reverend Swanson, because he at least believed in God. You, on the other hand, it seemed you not only rejected God, but even spoke with the Devil.

“Sin.” Javier muttered one night as he sat by the campfire alone.

You weren’t trying to bother anyone, your target for the night was to go sleep in your wagon that was stationed next to the girls’ wagon.

“You always talk to yourself, or am I just lucky to catch you at it again?” You retorted. His fear, or whatever it was he felt, was amusing to you. It wasn’t the first time you heard Javier muttering about you, and this time you were going to confront him.

“Just speaking my mind.”

“Don’t let me interrupt your devout sermon then.” You gave a short chuckle, crossing your arms on your chest.

“You think it’s funny?” He leaned back, his back against the log. “You have no respect for anything sacred. The Devil sent you.”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “Are you afraid of me, Javier?”

“It’s not fear, bruja,” he stood up, “it’s disgust. You’ll go to Hell, don’t you care about that?”

You laughed softly, the sound infuriatingly calm in contrast to Javier’s rising fury. “If I do, I’ll meet you there. You seem awfully concerned about my soul for a man on the run for murder.”

“Stay away from me.” He barked, and you could see the muscles in his jaw twitch. “Others may trust you, but I know you’ll doom us all with your brujería.”

You watched him retreat to his tent for the night, not arguing further. There was no point. You had no problem discussing faith with people who could keep a polite conversation, maybe even understand your point of view. But Javier spoke a lot of respect for the sacred, while his hands were stained with blood.

Not everyone in the gang was like him, though. Arthur didn’t believe in God, but at the same time he didn’t completely reject the idea of some higher power looming over this cursed world. So, he didn’t mind it when you offered him a reading the other day. For him it was just something fun, like playing dominoes or poker to pass the time.

“The Lovers.” You put the last card on the table.

Arthur eyes the card, unconvinced. “Now that’s reaching. There ain’t no—”

You interrupted him. “It doesn’t have to be about love. This card can also represent loyalty, who you stand by when the time to make a choice comes, and it will come. Sooner than you might think.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle coming from his mouth. “I can take a look around any nearby town and tell you the same. New century, where there ain’t no place for people like this gang. I don’t need the cards to know that.” It was just common sense for him.

“And yet you stay,” you pointed at the previous card, the Hanging Man, “because you don’t know which way to go. You’re stuck, maybe not even because of your own choices, but because of other people’s decisions. You’re caught in the web of loyalty and circumstance, and it’s hard to see a way out.”

“Only if you were that good at reading Javier, huh?” Arthur teased, redirecting the course of the conversation after you’d hit a sensitive spot. “Don’t think nobody sees how you look at him when you’re not at each other’s throats.”

“It’s called intuition, and I am well aware of what Javier feels.” You weren’t going to deny it. “A part of him is afraid, but I can feel his energy pulling at me. Let me tell you, he’s far from disgusted, what he claims to be.”

Before Arthur could reply to this, a shadow loomed over the table. You collected your cards as your eyes traveled upwards to be met with Javier’s gaze.

The Mexican asked. “You done filling Arthur’s head with your nonsense?”

“I didn’t force him to sit here with me.” You remained calm. “It was an offer, which he accepted.”

“Are you sure you haven’t put a spell on him?” Javier’s tone was sarcastic. “You think it’s all fun and games until you end up cursing someone.”

Arthur stood up with an amused smile. “Don’t worry, Javier, if there’s Hell, I’m already going there.” He said, patting him on the back and walking away.

Javier’s eyes followed Arthur. “Doesn’t change the fact I don’t trust her!”

You knocked on the back of the deck, and shuffled the card. As you did that, your gaze stayed on Javier, knowing he was waiting for your retort. A few seconds later you pulled out the Seven of Swords, flourishing to Javier. “You don’t trust yourself, question your own intentions. When will you stop sabotaging what your heart wants?”

Javier’s expression shifted slightly. It wasn’t anger this time. It was doubt, but he masked it quickly, his gaze darkening once more. “You don’t know me, bruja.”

A faint smile appeared on your lips. “Your heart already tells me everything I need to know.”

He walked away quickly, his boots kicking up dust as he stormed off. You knew what he really felt, and he knew that too even if he hated it. And you knew, one day his feelings would come to the surface. Sooner than he expected.

It happened on the night of your first robbery with the gang. You, Karen, Sean, and Lenny had successfully robbed a stagecoach that was passing nearby. It carried money, a delivery to the nearby bank. You figured it would be easier to attack the stagecoach, than the bank.

Before the law arrived at the scene, the four of you were already back at the camp. The whole gang was in high spirits, Dutch even played music from his gramophone. It was the first time you had seen the gang so free. Bottles of whiskey and moonshine were passed around, and for the first time since joining the gang you truly felt like this is the place you belong in.

Tired from the dancing, you sat down on the log near the campfire and for a moment all you did was sit and watch the others. There was a nearly empty bottle in your hand, and the biggest smile on your face.

Karen was dancing with Sean, who was far too tipsy to keep up with her steps but tried anyway. Molly was being twirled around by Dutch, Arthur agreed to accompany Tilly for one song, and with the corner of your eye you could see Mary-Beth trying to encourage Kieran to dance with her. Even miss Grimshaw allowed herself to relax and swayed to the music with Uncle.

Then there was Javier. Standing a few feet away from the dancing bunch, leaning on Pearson’s wagon with a bottle of moonshine in hand. He happened to shift his gaze to meet yours, as if he sensed you were looking.

“You’re staring, bruja.” Javier called out to you, his voice lacking its usual bite, but still sarcastic. And, for some reason, the man walked over to you.

You finished your bottle before speaking, “Maybe I like what I see.”

He sat down right next to you, and you could swear the magnetic attraction you’d always felt was now impossible to ignore. Maybe alcohol was all the two of you needed. Maybe it was all Javier needed to finally be honest with his feelings.

He asked. “You know, it’s not that I hate you, right?” As if he didn’t think you must have been already aware.

“I know.” You hummed.

“What is it, then?”

You couldn’t give him an answer. His feelings were far away from hatred or disgust or anything of that kind, but you couldn’t be the one to teach him what he felt. It wasn’t your place to make him say things he hid from himself.

“I know it’s not fear,” he added, “I’m not scared of you.”

“Aren’t you scared I’ll curse you?” You chuckled. “You seemed pretty concerned about that.”

“Oh, please,” he snorted, his gaze briefly shifting to the ground as his mind recalled it, “I think you’ve already done that. Long ago, the first time I saw you.”

“Is that so?”

Javier nodded with a barely noticeable smile. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You just… appeared one day in our lives. Different from what we’ve known, but you didn’t even try to fit in. You simply… do. Maybe that’s a little disturbing.”

You laughed. “Ah, I thought the moonshine’s gonna make you take a liking to me.”

“I meant it in a good way,” he sat up straight, “you make me think. It worries me, because no woman did that before.”

The sounds of the gramophone, and the cheerful laughter of the others was so distant out of a sudden. Javier’s confession wasn’t anything you hadn’t at least suspected, but it made your confidence falter.

“And what do you think?” You inquired, subconsciously leaning in closer.

“I think…” Javier hesitated. When his gaze met yours, just inches away, you could really see the true conflict in his eyes. “I think I don’t know what to do about it.”

It was the first time you’d been that close. His eyes told you he was looking for a reason to pull away, even walk away from the fire, and pretend you still hate each other the next morning. But none of that happened.

Instead, your lips connected. You weren’t even sure who initiated it, both of you were equally eager. Except it wasn’t like two lovers finally admitting their feelings, no, it was as if your bickering continued without words. It was the culmination of every sharp word you said to each other, every insult thrown.

The few following seconds were a blur when Javier led you to his tent. Thankfully, no one else noticed that, and you had at least the illusion of privacy. Any words were unnecessary as you undressed each other, movements rushed and messy, as though you didn’t wanna break some kind of spell that had woven itself around the two of you.

Javier’s tent, the inside of it, was exactly how you would have imagined. His guitar resting somewhere in the corner, the tent lit just by an oil lamp that stood on a box next to Javier’s cot. And, what briefly caught your attention, was the picture of the Holy Virgin standing right next to the lamp. She was beautiful, but her eyes pierced right through you, as if she was judging.

And she had every right to judge. Javier, the man who so strictly believed in his catholic God, let himself surrender to the temptation. Maybe it was obvious all along, the Devil had sent you as a way to test Javier’s faith.

Apparently, his faith wasn’t strong enough. As your lips connected again, he pushed you back to lie down. And as he was now completely naked upon you, one thing couldn’t have gone unnoticed. From his neck hung a pendant of the Holy Virgin, now brushing your skin as the man entered you.

Each time he rolled his hips into your core, it felt like a rebellion. A silent type of a protest towards himself, and what he believed in. The pendant swung with every thrust, brushing against your skin, as if marking you with its presence.

“She’s watching,” you whispered, one hand faintly scratching Javier’s back, the other touching the pendant, “judging.” Possibly, for the first time, you felt guilty. But why? You didn’t believe in his religion.

“Mhm, I know.” Javier replied, guiding your hand away from the Holy Virgin.

The man briefly pulled out, and with one movement flipped you over onto your stomach. With no warning, he slid right back into you, his pelvis now meeting with your ass when the tip of his cock reached places it couldn’t in missionary. You arched slightly, like a cat in heat, and the pleasure mixed just perfectly with the pain of his dick hitting your cervix.

“Perdóname.” Javier whispered, but you figured he wasn’t apologizing to you, even if you couldn’t see the way his gaze flickered to the picture next to his cot.

You felt his breath on your neck, warm and uneven, as he leaned closer, his hand gripping your waist tightly, grounding himself in the physical even as his mind battled with the spiritual.

You clawed at the cot beneath you, biting your lip to stifle your own cries as his thrusts became slower but harder. If there was any trace of the Devil lurking within you, it seemed Javier was intent on driving it out, leaving nothing but the rawness of sin and surrender.

Feeling you clench around him, and the way your breath was now coming in short gasps, he knew he wouldn't last much longer himself. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you let your deliciously overwhelming orgasm flow through your body, reaching every part of it.

Just as you came down from your high, Javier pulled out with a strained groan, and no sooner you felt his warm seed across your back. Maybe it was the moment his post-nut clarity kicked in, but he wasn’t the most talkative as he cleaned you up.

He let you stay in his tent for the night. Your still tipsy mind figured it was the alcohol mixed with the sex that made him so tired. You were exhausted as well, after all. Except, falling asleep came easy to you, meanwhile Javier laid on his back, awake, for what could’ve been both half an hour or three hours.

He replayed the evening in fragments, and weighed them against the condemnation he felt. One of his hands reached to the pendant on his neck, it was around some morning hour. He hoped maybe a prayer would solve his problem. Maybe a prayer would be enough to feel peace.

“Madre Santísima, perdoname por lo que he hecho.” Javier spoke, his eyes closed as he tried to focus on how much he should regret what he had done.

Why did it have to be you? You weren’t the woman for him. A woman that believes in nothing would have been better than the woman who practices devilry. A woman who believes in nothing might have been easier to sway, to mold, to save. But you? There was no way you’d leave your magic that Javier was sure Satan had put into your hands.

Javier continued his prayer. “Perdóname por mis pecados, por dejarme llevar por la tentación de una diabla.” Maybe, after all, he was scared.

You blinked your eyes open. Though quiet, his whisper did manage to wake you up. He had no idea you could hear him, his eyes still closed as his prayer continued.

“No quiero perder mi alma. Ayúdame a resistir—”

You cleared your throat. “Seriously?”

Javier froze, his eyes opening and his gaze met yours. You were upset. There you were, letting yourself think that maybe he could warm up to you. That the night meant something to him.

You sat up. “You kill with no remorse, steal, lie, do God knows what else,” you listed with anger and disbelief, “but this − sleeping with me − is what you need to be forgiven for? This is where you draw the line?”

You huffed, attempting to leave the cot, the blanket slipping down your bare skin. The man’s hypocrisy made you feel filthy. Like sleeping with you was worse than murder to him.

His jaw clenched as he sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You don’t understand it.”

Tears burned your eyes as you put your clothes on. “Don’t act like you’re the victim. Don’t act like I dragged you into this. Like you didn’t want this as much as I did.”

Javier didn’t consider himself a victim to your seductive powers. He knew he was guilty, and maybe this made it even worse. “That’s not what I’m saying. I… I wanted you.”

“Then why the prayer?” You asked, crossing your arms on your chest for a slight illusion of comfort. “You either want me, or you think I’m the Devil.”

“It’s just…”

You interrupted him before he conjured the right words. “Do you think what we did was worse than the blood on your hands?” Your voice lowered. “Or is it just easier to feel guilty about because it doesn’t make you face the man you really are?”

That one night, or rather the morning after, proved to you something you pondered since you had met the gang. You’ve never killed, and you wondered how come these men could sleep with so many innocent souls on their conscience. Now you knew. The solution was to find something easier to feel guilty about.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. Javier was looking at you now, but not with anger. He looked at you, knowing how well you had him figured out. He was completely exposed, his wretched soul bare before your eyes.

Javier had no answer for you. He stood up, wanting to say something, but he couldn’t make up anything that didn’t sound like an excuse. For a second he hesitated, wanting to reach out and take your hand in his, but he stopped himself.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You know that, Javier? Stick to praying. Seems to be the only thing you’re good at.”

With that, you stormed outside of his tent. The morning air was refreshing, different from the suffocating air inside the tent, where Javier stayed in stunned silence.

All you wanted was to get as far from him as possible. Finding a quiet spot near the outskirts of camp, you sat down and wrapped your arms around yourself, and that was when you allowed yourself to cry.

[bunny-jpeg]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ angel eyes - max v., charles l., carlos s., lando n.,♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

to say that this was casual was an feeble attempt to lie to yourself. as you watched the men in front of you strip. booze and cigarettes passed around with you as the main star. you were growing desperate with time running out. your career felt like it was tethered by a thread. you had seen how easily they cut sargeant and you felt like you were next. your neck on the chopping block for some younger driver that the team could shape into a superstar. but unlike sargeant, you knew how to secure your place.

the men watched you as you got out of the clothes you wore to the track. the alpine shirt over your head, exposing your breasts to them. you could feel their hungry gaze on you. you felt more exposed than at any other point in your life. you were nothing more than meat to be groped and fucked. but their promises hung heavy in your mind as you took off your jeans.

if tonight goes well, then you'll have a seat next season.

carlos was the first to make a comment as charles poured him more wine. the two ferrari men chuckled between one another. you tried to look away, but max's domineering voice cut through, asking for your eyes forward. you weren't going to coward out. lando shifted in his seat and kept his eyes on the curves of your body. this was debauchery, this would be considered sinful across every church in europe. it was a sick affair and it let you running hot. you looked to max and he looked at you over the rim of his glass, he took a drink before he got up from the couch, he went over to you. a hand on the back of your head as he made you look up at him. his other thumb dragged across your bottom lip as he gazed down at you. he asked one you simple thing, are you going to behave tonight? and with everything you had in you. you nodded and said, yes sir. then you were put on your knees to get to work. in front of your audience.

a naked formula one driver kneeling in front of the top four on the track. if the press knew, if your teams knew, it would be a field day. there were many women who yearned for the company of at least one of them. but you had all four of them leering at you and as you were at max's feet, like a dog. their gazes hungry, the lust was heavy in the room along with sweat and a heat that not even the air conditioning could get rid of. heat lingered, just like the lust that pumped in your veins. even if this felt degrading, it was necessity.

max's cock wasn't the biggest out of the four of them, you'd refuse to say who was the biggest (you didn't need a fight). but as it rubbed up against your face, pre cum drooled onto your cheek before you turned to take it in your mouth. your mouth was so soft that it almost made max crumble. instead he gripped onto the back of your head and pushed his cock into the back of your throat. there were a few tears in your eyes as he started to work your mouth onto his cock. in front of an audience no less. you whimpered with your nose in max's pubic hair as he broke down your gag reflex. you clawed at his thighs before he told you, put those hands to work because i'm not doing your job for you. and without a second thought you started to rub your bare clit. the side of your hand rubbed harshly across your achy pussy. you were soaked and the sounds of your wetness could be heard as you played with yourself. which was a siren's call and the other men stroked their cocks painfully. max worked at your throat and it made you hot all over. the more you pleasured yourself the harder your sucked him off. his praise was mostly hot groans as he guided you up and down his length. he could feel the heat splash across his neck as he fucked your throat even harder. he said something to the other men, but your brain wasn't processing anything. most of the night the men spoke like you weren't in the room or that you were a piece of furniture in the corner. a toy. you continued to pleasure yourself and when max choked you on his cock as he finished, you came as well from the rush to your brain. words were spoken to him and you felt on another planet. when max took his cock out of your mouth, you coughed on the cum in your throat, some coming up across your chin.

before you could think straight once more, carlos had you by the arm. on shaky legs he got you back to the couch then pushed over the back of it. there was enough room for the (soon to not be) ferrari driver and his teammate to use your pussy and throat once more. you prayed that no one asked you questions come morning. carlos took your pussy while charles took your throat. while their cocks weren't impressive when you gazed at them briefly. but when they were shoved inside of you, your eyes rolled back a little. your toes curled as the two fucked you at the same pace. you choked on charles' cock because carlos' cock was up in your stomach. it felt like you were being squished between the two of them. you could hear the two of them talk, even exchanging short laughs and when you looked up at charles to be let in on what they were talking about. but instead charles tapped your nose and you obediently closed your eyes and let his cock hit against your throat some more. your noises were muffled as the two men fucked you feverishly. you could feel the hungry gaze on a sated max and a horny lando. the heavy panting, the soft noises, the creaking of the couch as you laid over it like a doll. you were at their service for the night. the doll of formula one, well rather a lamb the men supposed. soft to the touch, with meat so tender that the other driver's wanted to devour it. you whined a little bit as you clawed at the leather of the couch, it sticking to your sweaty body. everything about it was hot, but yet you were going to be achy come morning. regardless, you had a job to do. you arched your back and whimpered around the other's cock as you felt their paces stagger. you knew it was close for them. pleasure curled in your gut, as you orgasmed once more. it made everything hot all over. without thinking you accepted their cum. you were left over the couch when both men stopped and pulled out. charles' cum lingered in your throat as you gasped for air. your throat was painfully raw. you whimpered when carlos slapped your ass and laughed.

you swore once the ferrari drivers were done with you, lando would show you mercy. but out of all of them, lando wanted you the most. after all he was the one to proposition this entire thing. he was the first driver in your ear. he spun a narrative about how oscar might be jumping shift, but he wasn't too sure if your abilities would be useful at mclaren. and when lando saw you nervously bite your thumbnail, his tale only grew. oscar piastri wasn't going anywhere, but lando was more than happy to sink his cock into you. you ended up on the carpet once more, lando barely got a pillow under your ass before he was fucking you missionary position. he wanted to see every expression that crossed your face. you whimpered and whined, long ago losing most control over your ability to keep quiet. you felt outside your body from the sheer amount of orgasms that had been pulled from you. lando thrusted with such a fever that it left you gagging for more. you tried to find leverage on the carpet but instead got burns across your back and hands. lando loomed over you like a shadow as he kept you pinned to the pillow and therefore the floor by your hips. your legs kicked out as he rammed his cock up against your cervix. if it wasn't bruised, it would be purple by now. you'd be limping for the rest of the season because of it, because of how lando wrecked you. lando's mouth made more marks across your neck and collarbones. adding to the collection left by carlos. you looked towards the couch and found the other exhausted drivers on there. across it and down the sectional. naked, cock's leaky. but lando grabbed you by the jaw and glared down at you. he told you to keep your eyes on him. a head of jealousy showing in a situation where you were used like a rag. with a few more heavy thrusts of his hips, his cock bruising your insides as he finished inside of you. everything went blank in your brain for a moment. pleasure took you under the waves and you could only think about your heavy panting.

you didn't know how long you were laying out on the carpet. you blinked open your eyes and saw max looming over you. you noticed his cock was at full attention and leaky. some pre cum dripped off his cum and down his cock, but a little bit landed on your chin. you couldn't see his eyes, but you knew his gaze was stern. he said one thing, if you want a contract and less bruising. you have three seconds to get to the bed.

you don't know how you ended up in bed, but by morning everything felt sore. you took an extra long time in the shower and kept your jacket to your chin, no one would see the damage done last night. you'd get your contract, even from mclaren. but, sometimes it's not good to wish for things. because whichever team you pick, you're going to have three other hungry pairs of eyes on you. if you go to ferrari, max will find a way to get you over to red bull. go to williams and lando would be pulling a few more strings to get you in orange. and if they couldn't get their way with you on the track, then they'd simply have to make sure to claim your pussy as their own. eventually you'd have to pick one of them (not that you had much to say otherwise). you soon became a prize more important between the top drivers than the championship. because while trophies were nice, having their favourite driver prance around in their colours was even nicer. <3

[sydwritess]

Do You Hate Me?

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: You and Max are at an after party for the race he had just won, but he seems to be distancing himself from you. But that doesn't stop you from asking him what's up.

First Person POV

Me and Max had been friends for some time now. We first met when I started Journaling for F1, and we just clicked some how. We started hanging out together, doing what friends do. Max had just won the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix. Everything was going great. People were happy for him, his team was happy, his friends were happy, it may have been a tough weekend for others but for him it seemed to just blow by in the breeze.

Right now we were at a big, fancy restaurant, celebrating Max win, everybody was there, including his friends from other teams. There was music playing from the DJ, drinks being passed around by the bar, food being served, the works. Usually I would have avoided these things, but Max insisted I go. Which was odd seeing how he hasn't even talked to me tonight. The only full sentence he's said to me within the week was "Can you go to my after party." Of course I accepted. But now I'm regretting it.

I was sat at the corner of the bar by myself, swirling the straw that was in my drink out of boredom.

"Hi y/n." A voice said, I look over to see Charles standing there.

"Hey." I smiled.

"What are you doing over here? Shouldn't you be with Max?" He asked.

"Uh, no he's busy." I said pointing to where he was standing. He looked over.

"Oh yeah. Got to love the non stop questions right." He said sarcastically.

"I know right." I laughed.

"So how has work been for you?" He asked.

"Pretty good. Easy at least." I said.

"Is it just journaling that you do?"

"Yeah."

"What does it in tale?" He asked.

"Basically, for every race, I go around to different drivers, writing down answers to my questions, publishing them to the media, writing articles, publishing them online. Stuff like that." I paused. "So like one day I could go up to Kimi and ask him questions, then Lewis, then Max, or whoever." I said.

"Sounds easier then my job." He laughed out.

"Honestly, I think I'd love to have your job, sometimes it get's annoying, typing and writing all of the time." I smiled.

"You'd love to drive at 250 kilos, having people almost crash into every weekend?" He joked.

"I think so. I'd love to drive that fast one day. Something about the adrenaline rush." I said.

"Yeah, it is great some days." He said, holding up his glass before drinking out of it.

"Yeah, not the after part though. I couldn't imagine being all sweaty and gross." I said laughing.

"Yeah, that. That is something else." He laughed out.

"Leclerc! Picture time!" Someone yelled from the distance.

"Duty calls. Hey maybe next race you can come and interview me." He smiled.

"I definitely will." I said, he walked away. I look away from where he was walking to see Max looking straight at me, looking like he's about to strangle the person who was talking at him. I then saw him hold up a finger to the person, signaling that he needed a minute away, and started walking to me.

"Hey." He said shortly.

"Hey, how's the party?" I asked.

"It's alright, that guy back there wouldn't stop talking." He said, letting out a breathy laugh.

"I could tell."

"Max!" I heard in the distance.

"I think someone's calling you." I said. He just rolled his eyes.

"Be right back." He said, walking over to the voice that called him.

"Wow, getting more attention then Max is tonight." A voice behind me said. I turn around to see George standing there.

"Hey George." I smiled.

"How's the fellow co-worker doing tonight?" He asked, sitting down at a bar stool next to me.

"Good. Better then being home writing." I said, smiling.

"I feel you there. At least week have a break this week." He said.

"Yeah, definitely. It's got to be more of a break for you though." I said.

"Yeah, I'm even greatful for summer break." He said.

"I bet. It's got to be tiring, going place after place." I said.

"Very."

"I don't know how you guys do it. I know when I first started I was so jet lagged I didn't sleep for weeks." I said.

"Yeah, it definitely is a struggle some days." He laughed. "So, what did you think about the race today?" He asked.

"It was good. Intense, but good." I said.

"Yeah, but hey, at least you get free admission right?" He joked.

"Right, that is pretty nice." I said. Just then Max walked back over to me, standing right beside me.

"Russel." He said sharply.

"Max." George said, looking at me, then Max. "I'll be going. Hey, maybe in Monaco you can come interview me next." George said, earning a sharp look from Max as he walked away.

"What does that mean?" He asked. I just shrugged. We both sat there in silence for what seems like forever.

"What's been up with you?" I ask.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You've been distant." I stated.

"Just. Busy." He said. Clearly not good with confrontation.

"Mhm." I said, looking back at my drink, then up again. I saw Charles waving me over to where he was standing.

"Brb." I said, getting up from the chair. Max looked at me but didn't say anything as I walked away.

"Hey what's up?" I said cheerfully.

"Picture time. Ready?" he said, holding up his phone. Me and him took a bunch of selfies.

"Oh, more pictures." Lewis said, popping up behind us.

"Lewis the photobomb." Charles laughed out. The three of us took more pics.

"Hey Lewis." I said. "How's your dad doing?" I turned around to face him.

"Good surprisingly." He said smiling.

"Surprisingly."

"Oh my, let me tell you." He said, putting a hand on his hip, like a girl. "When he first saw you at the race in Japan, his jaw dropped. He hadn't seen you since you were a kid." He said laughing.

"Really?"

"Really."

"He should have said hi." I said.

"He wanted to but he thought it was going to be awkward after many years. I said 'dad, your how old, it's not awkward.' but he insisted on not saying hi." He sighed at the ned.

"Well bring him to Monaco next weekend. Drag him to say hi." I said.

"I'm going to. I'll see you around." He said, walking away.

"How do you know each other?" Charles asked.

"We grew up together." I said.

"Wait, so you are secretly like 40 some years old?" He questioned.

"No, no." I laughed. "I don't know, our families new each other. So we saw each other often and everything. He's like a brother." I said, he nodded. Then looked behind me.

"What?" He nodded his head behind me. I turn to see Max starring at us from the bar, then quickly looking away.

"Looks like he's lonely." He joked.

"Yeah. I'll go. See you." i said, waving at him before walking away. I went and sat at the bar next to Max, who had an unusual expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Seriously what's wrong. One minute your starring me down. The next your quiet." I said. He sighed, putting his hands on the bar.

"I just-" He sighed. "Can you come with me?" He asked. I nodded, we walked out of the building together. on this little balcony area, enough space for the two of us. He leaned on the railing, arms, crossed, looking over the city view.

"What's up. You've been like distancing yourself." I said, pausing my words. "Are you mad at me?" I said. He looked over at me.

"I could never be mad at you." He said quietly.

"Then what? Did I do something?" I said.

"No. It's not that... It's me." He said.

"Are you hurt?" I said, he just sighed.

"Listen. Honestly. I like you. A lot. I thought that distancing myself would make things better. But it made me realize how much I can't stand to be away from you." He said slowly. Looking me in the eyes for a sign of disagreement.

"That's why you've been distant." I said, my voice really quiet. He nodded.

"I thought, maybe you didn't like me back."

"That's why you stared me down every time I talked to someone." I said, laughing lightly.

"Yeah. I guess." He said, his face breaking into a smile. I took his hand gently, holding it.

"I like you to." I paused. Looking into his eyes. "You didn't have to hide from me." I said quietly.

"Didn't want you to think less of me." He said, looking at the ground.

"Listen. I won't think less of you." I said pulling him into a hug. He hugged back. Tighter then ever before.

"Besides, if thee Max Verstappen thinks he has to hide from me, clearly somethings up." I said laughing. He laughed to.

"So will you be my girlfriend?" He asks. Pulling away from the hug, looking me deep in the eyes.

"Of course I will." I said smiling. We hugged again. Then went inside, holding hands, ready to tell the world.

Hey loves! First F1 piece! Hope you like it! Many more pieces to come! Comment if you want to be added to the F1 tag list!

[librababe99]

Kinktober Day Six: Erik Lensherr

Erik Lensherr x Female Reader x Charles Xavier | Threesome |

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, SMUT, Threesome, Oral (M receiving), anal, p in v, cherik if you squint...

Summary: A lavish gala is being held at the x-mansion and you happen to find yourself ensnared by Erik’s possessive touch and Charle’s irresistible charm. 

wc: 2.6K

A/N: I have a feeling this will make up for day five...I think I got my groove back...enjoy!

| Day Five | | Kinktober Masterlist | | Day Seven |

The cool evening breeze kissed your bare skin as you stepped out of the car, Erik's strong hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you toward the entrance of Charles Xavier's grand estate. The mansion loomed ahead, glowing under the light of countless chandeliers, casting a warm, inviting glow into the night. This wasn't the first gala you'd attended, but tonight felt different—more charged, more intimate.

Erik's presence was grounding, yet electric. His usual intense, brooding demeanor seemed even sharper tonight, though there was a quiet anticipation beneath the surface. His gray-blue eyes swept over the guests filtering in, his posture relaxed but his grip on your waist firm, possessive.

"You look stunning tonight," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. His voice was low, a smooth rumble that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You smiled, feeling the heat of his body against yours as you leaned in just slightly. "You say that every time we go out, Erik."

His lips curved into a knowing smirk. "And yet, it’s true every time."

Inside, the gala was in full swing, the air thick with the sound of glasses clinking and the hum of polite conversation. The soft strains of classical music played in the background, though it felt distant compared to the intensity of Erik’s presence beside you. You scanned the room, your eyes landing on Charles almost immediately—his tall, imposing figure standing near the center of the grand hall, engaging in lively conversation with a group of elites. He looked regal, in a perfectly tailored suit, his sharp jawline and warm brown eyes catching the light.

He saw you first, and his face lit up, a charming smile spreading across his lips. As you and Erik approached, Charles moved through the crowd with an effortless grace, his steps confident, his presence commanding.

"Erik," Charles greeted with that familiar, easy charm, his gaze sliding to you, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. "And you must be the stunning companion Erik has been keeping from me."

The compliment sent a ripple of warmth through you, but it was the way Charles looked at you that made your pulse quicken. There was something beneath his usual friendly expression, a hint of something darker, something curious.

Charles extended his hand, and when you placed yours in his, his grip was firm but gentle, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in a way that felt far more intimate than it should have. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Erik’s hand never left your back, the touch of his fingers grazing your skin through the fabric of your dress. He smirked at Charles’ words, though there was a possessive edge to his expression, something territorial. "Charles and I go way back," Erik said, his voice deceptively casual. "It was only a matter of time before you two met."

Charles' eyes flicked to Erik, a silent conversation passing between them. It was something unspoken yet undeniable—a push and pull, a magnetic tension that seemed to ripple between them, one you felt yourself getting caught in.

Drinks were placed in your hands, the three of you retreating to a more secluded corner of the room as the conversation flowed. Charles was every bit the gracious host, his smooth voice drawing you in with every word, his attention on you so sharp it made you feel exposed and intrigued all at once. Erik stood beside you, his hand never far from your body, his gaze darker, more intense as the night wore on.

The wine flowed freely, loosening your thoughts, and soon the conversation took a deeper turn. What started as polite banter evolved into discussions of power and potential, of the complexities of desire. Erik’s fingers traced absent patterns on your skin, the heat of his touch grounding you while Charles’ words seemed to slip beneath your defenses, each syllable a tantalizing promise.

"You’ve always held back, haven’t you?" Charles’ voice was lower now, quieter, as though the question was meant for you alone. His eyes locked with yours, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "What would it feel like to let go?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of both their gazes on you, Charles’ question hanging heavy in the air. Erik’s hand slid down to your hip, his fingers squeezing just enough to remind you of his presence, of the fact that he was right there, watching.

"Charles has a way of uncovering things," Erik murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin, sending a jolt of heat down your spine. "Desires you didn’t even know were there."

Your breath hitched at the implication, your body suddenly hyper aware of how close they both were. You were standing between them now, Charles leaning in just slightly, his hand resting on the back of the velvet sofa, his chest brushing your arm. Erik stood behind you, his mouth near your neck, his scent—dark, musky—wrapping around you, making your head spin.

"And is that what you want?" you asked, your voice coming out softer, breathier than you intended.

Erik’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you back against him, his lips brushing your earlobe. "I want to see what happens when you stop holding back."

The fire in Charles’ eyes flickered darker as he stepped even closer, his hand now resting on your lower back, just beside Erik’s. "We both do," Charles whispered, his voice a sultry invitation that sent heat pooling low in your belly. "Let us show you."

The moment felt suspended in time, thick with tension, desire, and unspoken promises. You could feel the heat radiating from both of them, their bodies so close to yours that it felt like you were drowning in the sensation. Erik’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles on your hip, his breath hot against your neck. Charles’ presence was equally intoxicating—his hand sliding around to your waist, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above the line of your dress, the lightest touch that still made your knees weak.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body already responding to the proximity of their touch, to the sensual rhythm building between the three of you. Your lips parted, anticipation swirling in your chest as you glanced between them, feeling the pull of both men, their energy feeding off each other and heightening your every sense.

Erik pressed his lips against the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your breath catch. "You’re with us now," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a ripple of desire straight through you. "And we’re not letting go."

Charles, still in front of you, tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile as his hand slid further up your waist, brushing the underside of your breast. His voice dropped, smooth and commanding. "Let us take care of you."

The heat between you all was unbearable now, a fire burning just beneath the surface of your skin. Erik’s hands roamed lower, pulling you against him as his mouth moved along your neck, lips trailing fire down to your shoulder. At the same time, Charles' hand slid up to cup your jaw, his fingers grazing your lips before he leaned in, his breath fanning over your mouth.

Your heart raced as Charles whispered, his lips a breath away from yours. "Let go. Feel everything."

And then his mouth was on yours—soft at first, then more insistent, his kiss igniting something deep within you. Erik’s lips were at your throat, his hands guiding you, molding you to him as Charles deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring yours with a languid, sensual rhythm.

The two of them moved in sync, surrounding you, pulling you into their orbit, the world outside disappearing as you surrendered to the heat of their touch, the intensity of their desire.

The heat between your bodies felt unbearable now, an intensity that blurred the edges of everything except the sensations Erik and Charles were creating within you. Charles’ mouth was insistent on yours, his kiss deepening as his hand slid down the curve of your waist, fingers brushing the hem of your dress, teasing. Erik’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin at the base of your throat, sending shivers coursing through your body.

You were caught between them—Charles’ possessive kiss, Erik’s hungry touch. The air around you thickened, charged with anticipation, every brush of their hands leaving fire in its wake.

Erik’s hands found the zipper of your dress, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You’ll look even better out of this.”

With deliberate slowness, he pulled the zipper down, the cool air kissing your skin as the fabric slipped from your shoulders. His hands were rough, commanding as they slid along your bare back, pulling the dress down until it pooled at your feet. You gasped into Charles’ mouth, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but also electrified by the way they both looked at you—as if you were something they had been waiting for all night.

Charles’ lips curved into a wicked smile as he pulled back, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you standing between them, your body half-exposed, chest heaving with every breath. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice like a velvet caress. “More than I imagined.”

Erik stepped closer behind you, his chest pressed firmly against your back, his hands sliding around to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your already hardening nipples. The sensation made you arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. His mouth returned to your neck, kissing and biting along your skin as his hands explored your body, teasing, tormenting.

“Look at how she responds,” Erik growled, his voice low, filled with a dangerous edge of control. “Like she was made for us.”

Charles’ eyes darkened even further, his own desire simmering beneath the surface as he watched the way your body moved under Erik’s touch. He leaned in again, his lips brushing yours, teasing, before kissing you again, more demanding this time. His hands slid down your sides, tracing the curves of your body, his fingertips dancing over the tops of your thighs.

You were trapped in the fire between them—Erik’s roughness, Charles’ calculated seduction, the contrast making your head spin. Your mind raced, but your body surrendered, giving in to every touch, every kiss, every heated breath. The pleasure was building, coiling tight in your core, threatening to spill over as their hands roamed freely over your skin.

Erik’s grip tightened around your breasts, squeezing gently before one hand slid down between your legs, teasing the already growing heat there. His fingers brushed against you, barely touching, just enough to make you gasp in anticipation. “So wet,” he growled, his lips against your ear, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Charles’ lips left yours, his mouth moving down to your collarbone, trailing kisses lower, across your chest, his tongue flicking over one of your nipples before he took it into his mouth. The sharpness of the sensation sent a surge of pleasure through you, your hips instinctively pressing back into Erik’s growing hardness, craving more of the delicious friction.

Your mind was hazy, lost in the sensations flooding through you. Charles’ mouth moved from one breast to the other, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as Erik’s fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration between your legs, never quite giving you what you desperately craved.

“Tell us what you want,” Charles murmured against your skin, his voice vibrating through you, deep and commanding.

“Please,” you breathed, not even entirely sure what you were begging for, but needing more, needing them to push you past the edge they were keeping you on.

Erik chuckled softly, the sound low and dark as his fingers finally pressed harder, slipping between your folds, finding the sensitive spot that made you gasp sharply. “Is this what you want?” he asked, his breath hot against your ear, his voice filled with dangerous satisfaction.

You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your body trembling with need.

“Not enough,” Charles murmured against your chest, his teeth grazing your nipple before he bit down gently, sending another jolt of pleasure through you. “We need to hear you.”

“Tell us,” Erik growled, his fingers teasing you, keeping you on the edge of release but never letting you tip over.

 “I want you both.” you gasped, your voice breaking with desperation.

The words seemed to ignite something in both of them. Charles pulled back, his hands sliding down to the waistband of his trousers, his gaze locked on yours, full of lust and something even deeper. Erik’s fingers pressed harder, slipping inside you now, filling you, stretching you in a way that made your body hum with pleasure.

Charles undid his pants, his eyes never leaving yours as he freed himself, his cock making your mouth water in anticipation. He moved toward you again, pulling you down onto the plush sofa, his body hovering over yours as Erik stepped back for a moment, his hands moving to undo his own pants.

Charles leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss as he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds, teasing you, making you gasp against his mouth. “Are you ready?” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, your body trembling with need.

With one smooth thrust, Charles slid inside you, filling you completely, his cock stretching you in a way that felt perfect, almost too much but exactly what you needed. You moaned loudly, your hands gripping his shoulders as he began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

Behind you, Erik knelt on the sofa, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you back slightly to meet each of Charles’ thrusts. His cock pressed against your ass, teasing, and you felt a shiver of anticipation at the thought of both of them filling you, overwhelming you.

“Let me have her,” Erik growled, his hands squeezing your hips hard enough to leave marks. Charles smirked down at you, his eyes dark with desire as he pulled out, allowing Erik to position you on all fours, his body pressing against yours from behind.

Erik didn’t waste any time. With one rough thrust, he filled you completely, his cock thicker, harder than Charles’, the sensation making you cry out in pleasure as he took you, his hips slamming into yours with a force that left you breathless.

Charles knelt in front of you, his cock still hard, glistening with your wetness. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your lips before he pressed the tip of his cock against them, a silent invitation. You opened your mouth eagerly, taking him in as Erik continued to fuck you from behind, each thrust pushing you further toward the edge.

The sensation of both of them overwhelmed you, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, but it was exactly what you needed. You moaned around Charles’ cock, your body trembling as Erik’s rough pace quickened, his growls filling the room as he took you harder, faster, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force.

Your mind blurred, lost in the heat of the moment, in the way they claimed you, body and soul. You were theirs now, caught between them, and there was no escape. And you didn’t want one.

“Come for us,” Charles commanded, his voice smooth and dark as he thrust into your mouth. “Now.”

The order, the intensity of it all, sent you spiraling. You cried out, the orgasm hitting you like a wave, crashing through you, leaving you trembling and gasping as Erik continued to thrust into you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were shaking, spent, and completely theirs.

Taglist: @comicbookslut @lilah1020 @writingaftermidnight @nyxineiros @chaoticweirdogeek @5soscrack @dindjarins04 @superstar-lover863-blog @Therealnekomari @iloved1lfs0

[cosmicdahlias]

Christmas Across the Rio Grande

Logan Howlett x Reader

MINORS DNI

Christmas has come and you’re spending it getting drunk with an old, hardened Logan.

tags: age gap, alcohol use, drunk sex, couch sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie

sooo timeline-wise this takes place at the end of 2028. i tried to do my best research as to when caliban comes into the picture and there wasn’t much, but from what i’ve read it seems logan recruited him some time in 2029, so he will not be in this fic. sorry for posting a christmas fic a day late, i only got the idea for this two days ago 😭

Life had not been the same in months. Charles Xavier, once head and founder of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, had developed dementia, leading to frequent destructive telepathic seizures. One such seizure became known as the Westchester Incident, leaving the school destroyed, many injured, and some of your fellow mutants dead.

Having grown up in an orphanage until aging out of the system and spending the first eight years of adulthood on the streets, Charles was the closest thing you’d ever had to a father and the school was the only place that ever truly felt like home. In such a short time you had lost both. Even though Charles was still very much alive, the dementia left him a shell of his former self.

After Westchester the United States government declared Charles’ brain as a “weapon of mass destruction”, leaving you and another mutant to take him and go on the run, fleeing to an abandoned smelting plant in Mexico just across the Rio Grande.

The other mutant was the notorious Wolverine, Logan Howlett. For reasons unknown to you, his appearance had changed dramatically in the last five years. Despite not being able to age he looked like he’d gone from forty to sixty in record time.

Since escaping with you and Charles to Mexico, Logan had taken to going by “James”, his actual name, and worked as a limo driver in the border city of El Paso. He would regularly smuggle in the drugs to keep Charles’ seizures at bay.

In the days before Westchester you were never fond of Logan. He was a loner, seeming to keep everyone at arm’s length, save for those he would bed. Perhaps it was his tendencies towards promiscuity when he claimed to be in love with Jean Grey, a married woman, that irked you more than his personality.

He was passed around the mansion so frequently that from what you’d heard there were times he accidentally “double booked” himself. There was a part of you, buried somewhere deep, that harbored a resentment towards him for never seeking out your affections like he did for nearly any other adult with a pulse.

Living in close proximity since being thrust into exile with him had softened your opinions considerably. The shared trauma of losing everything and everyone had brought you two closer, as close as he would allow.

December was coming to an end. The nights were blisteringly cold and the winds only served to make them colder. The poorly insulated, run-down plant did little to protect you from the elements.

You were heading back inside from painstakingly, but successfully, attempting to medicate Charles. The heavy gales howled, making it a struggle to close the door before finally managing slam it shut. You turned around to see Logan sitting on the couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. He was wearing his typical non-work attire, a white tank top and jeans.

“He finally down?” He asked.

“For now, I swear those drugs used to knock him out for longer. He wouldn’t stop going on about Taco Bell for some reason.”

“Yeah, he uh… he does that a lot now.”

You gave a heavy sigh.

“It just sucks because it makes those moments where he acts like himself again hurt more.”

“What’d he say this time?”

“He just- I don’t know- whenever he actually says my name I know it’s him in there. Most of the time he calls me Jean, but I-“ your voice began to break “I don’t know how much more of this I can take Logan, watching his mind wither away into nothing.” You said, tears forming in your eyes.

For a moment you swore you saw a flicker of concern spread across his face.

“I’m thinking of bringing in some extra help.” He said.

“And what? We risk someone else knowing that we’re harboring a fugitive?”

“With me working that leaves you as the only one here most of the time. If god forbid something happens while I’m out and he hurts you, what then?”

You fell silent. He was right, you couldn’t keep caring for Charles alone when his seizures could be so dangerous and unpredictable. You had no rebuttal.

“Fine, but finding another mutant won’t be easy.”

“I’m well aware, but I’m done talking business, you look like you could use a drink.”

Logan extended out his bottle of whiskey, a rare invitation for you to join him. You smirked and took it.

“Look at you actually wanting to interact with someone for once.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You sat next to him on the moth-eaten couch, drinking a few shots worth from the bottle.

“Thirsty?” Logan asked with a cocked brow.

“Shut up, it’s been a long day.” You retorted, downing another shot and handing the bottle back to him.

Between the two of you the whiskey was finished within half an hour, leaving you significantly intoxicated, him slightly less so. When drunk Logan was far more open, and for the first time since Westchester you actually saw him smile. As the night progressed the two of you reminisced about life before Mexico and shared life stories you hadn’t told each other.

“A cage fighter?” You giggled.

“Yeah, went by Wolverine back then too.”

“Wow, too lazy to even try to come up with another name?” You teased as you looked down at your phone and read the time, midnight of the 25th.

“Oh shit, it’s already Christmas.” You said.

“Honestly wouldn’t have known if you didn’t say anything, the days just run together at this point.”

“No kidding, everything’s so different now.”

“… Yeah.”

A wistful silence hung in the air for a moment before you spoke.

“You know it’s hard not to miss the holidays back at the school… can’t say I miss Jean’s cooking though. I know how you felt about her, but that woman could not season food to save her life. I’m pretty sure she thought salt was too spicy.”

Logan gave a chuckle.

“Can’t disagree with you on that one.”

“I think what I miss most was seeing the kids all happy on Christmas morning, growing up in an orphanage I never got that for myself. Thanks to Bobby they always had a good snowball fight.”

“I miss that kid. Him and Rogue.”

“Kid? They were both pushing 40.” You laughed.

“They were kids when I met them and that’s always how I’ll remember them. Especially Rogue.”

“I always thought she saw you as like a father figure.”

“She definitely did, no matter how many times I told her not to.”

“I miss her so much, she was the first one other than Charles to make me feel like I belonged there. Fuck, I just miss all of them. It was only five years, but it was the best damn five years of my life, actually having something like a family.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You gave a wry smile.

“And in the end out of all of the X-Men to be stuck with of course it had to be you.” You teased, elbowing him playfully.

“You say that like it’s a joke, but you really had it in for me.”

“I mean I did, but you didn’t exactly come off as a nice guy.”

“I can be a nice guy, you just never tried to get to know me.”

“Would you have let me though?”

“Maybe.”

He looked at you in a way you’d never seen from him before, it made your heart do a backflip.

“You know, even if I wasn’t crazy about you back then I’m glad you’re here with me.” You said.

Logan raised a brow.

“Why’s that?”

“Because as much as I hate to say it, I’ve grown to like you.”

“A mistake honestly.” He chuckled.

A cold desert wind suddenly blew against dilapidated smelting plant. Frigid air crept in through the gaps in the walls, eliciting a shiver as it hit you.

“Cold?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah.“

“Alright, c’mere.”

Logan pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you. His body radiated an incredible amount of heat, a more than welcoming feeling in the bitter temperatures.

“Holy shit, you’re like a fucking furnace.” You said.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“God yes.”

His hands began to wander down to the small of your back. You traced the outline of his pecs with your fingertips. He looked at you, eyes betraying an intense desire as he cupped your cheek, coming in close.

“Merry Christmas, Logan.” You whispered as his lips met yours.

Starting slow and soft, Logan’s kisses quickly turned more passionate, a distinct hunger to them. He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You felt his hard cock press into you through his jeans. You rolled your hips against him, causing him to let out a growl. He lowered his head, kissing and gingerly biting your neck. You moaned as his teeth scraped against the soft skin.

His hands began to drift to the hem of your shirt, gathering the fabric in his fingers and slowly lifting it over your head. He unclasped your bra, sliding the straps off your arms and tossing its aside. You watched his eyes take in the curvature of your breasts.

“Good fuckin’ god, you’re perfect.” He whispered, cupping one of your breasts and circling the nipple with his thumb.

Logan’s hands fell to your hips, tugging down your jeans until they landed on the floor with your shirt. His fingers circled your clit over your panties, the thin barrier of fabric did little to keep you from turning into a whimpering mess.

“Goddam, I love those little noises.“

Logan dipped his head down to kiss your neck again, you moaned and began to grind yourself against him.

“Hmm, getting excited there, princess? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” You whimpered.

“Yeah? Let me make it feel even better for you, babygirl.”

Logan hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs. He slipped a hand between your thighs, dragging his fingers along the slit of your dripping pussy.

“So wet and worked up for me.”

Logan returned his fingers to your clit, you dug your nails into his shoulders, the feeling of direct stimulation was almost too overwhelming. It had been far too long since you were last touched like this, or even touched yourself. You weren’t going to last much longer.

“F- fuck, I’m- I’m so close.”

“There you go, that’s it. Cum for me, princess.”

Logan pulled you into a kiss with his free hand as you came undone on his fingers, the electric pulses of your orgasm surging through you.

“Oh god, Logan.” You moaned against his mouth.

Logan kissed you aggressively as your orgasm faded. He dropped his head to your breasts, peppering kisses to them as he spoke.

“God, you’re so hot when you cum. You need to see what you’re doing to me, babygirl.”

Logan’s hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it, he unzipped his jeans and freed his already throbbing cock from his boxers. Logan took your hand in his, guiding it to wrap around his shaft. You gathered beads of precum from his head, using it to lubricate the length of his cock as you stroked him.

“Fuuuck, your hand feels good, but I need that pussy. You wanna ride me, princess?”

You nodded.

“That’s my good girl.”

You shifted yourself to hover just above is cock, sinking down onto him, barely taking more than his head before wincing as you felt his massive girth stretch you wide.

“You alright?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah, just been a while. Not used to one this big either.”

“Then take it slow, princess. Don’t rush it.”

You continued to lower yourself onto his cock, following his instructions to go slow. A small shudder escaped his lips.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

You reached the hilt of his shaft, feeling him throb inside you as you began to lift and drop your hips.

“Attagirl, just like that. Nice and easy.” Logan said, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Christ, living with you was starting to drive me crazy. I could barely take seeing you in the summer, your ass in those little shorts. You don’t know how many times I had to jerk off because of you.”

You blushed and whimpered at the thought of Logan getting so worked up over you.

“Hmm, you like that, babygirl? You like knowing you made this old man stroke his fat fuckin’ cock to you?” He grunted as he grabbed your hips, thrusting up into you.

You nodded.

“Use your words, princess.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

You moved yourself up and down on his cock, sliding him all the way out until only the head remained before taking his full length back deep inside you. Logan’s eyes wandered over every inch of body. His hand moved to one of your breasts.

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of these tits, and this ass.” He growled.

He raised his hand and brought it down sharply on your ass, eliciting a yelp.

“Sorry, princess, couldn’t help myself.”

“N- no it’s okay, I like it.”

“Oh? You like it rough, huh?”

“Y- yeah.”

“Well, guess I gotta fuck you senseless then.”

In one swift motion Logan grabbed you by the waist, picking you up and throwing you down onto the couch on your back with him on top of you. You barely had a second to adjust to the new position before he forced every inch of himself inside you. He pinned your wrists above your head as he fucked you with a punishing speed.

“How’s that feel? Am I rough enough for you, princess?”

“Y- yeah. F- feels so good.”

“Attagirl.”

Logan’s breathing hitched, his hips stuttering.

“Christ, that tight little pussy’s gonna make me fuckin’ cum. Where do you want it, babygirl?” Logan panted.

“In me, I need you to cum in me. Please.” You whined.

“Jesus, I know you’re not on the pill, but keep begging like that and I’ll have to knock you up.”

“Oh god, please. I don’t care if we’re unprotected. I need it, fucking breed me.” You pleaded.

Your words ignited something within him. He thrusted furiously into you at a blinding pace, his breathing becoming ragged and heavy. He leaned down and sank his teeth into your neck and gave a loud growl, slamming the full length of his cock inside you as he came hot, thick ropes deep in you.

Logan gave a last few thrusts, his breathing beginning to settle. He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Jesus Christ, princess, it’s been way too damn long since someone’s made me feel that good. I hope you know this is not a one time thing, you’re fuckin’ mine now.”

You laced your fingers in his salt and pepper hair, kissing him passionately. He pulled out and you moved to dress yourself, but were interrupted by him grabbing your waist.

“No princess, you’re staying with me.”

He picked you up and carried you to his room, setting you down on the bed. He laid next to you, pulling you to him with your head against his chest. Between the exhaustion of the day and the warmth radiating from Logan, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. He kissed the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep.

[joelsgoldrush]

➽ summary: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

➽ word count: 12.4k words

➽ warnings/tags: mdni smut 18+ angst. fluff. feels. enemies to lovers. petnames. multiple focalizors/POVs. memory loss. x1 logan. mutant!reader. flashbacks. dirty talk. oral (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. unprotected p in v. missionary. doggy. creampie. cum swallowing.

➽ a/n: inspired by “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, one of the most hauntingly beautiful (and life-changing) films ever made. i took some creative liberties when it came to charles' powers, so just follow along. i’d love to know your thoughts on this one, hope you like it as much as i do! <3

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

Alexander Pope.

Logan thinks Jean is speaking to him, but her words dissolve into fragments, lost before they reach him. Her reddish lips shape the vowels and consonants with precision, yet the meaning is drowned out by the pulse in his ears. She’s agitated, her long strides barely matching his pace, heels striking the wooden floor in a staccato rhythm.

A few children peek their heads out from their rooms, curiosity tugging at their expressions as the tension unravels in the hallway. Had it always stretched this far into eternity? It feels as though he’s been walking it for centuries now.

If Jean Grey is the embodiment of grace and intellect, then Logan carries the weight of all the world’s stubbornness. It clings to him like a birthright. Defying her beliefs—or anyone’s—is as instinctual as breathing. She’s trying to dissuade him, to talk him out of this reckless act: asking Charles to meddle in what she’s called his personal issues. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on the steady cadence of his steps toward the man’s office, each one heavier with purpose.

Jean’s voice grows sharper, her warnings echoing in his mind. This is a mistake. You’ll regret it. You’ll want to undo it. Don’t be stupid, Logan. Don’t do this to her—don’t do this to yourself.

But her protests are futile. The cards have already been laid out. Only meters from the door, he comes to a sudden halt. Jean, caught mid-stride, almost stumbles into his back. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers across her face. Maybe, just maybe, she’s convinced him to reconsider. A tentative smile begins to form on her lips, until he turns to her with a look so unyielding, it steals the breath from her lungs.

She has never seen him like this. This resolute, this… haunted. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed so tightly it seems etched in stone. There’s no trace of relief or satisfaction in his expression. Only the grim determination of a man about to pass a point of no return.

Why is he doing this? Soon, there will be hands prying into his thoughts, a marauder pulling apart his memories. Think about her. Now think about this moment. What do you remember? Each memory bearing your name, inked into his unconscious, will be inspected, cataloged, and then erased.

A mind already scarred will be stripped even further, the void swallowing everything. It has to come from a place of self-loathing, he thinks, because no reasonable explanation suffices. Perhaps he’s always been this broken, this damaged, and it was only a matter of time before he sought refuge in the very solution that had once been his calvary.

“I’ve made my choice,” he says with a tilt of his head which aims to deliver a tacit message: stay back. Don’t follow me. I have to do this. I need to.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks to himself, to willingly want to forget, to crave oblivion. To stop caring.

His fist hovers over the door, but he doesn’t have to knock. Charles’s been waiting for him. His voice resonates behind Logan’s eyelids, calm and inescapable. Come in.

“Coward.”

That’s the last thing he hears before he steps into the office, leaving her behind.

The first time you saw him, he was a contained storm, seconds away from coming undone in front of a rather small audience. Hardly the most convenient introduction.

You were in Charles’ office, attending one of his Physics lessons—not because you needed to. He’d already taught you these principles long ago, in a different time, under different circumstances. But lately, Charles had been trying to delegate some of his responsibilities, hoping to carve out time for the pressing matters that demanded his full attention. Ever the sweetheart, you’d offered to help, stepping in to take over this class.

Which is why you spent those past few weeks studying him—not just his teaching style, but the way he presented the topics: the analogies he drew, the subtle inflections in his tone. You’d promised yourself perfection, committed to live up to his standard, and that was exactly what you were working toward.

The sound of a door slamming shattered the flow of the lesson. A man burst into the room as though escaping from some unseen predator, shutting the door with a loud, final thud. He didn’t turn to face you. Instead, he lingered by the door, chest pressed against it, his ragged breathing filling the silence. The students abandoned whatever fragments of attention they had left for the class—this new stranger was far more compelling.

And, truthfully, he’d caught your attention, too.

You hesitated, fists clenching slightly at your sides, bracing for something you couldn’t name. A familiar voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you: This is the man I’ve been telling you about.

Apparently, this was Logan Howlett in the flesh. You certainly didn’t expect Charles’ newest recruit to look like this. 

“Good morning, Logan,” Charles greeted him when the man finally spun around. From this distance, you could see the tension carved into his features, the crease in his forehead betraying his distress. Charles, still composed, redirected his focus to the students. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk on Wednesday, all right? That’ll be all.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, gathering their belongings in a flurry of notebooks and murmured goodbyes, barely sparing you a glance as they shuffled out. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, but your attention was drawn elsewhere. Logan was looking at you—or rather, through you—with a gaze that felt assessing. You never quite met his eye.

He stood there barefoot, dressed only in a sweater and sweatpants, his breath still uneven. Disoriented. His eyes swept across the room, his expression distant yet guarded, as though he was questioning the reality of it all. Considering the way he carried himself, it almost seemed like this was his first encounter with other mutants—but you knew better.

At some point, Charles decided to break the tension. “I’m Charles Xavier,” he began, his tone inviting. “Would you like some breakfast?”

But, of course, his cordiality and kindness were dismissed, being met with a gruff, “Where am I?”

“Westchester, New York,” Charles replied evenly, maneuvering his wheelchair closer. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

You hadn’t been part of the mission that led to this moment; that had been Scott and Storm. In fact, you hadn’t even met Logan or the girl they’d brought with him—Rogue, as you later learned. Although at the time, rooted in the aftermath, you stepped forward, bridging the distance between yourself and Logan. You extended a hand toward him, offering your name with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The gesture lingered awkwardly in the air, refusing even the pretense of acknowledgment. His eyes locked on yours, piercing and unrelenting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was his way of dissecting you. Then his gaze shifted back to Charles, impatience dripping from every word he uttered. “I don’t need medical attention. Where’s the girl?”

Oh. So that’s how he wants to play this. You withdrew your hand, doing your best to mask the sting of rejection as you pivoted on your heels and returned to your place beside Charles. “Jerk,” you muttered, low enough that it almost drowned beneath your breath, fussing with your sleeves in a vain effort to seem unaffected.

He didn’t miss it. His expression hardened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Come again?”

To end the exchange right there, Charles cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation into a different direction. Seizing the opportunity, he wheeled himself closer to the brown-haired man, his composure intact. What you admired about him was his self-control, something you’d tried to master in the years spent under his guidance without success. Yet, you couldn’t fathom how he managed not to tell Logan to just fuck off. “About Rogue, she’s doing fine.”

Logan arched a brow, his sneer cutting through the air like a blade. “Really?” You couldn’t grasp how he could hold so much bitterness toward a person he barely knew. His voice was thick with condescension, and a dozen sharp retorts swirled in your mind, each one eager to escape your lips. Your mouth parted to respond on Charles’ behalf, but he beat you to it.

“You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the dense air. Even the act of breathing felt strained, a soundless tug-of-war for the air around you. “You do know you’re not the only one with gifts, don’t you?”

“Is that what you tell those kids?” Logan’s scoff was a window into his beliefs. “That they have gifts?” 

“It’s no more than the truth.”

“Yeah? Truth my ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words escaped you before you could stop them, fury flaring in your chest. You stepped forward, the crackling heat of frustration coursing through your veins, ending in your fingertips. His blank stare only fanned the flames. “We took you in. We saved your life. How about showing a little fucking gratitude?”

Logan advanced, and his eyes bored into yours with a stinging glint of smugness. “I don’t remember asking to be saved.”

Your jaw tightened. You could’ve cracked a tooth as well. “Well, the least you can do is not act like a complete prick.”

A hand encircled your wrist, its grip firm but soothing. Charles’ touch anchored you, grounding you back in the moment. Your breath faltered, tearing your gaze away from Logan’s eyes to meet Charles’ calm expression.

“Don’t be so hard on our guest, my dear,” he murmured, as if the hostility in the room didn’t exist. It could’ve also been that he was too practiced at disarming it. He didn’t bother to glance at Logan, speaking as though the man was just a shadow. “Give him some time. He needs it.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you bowed your head. You sidestepped Logan without another word, avoiding his presence like he was a flame that threatened to scorch. The tension clung to your skin, and you flung the room.

From that day on, Logan becomes the only subject you seem capable of discussing.

It’s everything about him—his walk, his voice, the sheer audacity of his existence—that drives you to the brink of madness. You tell yourself to let it go, to not let it eat away at you, but your mind refuses to cooperate. Each day, it does a stellar job of reminding you that you now share the same roof as a man with forks for hands.

Logan is, undeniably, the source of your every frustration.

“He’s an idiot,” you grumble around a bite of your lunch, settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen. Scott, Ororo, and Jean are gathered around the table with you, savoring a rare break before the afternoon classes pull them back into their routines. “I can confirm it.”

“Trust me, we know,” Ororo snaps, her tone more cutting than you expected. The words catch you off guard, and you pause, napkin halfway to your lips, to lift your eyebrows in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice softening just a fraction, “but could you please talk about something else? It’s been Logan this, Logan that, for weeks now.”

“I think I understand what she means,” Scott chimes in, his tone lighter, nearly playful. You lift your hand for a high five, and he obliges with a grin, stealing a laugh from you.

“See? He gets it!”

Leaning back in his chair, your friend shakes his head. “I must admit I don't like the guy either. He’s—”

Jean’s elbow shoots out, jabbing Scott in the ribs just as Logan crosses the kitchen threshold. Scott’s indignant “Hey!” is muffled by your exaggerated cough, though it does little to mask the smirk threatening to break across your face.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Logan’s eyes sweep across the room, his silence louder than the faint hum of the refrigerator. He strides toward the cupboard with methodical ease, and Storm bites her lip to stifle a laugh once she catches you watching him far longer than you should have. His back muscles tense and flex as he stretches his arms, the white tank clinging tighter with every movement.

“Please, don’t stop talking just because of me,” he remarks, his voice gravelly as he rummages through the cupboard, his focus presumably on some elusive snack. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Your response comes out of instinct, words laced with irritation. “It’s hard not to,” you retort curtly, putting down your sandwich with a firm slap of your palms against your jeans.

That gets his attention. Logan turns around to confront you, a flicker of amusement twitching at the edges of his mouth. It’s that toothy smile of his that sets your blood simmering. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You jump to your feet, matching his intensity. “Such a pity I can’t say the same about you.” Without missing a beat, you step closer, snatching the bag of chips he’s holding. Hiding them behind your back, tilting your head in mock innocence, and then saying, “Oops.”

His brows draw upward, though his tone stays measured, as if speaking to a child. “C’mon,” he replies, making a half-hearted grab for the bag. “How old are you? Twelve?”

Unable to suppress the grin threatening to break free, you rest your back against the counter. “We both know you can do much better than that.”

Already preparing yourself for the lecture Ororo’s going to unload on you the moment he leaves, you watch as Logan exhales sharply. His irritation is palpable in the way he leans in, one hand planting itself on the counter behind you, his frame eclipsing yours. The proximity is electric, his scent, a mix of leather and something woodsy, fogging your senses. Hazel eyes, so deep you could drown in them, peer down at you, as he attempts to strip away every layer you’re desperately trying to hold together.

Safe to say, it’s working. Damn it. 

“Alright,” he finally says, tapping his fingers against the cool surface. “What do you want from me?”

Your galloping heartbeat is a major detail you choose to ignore, instead turning to the others for support. With an exaggerated motion, you point to each of your friends in turn. “Ororo and Scott were the ones who found you that day,” you start, trailing off, “and Jean ran a ton of tests on you to make sure you were okay. Have you even bothered to thank them for their hospitality?”

You believe you can joke with him—it’s how you usually bond with others, how most of your friendships have started. But you can’t help questioning if Logan can even get your sense of humor. The room falls silent, and his eyes flicker, just briefly, to your friends. 

“You’re right, you’re right. My bad, princess.” One of his big, manly lands on your shoulder, the pressure of it too casual, too familiar, working the muscle there. Your fingers slacken around the bag of chips, the feeling of his touch making it harder to maintain your grip. “Guys, I’m deeply sorry for my lack of amiability. Hope you can forgive me.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it’s the sensation that clings to you, that doesn’t seem to fade—the warmth of it seeping through the layers of your clothes, pressing into your skin, stubbornly refusing to fade.

His hand leaves only when he yanks the bag from your grasp, and the warmth that had been just beside you evaporates with his retreat. In an instant, he’s already pulling away, his parting words a careless “See you around,” tossed over his shoulder.

No one dares to speak after that. Because to speak would be to acknowledge what has just happened. Your stomach has turned into a knot, that kind of knot sailors make that are impossible for beginners to undo. Logan’s fingers left a burn in your shoulder. Can you still smell him, the trail he left? Scott is the first to speak after a minute or so. “What… was that?”

“I have no clue,” Jean says between bites, staring reflectively at you. “Care to elaborate?”

Your tongue feels heavy, your throat parched. Even if you tried, a rational explanation wouldn’t come.

Ever since you were a child, you had yearned to grow up, to experience love as only adults could. In your young, unformed mind, it all seemed like a simple equation: adults dated; adults embraced love in the flesh; adults reveled in freedoms that children could only dream of, waiting patiently for their time to come.

And you did grow up. You did fall in love. But now he’s forgotten you, and nothing could have prepared you for that kind of ending. It wasn’t the closure you would have chosen, not the goodbye you imagined for you and Logan.

You find yourself caught in the in-between—not quite a child, yet not fully an adult either. Because surely, an adult would know how to handle this pain. An adult would find a way to cope. But you feel small. Weak. Hopeless.

It leaves you wondering just how much you are willing to forsake.

More weeks go by, and Logan remains in the mansion, defying the departure you’d expected. Part of you is relieved. He moves through the halls like a shadow, his eyes always on Rogue: checking on her, observing her interactions with the rest of the students at the mansion. She’s thriving, really. Blending in with her peers, forming bonds, especially with a boy named Billy. They are quite the pair.

Yet, despite Rogue’s happiness, Logan can’t seem to shake the grim air that surrounds him, an aura that emanates a quiet kind of disgust.

One night, you’re flipping through channels in the living room, stopping when an old love movie catches your attention. You place the remote down on a cushion, and pull your knees up to your chest, the murmur of the characters’ voices the only sound in the otherwise hushed room. You don’t think anyone else is awake at this hour.

 “Can’t sleep?”

There he is again. Always intruding, always finding his way back to you. The predator creeping into the vixen’s nest. He moves closer, slowly, and you lift your gaze to him, replying, “Actually, I’m a sleepwalker.”

Your comment earns a half-smile from Logan as he drops onto the couch beside you, his leg brushing against yours momentarily, worn denim against bare skin. His attention shifts to the TV, to the grainy images of the film playing out. You steal a glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his side profile.

“Feelin’ romantic tonight?” he asks.

“Not precisely,” you retort, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the blanket pooled at your feet. “There’s nothing else on. Sometimes you have to make do with what’s there.” Your gaze drifts back to him, lingering just a second too long before you add, “What about you? Any ghosts keeping you up?”

“You could call them that,” he says after a pause, his face still angled away. It must be easier to speak to you with this thin, invisible wall between you. “I have nightmares.”

“So you’re the one screaming at two in the morning?”

“Exactly. That’s me.” He ends up meeting your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, harboring an emotion he doesn’t voice. “M’sorry if I ever woke you up.”

“I’m usually awake at that time, too.” Your eyes flick to the screen. The couple in the movie bursts out of a building into the rain, their body language unmistakably revealing the heated argument unfolding between them. The man, clad in a raincoat, removes it to cover the woman, his supposed girlfriend. She’s visibly upset, but accepts the gesture nevertheless. “You can always knock on my door if you need anything. Unless I’m snoring—then I’ll be useless.”

Logan clicks his tongue, his focus shifting to the film as well. The man shouts, ‘Because I love you, for God’s sake!’ He casts a glimpse in your direction, his expression unreadable. “Same goes for you.” The woman in the film responds with a strangled, ‘Then prove it!’

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

The man cradles the woman’s face before kissing her. She throws her arms around his neck, and the music swells, evolving into a much more melodic song. A chorus of angelic voices replaces the earlier tense harmony. The camera lingers on every angle of their kiss, every desperate touch, as the world outside their embrace ceases to exist.

“This is cheesy,” Logan mutters, his heel bumping against the floor in repeated, short motions. Is he nervous?

“Yeah, so cheesy,” you reply quickly, pulling the blanket over your lap and curling into yourself. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about kissing you, not even remotely, but you are.

A quiet yawn escapes you, and you rub your fist against your eyes, sleep beginning to take over your body. Logan catches it, his own yawn following like a reflex. “Looks like the movie’s workin’ wonders,” he quips.

You let out a drowsy giggle. “Shut up,” you murmur, but then he’s inching closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. His warmth seeps through, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you allow yourself to lean into his frame, resting your head on his arm. It’s awkward, your neck already protesting the angle, but you accept it. You’ll take the stiffness tomorrow without complaint, because this moment is worth it.

It won’t last long, though, this rare tenderness. These nights, the quiet ones, are when Logan opens up the most—when Jean and Storm aren’t around, when it’s just the two of you. That’s when he approaches you, like a wary black cat testing the waters. But he doesn’t need to tread carefully. Not with you.

“What if I were to fall asleep… hypothetically?” Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, the pauses between each one stretching longer. Your cheek nuzzles against him, seeking warmth, and you feel the subtle tug of his hand as he pulls the blanket over his legs as well.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, rasping his words near your temple, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Within moments, sleep claims you. You never find out what happens after that, but he stays, trailing quietly behind. No nightmares or shadows from his past dare to haunt him that night.

It was inevitable that an encounter like that would spiral into something more. You weren’t naïve. You could connect the dots, and the picture was clear: Logan wanted you, too. Desire often walked a fine line, and from hatred to something else, it’s hardly a leap—just a small, barely perceptible step. It could change with the shift of light, from dawn to dusk. But you’d need the strength to cross that line, to be bold enough to make the first move.

And now, with the sun already dipped below the horizon, taking its long-awaited rest after a full day of burning up in the sky, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, though you hadn’t started that way. Scott had lingered for a while, insisting he didn’t mind keeping you company. You’d thanked him with a polite smile before subtly nudging him out. It hadn’t taken much—just a few hints. Simplicity at its finest.

At the table, a neat pile of student papers spreads before you. Your pen dances across the pages, leaving corrections and grades in its wake. It’s then that he appears. He doesn’t speak at first, but his presence saturates the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him; it must be the unspoken familiarity of how he fills a space. Or maybe it’s just how attuned you’ve become to his every movement.

Logan leans in behind you, close enough that you feel the heat he radiates at your back. His low hum sends a shiver down your spine as he peers over your shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be playin’ the teacher?”

Your grip on the pen tightens, a small tremor in your fingers giving away the tension pooling in your stomach. You exhale softly, blowing on the fresh ink. “Would you prefer to have me doing something else?”

Smugness prickles at the edges of your words, but the resolve in your chest is faltering.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dips, grating next to the shell of your ear as his chest brushes your back. His presence is magnetic, the scrape of his beard scratching your skin while he tilts your head to one side. His fingers sweep your hair over your shoulder, lips mapping the nape of your neck, tasting your fevered skin. “I might have a few ideas in mind.”

Your breath hitches. You try for composure, but it wavers in your reply. “Really?” you ask, because playing dumb always has its merits, after all. “Want to show me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand moves deliberately, tracing a sensual, teasing path up your abdomen. His palm settles over one of your breasts, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak through your sweater. “I don’t think you’d want me to do it here,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion. “Too public for what I’ve got planned for you.”

You disentangle yourself from him, slipping off the chair with an unsteady grace, but Logan doesn’t give you time to find your feet. He smashes his lips with yours, the force of his kiss almost sending you reeling. His tongue presses insistently, seeking entry, as if the urgency in his touch could dissolve every barrier between you. He grabs your cheeks, holding you in place as though you might slip away, drawing you so close there’s barely space to breathe.

You’re caught off guard, not knowing where to put your hands, searching for purchase. The cold metal of the refrigerator handle digs into your lower back as he backs you against it, his groans reverberating through your mouth like a growled confession.

“My bedroom,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “Take me to my bedroom.”

Logan obliges, intertwining his fingers with yours. Together, you ascend the stairs, your laughter mingling in the noiseless night when he missteps and stumbles, momentarily breaking the spell. But he recovers quickly, finding your room in mere seconds. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and he presses you against the wood with a force you’d never experienced, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and knead the supple flesh with a possessive fervor. It all helps to feed the fire pooling in your core.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers, slipping his fingers beneath the back of your sweatpants. His nails trace fiery lines along your skin, igniting your every nerve. “Don’t want anyone wakin’ up to those pretty sounds you make. They’re just for me, right?”

You nod frantically, longing for more, arching into his hands as your hips grind against his, your body moving with a will of its own. The friction is exquisite, a tantalizing promise. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his words laced with unfiltered hunger. “I’ve thought about havin’ you like this ever since I met you.”

His confession sends a surge of pride through your chest, an ache that feels equal parts affection and astonishment. Ever since the beginning? When he could barely look at you without scowling, his disdain practically tangible? “You hid it well,” you reply, breathless as you trace the outline of his erection over his jeans. The way it twitches under your undivided attention makes your pulse race. “I thought you hated me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “I thought the same about you,” he counters, before crushing his lips to yours once more. This time, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, your bodies moving as one, the pent-up tension between you unraveling in waves. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Your pants hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. It should embarrass you, how desperate and utterly needy you sound, the pleas spilling from your lips like the filthiest confessions. But the hunger in you is too vast, too insistent, drowning any possible flicker of shame. Decency was abandoned the moment you crossed that threshold. Logan nudges your legs apart with his knee, and the instant you feel him against your center, a contained sigh escapes you, half-resignation, half-surrender. Thought dissolves, leaving only instinct as you rock against him in slow circles, seeking relief.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” He toys lazily with the waistband of your panties, like he has all the time in the world. You don’t give him an immediate answer, choosing instead to grind harder against his thigh, your breath hitching at the pressure. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, dipping his head to mouth at your collarbone, the scent of his cologne heady and intoxicating. “Judging by the way you’re basically humpin’ me, I’d say it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember,” you blurt out, your head thudding against the door when his teeth nip at the delicate curve of your neck. Your pulse thrums beneath his lips, and you’re seconds from biting your tongue just to keep from crying out. “Stop teasing.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a wicked smile against your skin, his knee retreating only to be replaced by his fingers, trailing them along the fabric covering your heat. “I like it when you get bossy. It reminds me why I like you so damn much.” He tugs the fabric of your underwear aside, the cool air hitting your wetness for only a moment before his fingers glide over your arousal, testing your patience. One digit slides into you, curling slightly as his palm presses over your mouth, muffling the whine that falls from your parted lips. “So wet for me, princess.”

Your legs shake under the weight of sensation, threatening to give out as you lean into the door for balance. His fingers move inside you with a sharp rhythm, hitting that spot with each furious thrust. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and it’s overwhelming, but then he drops to his knees, and the sight alone sends a jolt through your core.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds is molten. He laps at you with long strokes, his pace never faltering, pumping his digits in sync with the flick of his tongue, coaxing every sound you’ve tried so hard to stifle. “Oh, fuck. Logan—” 

He groans against your core, his eyes remaining locked on your face, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His focus is relentless, as though your reactions fuel him. You rake your hands through his hair, clutching at his dark locks with haste whenever his wet muscle lavishes extra attention on your clit, the intensity of his ministrations making your voice break, a choked gasp dying on your lips.

Your climax teeters on the edge, faster than you anticipated. “Close,” you manage to huff, the obscene noises he elicits driving you wild. “I’m gonna come. Please, come here—”

Logan detaches himself from you, standing tall with a fierce determination in his eyes. He’s set on pushing you over the edge with his fingers alone. His lips crash against yours, biting and licking, swallowing every desperate mewl that falls from your mouth, spit glistening down his chin. Three knuckles deep, coaxing your body to respond, your walls tighten around him, shuddering as he corners you against the door, the sharp edge of pleasure sending your knees buckling. Your orgasm washes over you, rendering you boneless in his hold. Limp and spent, you can barely return his kisses, panting harshly against his mouth, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

As you steady your breath, a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes flicker down to his slick palm, and a rush of pride floods you. "That was amazing," you breathe, your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, reaching for his belt to tug at it. “My turn now.”

He ends up with his back pressed against the headboard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. You’re positioned between his legs, stimulating him over the fabric of his boxers. “It won’t take too long,” he says, and you feel the weight of his words more than hear them as you pull him free, revealing the hardness beneath. He’s already swollen, the tip wet with precum that coats your thumb as you stroke him once, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch. A shiver runs through him, his legs stiffening as though on the edge of restraint. Bewitched by the size of him, you lean forward to slip the leaking head past your lips. “Jesus Christ.”

It’s difficult to take all of him at once, but you push through, your mouth stretching to accommodate his size. As you work him with your hand, your tongue traces the veins that snake along his length, feeling him throb. Logan’s body betrays him, his fists tightening around the sheets as if holding on to his last thread of control, desperately keeping his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck up into you.

“Honey, pull out,” he warns, stroking your back. “M’not jokin’. You’re gonna make me come.” But you don’t stop. Instead, you deepen your movements, cheeks hollowing as you take him with more enthusiasm, pushing him toward the back of your throat. When he realizes what you’re doing, a moan escapes him, laced with a dark laugh. “Filthy girl. So that’s what you want? To choke on my cum? Should’ve asked for it sooner.”

Not long afterwards, you feel the first splash of his release hitting your tastebuds. Ropes of his seed flood your mouth, some of it dribbling out to stain the corner of your lips. He watches, his thumb gently swiping over the edge, collecting what’s spilled, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves.

“Show me,” he asks, still breathless. You lean closer, your faces a whisper apart, and then you part your lips, revealing the evidence of your devotion like a masterpiece on display. His fingers find your chin, holding you there as he bites into his lower lip, the pressure turning the skin pale. “Now swallow,” he commands, and you obey, the motion deliberate, your satisfaction mirrored in the curve of his grin. He kisses you languidly, as if savoring the moment. “Where have you been all my life?”

The question invites countless answers, but you choose to murmur, “Down the hallway.”

“Logan, are you even listening?”

Charles’ voice slices through the playful moment, forcing Logan’s hands to still against your sides. The team sits around the table, embroiled in serious discussions that demand focus and discipline. Yet Logan’s fixation on you has rendered him deaf to anything beyond the sound of your laughter. Not a single word of the last hour and a half has stuck, his mind entirely preoccupied by the warmth of you perched on his lap.

He’d insisted he was much more comfortable than any chair, and you’d indulged him, leaning into his chest as his fingers danced teasingly along your ribs. “Of course I am,” Logan drawls, though the way his hand resumes tracing lazy circles on your stomach says otherwise, his entire attention remaining fixed on you.

“I don’t think you are,” Charles counters, leaning forward with both palms flat on his desk. His sharp gaze locks to you, narrowing faintly. “Do I need to seat you two on opposite ends of the room, or can you manage to behave?”

You stiffen in response, the easy comfort of moments ago evaporating. Sliding off Logan’s lap, you settle into the nearest chair, your departure catching him off guard. Your eyes meet his subtly, and you offer him an apologetic smile. Beneath the table, your fingers squeeze his knee, a silent reassurance. Finally, you direct your attention to Charles, straightening in your seat as if to demonstrate your newfound focus.

Logan, however, is less cooperative. His arms cross over his chest, and a crease forms between his brows, the picture of rebellion. Nothing that Charles says registers in his brain. All he can think about is how much better it felt to have you on his lap, where you weren’t bothering anyone. He contents himself with watching you now, contemplating your profile and the way your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. It’s not the same. You’ve been dating for a month, much to the surprise of everyone in the mansion. It’s as if the idea of the two of you together had never even crossed their minds. Not even Rogue believed it when she came to ask Logan if the rumors were true. He hadn’t known how to respond to her, caught between mirth and disbelief himself.

It’s been decades since he’s felt this alive. He’s head over heels for you in a way that’s exhilarating. Seeing you, even across a crowded room, lights a fire in him, and he has to actively fight the urge to walk over, pull you close, and kiss you senseless right there in front of your friends.

As the meeting finally draws to a close, Charles asks him to stay for a while. “I just need to have a quick word with you,” he says, waiting until the others leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Charles sighs, shaking his head like an exhausted parent addressing his wayward child. “Look, I’m glad you two worked through your differences,” he begins, a note of cautious joviality in his tone, “but this... well, this is the opposite of that.”

Logan exhales wearily, rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, and regretting it instantly. Don’t shrug him off, his inner voice scolds him. “C’mon, Charles. You’re overreactin’.”

The man arches a brow. “Am I? Watching the two of you cuddling during a meeting feels like chaperoning teenagers. Honestly, I must admit you’re even worse than them at times.”

That remark lands harder than Logan expects. He opens his not-so-smart-mouth, ready with a retort, but no words come out. For once, his quick wit fails him, leaving him standing there in uncharacteristic silence.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles’ eyes fall shut. “Just… try to be more present, alright? And don’t distract her, or yourself, too much. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Later, when he recounts the conversation to you, you start pacing nervously across his bedroom, your teeth worrying at your nails.

“Maybe he’s right,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Darlin’—”

“I just don’t want him to be angry with us,” you cut him off, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Turning toward him, you sit down on the edge of his bed, your shoulder brushing his as your eyes bore into the carpet. “Do you think we should... give each other some space?”

Your suggestion feels like a punch to his gut. He sits up straighter, hands finding their way to your hips as he guides you onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. “I think we’re fine the way we are,” he says, tipping his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a loving gesture, coaxing a small smile from you. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Are you happy with me?”

You nod—once, twice, like it’s the only answer you could possibly give. “I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling, your lips curving into a smile that he feels against his own when he kisses you.

“God,” he grumbles against your mouth, long fingers tightening on your hips. “I never get tired of hearin’ that.” Logan cups your ass through your clothes, rocking you against him, and a groan escapes his throat as your center presses against his half-hard cock. “Say it again,” he rasps, his voice wanting.

“I love you,” you breathe, your head falling back when his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his touch reverent and greedy all at once. “I love you so much.”

Before you know it, he’s rolled you onto your back, hovering above you as he peels away the layers between you. He can’t comprehend how he got so lucky, how he gets to have you like this every day, so pliant and eager beneath his body. Your whimpers grow softer, more airy, but even then, you’re still whispering how madly in love you are with him.

This is a memory he’ll hold on to when Charles inevitably asks him to reconsider—to think about what’s best for both you and him. Fragile moments like this will slip through his fingers, but for now, they’re his to cherish.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

It turns out that love doesn’t come neatly wrapped in perfection. No—it’s a chaotic blend of tender glances and fiery clashes, of whispered promises and cutting comebacks. It’s arguments that sting as much as they heal, moments that don’t glitter but still matter, making the difference.

“Fuck off!” you snap, shoving the door against its frame, trying to shut him out. But Logan’s hand wedges in the gap, his strength effortlessly outmatching yours. “Get out, Logan.”

“No.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he grits through clenched teeth, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Behind him, Jean calls your name, but he doesn’t turn. “Not now, Jean!” His voice echoes down the hall, and the sound of her retreating steps leaves the air tense.

You’ve already crossed the room, standing by the window. The sunlight filters through, painting your silhouette in warm flickers. Outside, the kids are in their break, passing a ball, their laughter carried by the breeze. Logan moves toward you, his presence heavy, and you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I’m going on that mission,” you say firmly.

“No, you’re not.”

Your head snaps toward him, a storm unraveling in your gaze. “Charles wants me there. The team wants me there,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word, “and most importantly, I want to go. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Logan doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch. He can’t understand how you don’t see his side of things, how the thought of you being in danger like this twists his insides into knots. “I can’t lose you.”

“Logan—”

“No, you don’t get it!” The words burst out of him. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt, and we can’t get you back in time?” His fists clench at his sides, fighting the need to pull you into his arms, to feel that you’re still here with him, still safe. “It’d kill me, because I love you with everything that I am. Just thinkin’ about losin’ you makes me sick.”

Your expression softens, but only for a moment. You take a step in his direction, closing the space between you. There’s no hesitation in your tone when you speak, leaving space for conviction. “I had a life before you, Logan. I’ve been here since I was a child, learning how to fight, how to survive. I’ve gone on missions for years—missions that were just as dangerous as this one. I don’t need you to protect me like this.” Your voice wavers, just barely. “I appreciate that you care, but I’m just as capable as you are.”

How long can someone hold their breath? Logan doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until your arms encircle his waist, your embrace melting the tension that’s been coiling in his chest. You bury your face against him, your breath steadying, and he draws a long breath, pressing his lips to your forehead like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a softness that feels almost out of place after the heated exchange.

“You get so bossy sometimes.”

"I thought you said you liked me bossy," you answer, your voice low, laced with mixed feelings, as you look up at him through hooded eyes.

Logan’s lips twitch into what aims to simulate a smile, but it’s weighed down by the sadness pooling in his gaze. It doesn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes, doesn’t carry the warmth it usually does. 

“I do,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible, brushing a thumb across your cheek. The words hang between you, carrying a plea for things to feel less heavy, for this closeness to fix what words can’t.

The arguments come more frequently now. The love hasn’t faded—of course, it hasn’t—but it feels buried beneath the noise. You and Logan clash over everything, over nothing, over things neither of you can quite name, all the fucking time.

It’s a cycle that none of you can seem to break, passion feeding the fire until it burns too bright, too hot. One of you always storms out, slamming doors or throwing words that linger in the air like acid smoke. And yet, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how lost you both feel, the love is still there. Aching, waiting for the dust to settle.

You tell yourself it’s just a rough patch. That love like this isn’t easy, that it’s supposed to be messy. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too long after another fight, you can’t help but wonder how much more the two of you can take before something breaks for good.

Lust becomes your apology, an untamed collision of anger and desire that you can’t resist. It’s not gentle—it’s frenzied and blazing. The bed creaks beneath you, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass enveloping the room. Every thrust drives you closer, the ferocity of it making your head bump into the headboard, but all you can think about is how full he makes you feel.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, drooling all over the pillow, ass high up in the air as Logan continues to pound into you. He pulls out all of a sudden, making you gasp in protest. That’s when you feel his tongue against your slit, eating you out from behind, spreading your cheeks to see just how much further he can go. Your hand flies back, pressing him into your skin. “So good, baby. F-fuck.”

There’s no leaving him, not even in your wildest dreams. When he spills inside you, you always ask him to hold you close, whispering for him to stay there. To keep you full of him. And he does, fusing your body with the mattress, his weight anchoring you to the pleasure he knows how to grant you. 

But then, it’s morning. The sun filters through the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, and you’re tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist. You stare at the ceiling, your mind crawling back to the fight, to the anger that seemed so vital only hours ago. You have to force yourself to remember why you were so mad in the first place. As his hand slides over your hip, pulling you toward him, the memory slips further away.

Dating Logan means understanding the darkness he carries, the nightmares he has almost every night. Usually, you’re woken by his movements, his rambling, the tremors that run through his body. You’ve perfected a way of rousing him gently, pulling him from the grip of whatever horrors his mind conjures without causing him more harm.

Though tonight, you must’ve been drained. You didn’t notice the moment the nightmare began.

“Honey? Oh, fuck. Wake up, c’mon.” His voice pulls you from the depths of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light, the first thing you see is Logan, sitting rigid, staring at your arm as though it’s breaking him apart. The pain in his gaze is nearly palpable.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice groggy as you sit up, still partly disoriented. “Logan, are you okay?”

Then you see it: Blood. Dark stains seeping into the sheets, trailing from a jagged cut running the length of your forearm. It isn’t deep, and oddly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. But Logan looks stricken, his eyes flickering between your wound and his own hands.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” you assure him as you fumble to grab the ruined sheets, bundling them up to contain the mess. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, you switch it on, bathing the room in a golden glow. That’s when you notice the droplets of blood on his knuckles, the torn skin where his claws must have pierced through. This has never happened before. Neither of you know what to say or how to react. When you reach for his hand, he recoils, shaking his head like he’s trying to will the scene away. “Hey, don’t do that.” 

“I knew it’d happen eventually.” He’s spiraling, rising to his feet. A man trying to escape himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his chest and back, his body tense with the effort of holding his pieces together. Turning to face you, his expression is the embodiment of torment. In his eyes, it’s as though the prophecy has been confirmed, irrevocably, by his own doing. “I hurt you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, pushing yourself off the bed to meet him. You’re tired, too tired to be arguing like this. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be so sure? You said the same thing before, and now look. Look at where we are.”

You’re at a loss for how to calm him. The exhaustion weighing on you makes your thoughts sluggish, and you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. But giving up isn’t an option—not with him, not because of this. Slowly, you step back and spin in place, letting him see you fully, the wound and all.

“You see? I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m not hurt. Please, Logan, believe me when I say I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond, but the uncertainty etched into his face lingers. For a moment, you think you’ve reassured him, as he lets you guide him back to the bed. Together, you pull the sheets up to cover your bodies, and he leans into the pillows with a weary sigh. He mutters something about being sweaty, so you don’t rest your head on his chest as usual, settling into the curve of his shoulder instead. The rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, begins to steady.

At some point, the warmth of his body disappears. You stir faintly, but your mind is too clouded by sleep to register it as anything more than the remnants of a rather vivid dream.

Logan remains standing, staring at Charles, refusing the invitation to sit down. “You told Jean,” he says, and the other man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“I thought she might help you reconsider,” Charles answers, looking more serious than usual, his piercing eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan, I still don’t believe this is the right path for you. It’s not the solution to your problems. You can’t run from her, from this—relying on forgetting won’t bring you peace.”

Who really knows what’s best for him? Logan certainly doesn’t. After all these decades of walking the earth, what has he truly learned? His long life feels like a cruel irony, offering time without clarity. What use is immortality when you’re paralyzed by indecision, unsure of what you truly want?

“I can’t leave her. At least, not willingly,” he explains, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the arm of a chair, the gesture lacking finesse. “She’ll get over it. She’s stronger than she thinks.”

“You’re deciding for her.”

To that, Logan has no reply. He only looks away.

“When I got here, you told me you’d help with whatever I needed.” Logan crosses the room, lowering himself into a chair by Charles’ desk, his posture stiff. He lifts his chin slightly, trying to convey a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. “This is what I need you to do. Today.”

“Let’s start with your most recent memories and work backward from there.” Charles rolls himself closer, his chair nearly brushing Logan’s legs. “There’s an emotional core to every memory, and when you eradicate that core, it begins to degrade. By the time I’m done, those memories will have withered, as in a dream upon waking.”

Logan’s throat tightens at the description. There’s no comfort in Charles’ words. It doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare.

“Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes.” Logan’s reply is immediate, though it scrapes his throat like gravel.

Charles nods once, solemnly. “Then tell me your most recent memory of her.”

I think I was preparing a class when she burst through the door, uninvited. I’d been trying to keep my distance from her, because of... well, all of this. But it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to leave, so I let her stay. She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and asked if I had much left to do. I told her everything else could wait. Big mistake.

We were lying on my bed. Somehow, we always ended up there, tangled together. It wasn’t strictly... sexual. There’s something profoundly vulnerable about sharing that space. Snuggling, you could call it. Now that I think about it, she likes resting her head on my chest. Says it’s the best way to hear my heartbeat and find out if it matches hers.

“Focus, Logan.”

Yeah, I know. You’re right. Anyway, she asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I laughed. Obviously, she thought I was mocking her, so I had to convince her I wasn’t. I just thought the question was funny.

“Why did you laugh?”

Because it was exactly the kind of question she’d ask. She hadn’t before, but I’d been waiting for it. She told me she thought soulmates existed, and that I was hers. And I laughed again, and she threatened to leave. I held her tighter.

I told her I didn’t know if soulmates were real. I didn’t have that kind of certainty. What I did know, I said, was that I loved her. That was the only thing I was sure of. Soulmates or no soulmates, I loved her. I was right where I wanted to be. Those were my exact words.

“When did this happen?”

Yesterday. Before she left with Ororo and Scott for their mission. That’s why I’m choosing to do this now.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you again. Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Yes, Charles. Please, don’t ask me again.

Throwing open the mansion’s entry door, you let it swing wide as you step inside. You could use a shower, but right now, all you care about is finding him. Where is he?

Before starting your search, a cluster of students rushes toward you, their arms wrapping around your waist. Their laughter fills your senses as they chatter excitedly, hugging you tightly. “We missed you!” A boy exclaims, and you can’t help but smile, ruffling his hair.

“Have you seen Professor Logan?” you ask, crouching to meet the eye of one of the younger girls.

She grins, her innocent smile spreading, and she points toward the kitchen. “He’s in there.”

You thank her and make your way to the kitchen, your heart beating a little faster. You find him standing by the counter, slicing bread. His movements are methodical, his posture calm, but something feels off. You pause in the doorway, scrutinizing his face for a sign, any sign, that he’s happy to see you.

But his gaze flicks to you for only a brief moment, cool and detached, before returning to his task.

“Hey,” you call softly, tilting your head. His shoulders tense, and he doesn’t stop cutting. “I’m back,” you add, stepping closer, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and when he does, his voice sounds flat. “I see.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a fork. “Good for you, I guess.”

The words hit you like a slap. A joke, surely. But why? You take a hesitant step forward, your brows furrowing. “Logan, why—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs yours, yanking you out of the kitchen. Startled, you turn to see Jean, her expression pale and stricken.

“Jean?” you ask, confused. “Is this another one of Logan’s pranks?”

Her lips twitch, and tears glisten in her eyes when she swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop him. I really did. But he—he wouldn’t listen!” Her hands tighten around yours, quivering. You’ve never seen her like this before.

“Wait—slow down,” you urge, your stomach twisting.

“I swear, I tried to talk him out of it,” she pleads, each of the words she utters rushing out like a flood. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

It doesn’t take too long for her panic to feel contagious. The pit in your abdomen deepens as you glance back toward the kitchen, where Logan stands just out of sight.

Something is wrong—terribly wrong.

“Jean, what did he do?”

Despite all his wisdom, Charles had known this moment would come the second he agreed to help Logan.

The door to his office flies open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberates through the room. You storm in, your strides long and charged with anger, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Madness blazes in your eyes. “You did what?!”

“My dear—”

“You erased me from my boyfriend’s memory!” The words erupt from you, shaking the very air. You fling your arms wide, your fury spilling over. Before he can respond, you turn on his bookshelf, yanking ancient, cherished volumes from their resting places. One by one, you ignite them, flames devouring their fragile pages in an instant.

Then, there’s a momentary pause—a flicker of silence before you seize another book. This one you hurl in his direction, not quite at his face, but close enough to graze the air near his shoulder before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoes, a physical punctuation to your rage.

“You made me disappear! He doesn’t fucking know who I am!”

His expression, pained and weary, holds no exasperation—only regret. “He asked me to do it.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” The question hangs underlined by the tears that stream down your face. Your voice breaks, the pain behind it cutting deeper than any accusation. “You could’ve said no, Charles. How many times have you denied me things?”

“You didn’t see him in the way I did, he was—” He stops himself, faltering. No words can repair what he has already destroyed. “I’m sorry.”

You stand there, breathing hard, the space between you filled with smoldering ash and a silence so loud it feels suffocating. The remains of his books lie scattered, the faint scent of burnt paper lingering in the air. Charles watches you, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He doesn’t fight you.

The fury ebbs, leaving behind a hollow ache that takes its place in your chest. “If you’re so willing to erase love like it’s nothing, then do it for me, too.”

Charles’s brows knit together. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Logan doesn’t remember me. I walk into a room, and he looks right through me. Like I’m a stranger, like I never mattered. So tell me, what’s the point in remembering him if he’s already forgotten me?”

“I don’t believe forgetting will give you the peace you’re looking for.”

“Is that what you told him as well? Clearly, it worked out well.”

Touché.

“I’ve already hurt you enough,” he whispers.

“And you’ll keep hurting me if you don’t do this. I can’t carry this alone.” You kneel in front of him, clutching the edge of his wheelchair. “If you could take it away from him, you can take it away from me, too.”

Charles stares down at you, his mouth tightening, as if the weight of your words presses down on him. His hands, usually so steady, shift uncomfortably in his lap. It’s clear he can’t believe this is the second time he’s found himself in this situation, faced with the same desperate request. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head. “He wanted to forget me. Now, I want to forget him.”

He exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “All right,” he says softly, though his voice carries a sadness he doesn’t try to hide. “But I need you to understand… once it’s done, there’s no going back.”

 “That’s the point.” You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, as though erasing the tears could also erase the doubt creeping in.

“Then sit,” he counters, motioning to the chair Logan sat in days ago.

You hesitate for a moment, the finality of the act looming large. Slowly, you lower yourself into the chair, gripping its arms with all your earnest. Charles wheels himself closer, and the reality of what’s about to happen sets in.

“Tell me your last memory of him,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, and the image surfaces instantly: Logan, holding you close, whispering that he loves you. No soulmates, no destiny—just love. You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again as you begin to recount it. “The last time he looked at me like I was his whole world.”

Charles nods, his expression unreadable, placing his hands on your temples. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I had to leave the next day, so I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. My things were already packed. I walked into Logan’s room and asked him if he was busy. A week isn’t a lot, but ever since he moved here, we hadn’t been apart from each other. I was anxious about that. I thought it’d be so hard to fall asleep without him at night. What—oh, God, what’ll happen now?

“I need you to keep going, darling.”

Don’t call me that. 

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

I convinced him to lie in bed with me. I had my head on his chest, and he kissed my forehead. His beard scratched me in the right way. It never hurt or bothered me. I had once dated a guy who had a beard, and it was just so uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Logan’s case. He would kiss me and hug me, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

There was a question I’d been meaning to ask him. It was about soulmates, and the existence of them. I thought Logan was my soulmate, and I said it to him. I asked if he believed in them, but he laughed. He told me he wasn’t making fun of me or anything, just that he thought the question was funny.

Logan said he didn’t know whether soulmates existed or not, but he knew for a fact that he loved me. He didn’t care about anything else. He loved me. He really did. Do you think he loved me, Charles?

“Yes. I do believe so.”

Then why did you take that away from me?

“I’m sorry.”

I hate you.

“I know.”

Your head pounds, an ache that feels like it’s splitting you in two. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink repeatedly until the world around you sharpens into focus.

Four blank walls. The stark, colorless void offers nothing but the oppressive weight of emptiness. This must be your mind, stripped bare. Somewhere in the depths of this space, Charles is at work, pulling threads and unraveling every memory of Logan.

You push yourself off the cold floor. A soundless shift disturbs the space—a door appears out of nowhere, its frame faintly glowing, and without hesitation, you reach for the handle and swing it open.

On the other side is a fragment of your past: that night months ago, sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Logan had decided to join you. The memory pulls you in, and suddenly, you’re no longer standing—you’re on the couch. Your clothes have altered to match that night. Logan sits beside you, the warmth of his presence impossibly real.

This moment feels untouched by time, but deep down, you know the truth. Charles is erasing it even as you relive it. Soon, this too will vanish.

The scene begins to warp. It’s no longer the movie on the screen. The couple has been replaced by you and Logan. You’re watching yourselves from a third perspective, your bodies framed by the flickering light of the TV. It’s deeply unsettling, but in this fragmented state of consciousness, it doesn’t feel worth questioning.

“Logan?”

“Tell me.”

You grab a cushion and smack him on the arm, the motion instinctive. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?” he asks, laughing as he takes the cushion from your hands, tossing it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You erased me from your memory!” you accuse him, even as you know the futility of it. He’s merely a fragment, a faint echo of who he once was to you. A lingering shard of memory caught in the tangled wires of your brain, sparking as it teeters on the edge of a short circuit. “You’re not even real, are you?”

“No,” he admits, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just in your mind. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re just what’s left.” You lower your gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll take Charles to erase you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The words you long for, the closure you might crave, are swallowed up. His lips vanish mid-formulation, and then you’re staring at a blank void where his mouth used to be. The rest of his features begins to fade—his eyes dissolve into nothingness, followed by his nose, his brows, the lines of his face. All that’s left is the space where he once sat, and even that feels tenuous.

You’re on your own now. The memory of him—of that night, the first time you truly shared an intimate moment—has been swept away like smoke in the wind. You collapse onto the floor, trembling as sobs tear through you, your hands pressed tightly against your face, attempting to contain your anguish. “I don’t want to forget you,” you choke out between hiccupped breaths, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” a familiar voice murmurs behind you, and there he is—Logan. This time, he’s wearing his suit. His claws are unsheathed, gleaming. “I shouldn’t have done it first. I don’t know what I was thinking’.”

You push yourself to your feet, drawn to him. When you move to hug him, he takes a step back, raising his claws as if to protect you from getting harmed. “I can’t retract them. If I hug you, I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, pressing forward and slotting yourself between his arms, ignoring the danger. Your face finds its habitual place against his chest, and you inhale deeply, inhaling his scent. “I just want you.”

His arms fold around you hesitantly, careful yet incomplete. You feel a sharp pain, a searing slice along your ribs that rips a scream from your throat. The agony is blinding, drowning your world into darkness.

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere else entirely. The bed feels soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your legs. Logan is there beside you, his body warm against yours, both of you naked under the sheets.

“You’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice tender, taking a strand of your hair, twisting it gently before tucking it behind your ear. “You alright?”

His face won’t stay still. Beard, no beard. A moustache that fades as quickly as it appears. Hair long, then short. Sideburns one moment, smooth skin the next. He’s a shifting mosaic of himself. You realize you can’t remember what he looked like the last time you saw him.

“I’m forgetting you.” Your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek, memorizing each detail. “I don’t think I can stop it now.”

He’s seconds away from crying, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both desperate and resigned. “Stay here with me,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands sliding over your arms, your stomach, your legs. “Don’t let me go.”

“You did it to me first,” you say, voice thick with emotion, pulling him closer, down until his body presses fully against yours. His weight feels real, but you know it’s not. Nothing about this moment is.

His voice breaks, repeating the same mantra. “Stay here with me. Don’t let me go.”

The touches multiply. It’s no longer just his hands on your skin. It’s as if the entire universe is reaching for you. The cacophony of touches, the overlapping voices—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”—swirls into a suffocating chaos.

Logan begins to blur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. His face fades first, then his body, until all that remains is a ghost of his shadow. Then even that is gone. The bed disappears beneath you, leaving you adrift in an empty expanse. You can’t tell if you’re still there, or if you’ve vanished with him.

You exhale slowly. Silence, at last.

The second first time you see him, he’s sitting alone outside on a weathered bench, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s completely alone, and you pause a few steps away, studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like someone you would’ve missed at the mansion. Charles mentioned he’d recently joined the team, a mutant who had spent too long wandering the earth.

You clear your throat, trying not to overthink it. “Mind if I take a seat?” you ask, your hands clasped behind your back as you wait for his reply.

He shifts to one end of the bench, leaving you more than enough room, though his movements seem cautious. You sit down, exhaling softly as an awkward silence stretches between you. His demeanor isn’t exactly inviting, and you wonder how to bridge the gap.

After a moment, you stretch out your hand, offering a polite smile, giving him your name. He glances at your hand, then takes it. “M’Logan,” he says simply, though you already knew that from your previous talk with Charles. His fingers are rough, calloused, yet they linger a beat longer than necessary before letting go. “The other day, I was in the kitchen, and you walked in. You were acting… strange.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between his face and your hand that still feels warm from his touch. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

Logan hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought so… but maybe not.” His lips press into a thin line, shrugging. “Never mind. I could be wrong.”

Tilting your head, you study him. There’s something familiar that you can’t quite place. “Have we met before? Outside this place, I mean. It’s just… I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

His eyes meet yours then, like your question has triggered something dormant. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he lets out a low chuckle. “Funny you’d say that. I wasn’t planning on bringing it up, but… I got the same feeling.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” His lips quirk into a smile, one that matches yours.

Inside the mansion, Charles and Jean watch the scene through the window. Jean folds her arms across her chest, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is crazy,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get me started,” Charles replies.

“They don’t know what happened, but they still feel it. Like they’re connected.” She peers down at Charles, her voice quieter now. “You erased everything, didn’t you? Every memory, every trace.”

Charles keeps his eyes on the scene outside, his features softening as he watches the two of you talk. He sighs, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re asking me for an explanation I don’t have. I guess some things… refuse to be forgotten.”

Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.

Friedrich Nietzsche.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[predestinatos]

forgive me, i've got an appetite — CL16 (18+) ⋆｡ ﾟ ⋆

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: reading week brings you and your academic rival closer than ever.

warnings & tags: MINORS DNI!!! smut, academic rivals to lovers, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, (a lot) of dirty (FILTHY..) talk, somewhat public sex (bathroom at a party), charles very dominant and hates losing, reader very sub and loves winning (it might change in later chapters!!), degrading, creampie, spit play.

note: i didn't proofread this and it's been a while since i wrote so i'm a bit dusty!!! please be patient i promise i'll be better. feedback would be much appreciated since it motivates me to keep writing.

Your heart raced inside your chest as the teacher walked across the room, paper sheets being carefully placed in front of each student, their faces of disappointment, relief, sadness and confusion arriving shortly after.

Your leg bounced up and down as the teacher got closer to you, a hint of a smile on his face, an indication that yes, it probably was good, but was it good enough?

You looked at the red ink on the sheet of paper he put in front of you, a “good work” escaping his lips. 98/100. Fuck.

It was good. More than good, even. But it didn’t quite matter, not yet, because there was a 2% chance the boy across the room had a better grade than you, and those odds terrified you. You looked at the teacher, who now walked towards him, same pride in his face, same silent comment you couldn’t hear but could guess, something along the lines of “excellent, Leclerc.”

You looked at him, his reaction. He smiled a smug smile, but not as confident as it had been on other times. At this point, you were sure you could know his results just by the facial expression he made as he grabbed the white paper, messily scribbled, so unlike your own clean paper. Lip bite and slow blink, 100/100. Smirk and immediate search through the paper for his one mistake, 99/100. A glance towards you and a nod that asked for your result, 98/100. Probably the most dreadful result to get. Smug smile with a half shrug, 97/100.

You won.

��Seven,” he mouthed from across the room, a small drop of hope his in eyes. You smiled, mouthing “eight” back, watching his reaction, waiting to complete the ritual you now shared. “Fuck you” he mouthed again, jokingly, as he placed his test in his bag and prepared to leave, the whole room filled with students hurrying to their next class.

You climbed up the auditorium stairs, leading up to the same door where you’d meet him. “Let me guess,” you started, barely looking his way as you walked alongside him, ready for the next class. “Theory fucked you over?”

“Don’t even mention it” he replied, before hurrying along to his dorm, a ‘later’ barely leaving his lips before he was out of sight. You moved along to your friends’ own room, where you had already left everything you needed for the night ahead.

“To a good reading week” you and your friends cheered, small shot glasses clinking against each other, part of the content inside them spilling before you downed the drink. It burned your throat, and you usually didn’t drink. In fact, this was the only one you were going to have for the rest of the evening, a celebratory act, a token of a good friendship and good grades.

The house was packed, and you weren’t sure whom exactly it belonged to, only that everyone in it was celebrating the same event, taking a collective breath of relief.

Between the talking, eating and drinking, a few hours had passed, the mood turning more carefree and light as people got tipsier and looser. You moved between the dancing bodies, the tight space feeling less claustrophobic and more comfortable now, finding a way to climb up the house’s stairs to the bathroom.

As you approach to open the door, someone else does it from the inside. His tall, broad figure almost crashes against yours, and the smell of weed hit you before you saw who it was. You looked up, about to complain, and your eyes met Charles’ now slightly red ones, the green in them fading behind his almost closed eyelids.

“Whoops” he said, his voice amused, happy, not the usual tense and focused one.

“Are you high?” you asked, the question leaving your lips with a smile, barely processing whatever dynamic you had going on.

“Mmmmmaybe” Charles said, jokingly dragging the word, exaggerating his ways but also proving the effect the drug had on him as he laughed at his own joke.

You patted him jokingly on the shoulder as a way to ask for him to move from the bathroom and let you in, but to your surprise, he remained still. “Charles?” you asked, as his eyes remained on you, an unreadable expression behind them.

“You should try it” he said suddenly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, shoulder against the doorframe.

“What?” you laughed, incredulous, barely registering what he had said. To your question, he merely pulled you inside the bathroom and shut the door, moving away from it in an attempt to let you escape, should you desire it.

“You should try some. I have an extra one.” he repeated, hand flying to the pocket of his jeans, removing a carefully prepared joint.

“Why would I?” you asked, now your turn to cross your arms across your chest, a mix of amusement and annoyance blending together.

“Because it’ll help you relax. It always helps me after exam season” Charles shrugged, a sheepish, lazy smile stuck to his lips.

“You do it after every exam season?” you eyes widened, and your own surprise annoyed you. You didn’t expect Charles to be the type to do something like that, though the reason why was unknown to you. You never saw him at hang outs or parties, at least the few ones you went to. It was implied, for you, that he simply was not interested.

He chuckled at your words, moving closer towards you as you spoke. “How do you think I survive the most stressful month of my fucking life?”

“And yet you still lost to me” you joked, analyzing how his t-shirt clung to his body tightly, how his rigid and strict rules for himself are visible in results, even when he tries to sedate them.

“Want a reward?” Charles’ voice was humorous but his eyes wee anything but. For the first time you met him, there was a hint of sincerity, an innuendo, a hint at something else that you could see. It was different, the way his head cocked to the side and his eyebrows rose, tongue playing with the inside of his cheek.

“What do you mean?” you asked back, voice almost a whisper, embarrassment over your loss of words causing your cheeks to go red. It was so sudden, this shift in energy. You could almost feel the sound of the music outside dimming, becoming softer in your ears as everything in the big bathroom became heightened. Every sound, every step.

Charles leaned back against the door and fiddled with the key placed there in order to lock it. He looked at you, looking for a hint of fear or regret, something that said you didn’t want to be there. You stared back, defiance in your eyes as you swallowed dryly.

“You know what I mean” his head hit the door softly as he stared at you, eyes exploring your body, your skin. You leaned against the washstand, both in search of something to hold on to and of a way to cross one leg over the other without him noticing too much. But he did.

His eyes went to your legs as you crossed them, then back to your face. He felt like a predator looking at his prey, hungry and knowing that she wanted it just as much as him. A hand rose to his face, his jaw, and he merely stared. “You deserve it, don’t you?” he continued, voice deeper, starving. “You’ve been so good. Better than me, even” Charles stepped closer and closer to you, slow steps that made your heart beat faster and deeper inside your chest.

He was now so close to you you could feel his hot breath on your skin, his hands on either side of you, gripping the marble of the sink, knuckles white due to his attempt at resisting. “You had to fucking remind me of that, didn’t you?” he whispered, one hand now raised, fingers hovering the skin in your arm like a test. “I hate losing,” a half-smile, eyes following the trail of his own finger as goosebumps spread across your skin.

Your heart was racing. The dress you were wearing now felt too tight and hot, sweat making the fabric cling to your body claustrophobically. “I love winning” you replied, snarky and disobedient, looking up at him from behind your eyelashes, a pleading expression written across your face.

“Aren’t you a little spoiled thing,” Charles replied once again, not giving away his own thoughts and emotions through words, though his body said otherwise: you felt his hardness against your stomach as he leaned closer to you, forehead touching yours. His words, his voice, his body, everything was already sending you over the edge, and you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper.

His eyebrows immediately raised at that, a feline smile spreading across his lips. He had caught you. “And needy too” his hand now touching your neck, thumb caressing your cheek as his eyes stared intently, deeply, at your lips. The intense gaze made you feel the urge to lick them, something subconscious telling you that you should. His thumb moved further ahead, reaching the corner of your lips and finally caressing them fully, roughly and softly at the same time, a juxtaposition of feelings only he could convey.

The pressure he applied suggested a silent request for you to open up - one that you complied with, desire clouding your judgement, your thoughts. You let him apply pressure on your tongue before sucking his thumb, the same pleased look in your eyes as you looked up at him. “Good girl” he muttered, eyes half closed not only by the drug in his system but by the sight of you. “Fuck you love this, don’t you?”

You could only nod in response, eyelids fluttering as you suppressed a smile, his thumb spreading saliva across your lips.

Charles was high. Not on drugs, or not only on drugs at least, but on you, on the view he had before him. He never imagined someone like you - so good, so organized, so innocent-looking, could be so alluring and intense. He felt higher than ever, his cock twitching inside his boxers and jeans, desperate to be wrapped around your cunt.

Without warning, his other hand pulled your dress up and your panties down, fingers glazing over your wetness. You were soaking. Part of you was embarrassed by how little it took for you to feel this way; empty, in need to be filled up by him, claimed; but another part was too far gone to tell. You moaned around his thumb which remained inside your mouth as he traced small, light circles around your clit.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he was as surprised by the words coming out of his mouth as you were, for he was not very vocal during sex, not like this. But he felt a strong need to be filthy, to let all of his thoughts out from his brain into yours, and test the reactions of your body as he went. “It’s this easy with you, huh? How long haven’t you been fucked properly?”

You were about to reply with “a month” but before the full word could get out, he tightened his grip on your face, pressure being applied to your cheeks as a way to call your attention to him. “I said properly.”

You didn’t know how to respond, but you didn’t have to, because before you could think of an answer, he inserted one of his fingers inside you, so slowly it almost caused you pain, your eyes watering at the need for more. “They don’t know what to do with you, do they?” Charles continued, hips grinding against nothing, a hint of his own composure disappearing. “They don’t know how to treat a pretty whore like you.” His lips were on yours now, biting them and letting his tongue swirl around yours messily and torturously.

Your fingers held on to his dark brown hair, pulling his face tightly towards you, his stubble now brushing against your neck as he sucked your skin while kissing it. “But I do. I know you just want attention. You want people to know you’re a good girl, so well behaved, so obedient” another finger slipped inside you, movements fast, the sound of your wet cunt filling the room, his hand gripping your waist tightly in an attempt to steady you. “Look at it” Charles demanded, your head lowering in order to witness the view: his arm moving rapidly and erratically, your legs spread wide for him, his veins forming an intricate pattern. “Fuck” you tried muttering, though you weren’t sure any coherent words were said.

“Yeah, what a mess” he tsked, mocking you as if he wasn’t flushed out too, as if his eyes weren’t dark and he wasn’t getting more incoherent himself. “You act all pretty but this is what you really like. Being a needy, messy, slut.” At his last word, he curled his fingers inside you as he applied pressure on your clit, a moved so sudden it made you spasm against the sink, one of your hands flying to your mouth in an attempt to shut yourself up.

But just as quickly as he did it, he removed his hand from inside you, leaving you empty and practically dripping over him. He was breathing heavily as he unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them along with his black boxers, a small precum stain already on them.

You gawked at it hungrily, parts of your hair clinging to your face, lips and cheeks wet from your own saliva, head cloudy and dizzy. Charles wrapped his hand around his erection, pumping himself a bit while looking at you. “God, you look so desperate… You want it?” at his words, your eyes met his again, pleading as you nodded, incapable of speaking. “Beg.”

His stern voice was laced with intense and violent lust, his eyes now so different from the ones you knew. He meant every letter of the word, his chest rising and falling with anticipation being proof of that.

“Please,” you started, your voice so quiet one could barely listen to it.

“Louder, baby,” his frame stood over you, ready to pounce at any minute, his tip now touching your entrance teasingly.

“Charles” was all you could say, a mix of shyness and lightheartedness fogging your brain. You bit your lip as he tsked, a small disapproval move of his head as he inserted himself fully inside you without warning.

This sent you into overdrive. His ravenous movements and heavy breath contrasted with your whimpers and inability to move properly, eyes rolled at the back of your head with arousal. You felt full of him and yet you wanted more. More of his hand on your thigh, gripping tightly, more of his other one on your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” Charles said, a smile spreading across his face, enjoyment over your lack of clear thinking. “So fucking stupid you won’t know anything anymore.” Your hands held on to his back, scratching his skin in pleasure.

“And you’ll love it” he continued, knowing you were too far gone to be able to reply with anything but his name, “you’ll like that you’re becoming a dumb little whore.” The hand gripping your neck now tugged at your hair as he asked you to open your mouth.

You complied, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock and tears forming at the corners of your eyes. As you opened, he spat on your tongue, the act so filthy yet so erotic you moaned loudly, eyes wide as you swallowed.

“You love this don’t you?” his eyes stared deeply into yours with amusement and pleasure, his words combined with grunts, sweat forming on his neck. “You act all fucking pretty but you love being fucked like this,” he gripped the top of your dress and pulled it down, revealing your exposed breasts, nipples hard from exhilaration. “What’s my name?” he asked, though you knew what you’d reply either way, words failing you except for that one.

“Char-” you started, but couldn’t continue as he held one of your breasts in his hand, caressing its nipple aggressively. “Can’t even finish the fucking answer” he chuckled, getting off on taunting you.

“I’ll give you an easier one. What’s your name?” he asked again, and though you wanted to reply, you couldn’t, no words left your mouth except for one. “Charles-” you moaned, covering your mouth with your hands due to the sheer loudness of his name in your mouth.

“Wrong, baby,” Charles mocked, revering in the way your were completely lost, at his mercy, his. His mouth crashed against yours once again as his hips moved frantically, his cock slipping in and out of you with ease given how wet you were. You tasted blood on him as you realized he had bitten his own lips a couple of times, an attempt to resist, to stay longer, to delay the ending of the act.

The sound of his skin on yours filled your ears, tears streaming down your face as you suppressed louder sounds from coming out of your mouth. You were so close it was ridiculous, barely any coherent thoughts flashing through your mind, your whole being focused on pleasure only.

“Gonna fill you up the way you deserve it, brainless little brat” his words were more aggressive, more intense, his need to claim you, leave his mark, increasing with every thrust. “You want it don’t you?” he asked, the question so earnest yet so stern, his eyebrows betraying his dominant attitude for just a second. “Say you want it.”

He didn’t have to. You were ready to beg for him, to have your thighs sticky with his warm cum. “I want you to fill me up, Charles” you managed to say, after a couple of failed attempts, to which he replied by moving faster against you, his hand on your clit. “Fuck I’ve wanted to fuck you senseless for so long now” he said, eyes rolling at the back of his head now, words coming out of him slurred and dragged. “You deserve it; always fucking teasing me” he continued, his words sending you over the edge, a feeling of ecstasy flowing through your veins as you came around his cock, cunt pulsing and nails digging deep into his arm.

That was the tipping point for him. He cursed loudly as he moved deeper and deeper inside you, cum spilling out of his cock into you, filling you up. After a couple of seconds, he removed himself from inside you, taking a few steps back to admire the view.

You were flushed out, lips swollen, red pussy dripping with his cum, mascara running down your big eyes. “Fuck” he let out, looking like a mess too. “Who would’ve thought,” he said, smiling to himself, the Charles you were used to coming back slowly, almost like he had been like that the whole time.

“What?” you asked, your senses coming back to you, looking around for a way to clean yourself.

“Miss Smart Ass is a freak” he joked, a smirk on his face, the dimple on his cheek so visible it made him look innocent.

“Says you” was all you could reply.

“You want to turn this into a competition too?” Charles crossed his arms in front of his chest, veiny forearm showing. You couldn't help but stare in admiration.

It was your turn to laugh now, knowing this was a one-time thing. At least for now. “You wish.”

“Maybe I do. You still wanna smoke one?”

[adelliet]

Wolverine x f!reader

SCHOOL HEAT

Summary: You're a teacher at a school for gifted, and even when you sometimes have worries about fitting in, your colleague, to whom you've always been really close, will help you overcome them.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, strong language, teasing, flirting, jelousy, traumatic experience, nicknames (princess, good girl...), oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), mirror sex

The story takes place in the multiverse with a young Charles Xavier

A/n: Uhhh I don't understand what happened but this is again so freaking long, I'm truly sorry. I just always get lost in it. Also sorry for grammar mistakes, if there are any, English is not my native language. However I hope you'll like it, enjoy! <3

Masterlist

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Since the first day Charles convinced you to join the X-Men and be a teacher in a ‘school for gifted’ aka mutant school, your mind couldn't stop thinking about one of the members. The typical cat-ear haircut, stern expression on his face and a huge belt holding his jeans. Logan Howlett.

In the first days, you were worried and anxious. After all, you are the only human in here without any powers, any special gift. That’s why you were afraid that the mutants would judge you, want to kick you out or that you would be left behind. But all these worries were immediately gone when you met Logan.

As soon as you met, he helped you and always tried to pull you into the conversation whenever you felt left out. He didn't have to say anything, just his act was enough to show that you were one of them without being gifted.

You still didn't quite understand why Xavier wanted you among them so urgently, but it didn't take long for everyone to find out the reason. Your grace, kindness and brain. You are an amazing scientist.

Even the students didn't make fun of you or bully you in any way. Well, from time to time there is a trouble maker that threatens you, but it doesn't happen often. Maybe it's because everyone are aware that if they hurt you, Logan would punish them.

Withal there is no secret that you two have a thing for each other. The endless flirting during breaks, the looks when you pass each other in the hallway or the subtle touches whenever you're a little close together. But it was never more than flirting. After all, you have your dignity and respect for work and for yourself.

However, this flirting of yours is not inconspicuous to others. Storm asks you every day if you've kissed yet, the students also ask questions about your and Logan's relationship, and Charles is always silently grinning whenever he sees the two of you in the same place. It's kind of annoying, but in a way, you kinda like it.

Now you were teaching biology and it was the last class before your break. You couldn't wait for a good cup of coffee while you put your feet up on the table and relax. Maybe even play some music in your headphones, for the full experience.

When the bell rang, you breathlessly smiled at the students and wished them a nice day. You grab a few books that helped you teach and left the classroom, straight to the teacher's cabinet. It's a room where are meetings and all the teachers meet even during breaks.

When you walked in, you were in for a pleasant surprise.

Logan with his feet up on the table and a mug of coffee in his hand. You smirk as you glance at him, putting your things on the table. “’m starting to think these little breaks are the only reason you teach”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair while watching you turn on the caffee machine. ”You caught me. The kids? Just a bonus. But spending time here with you? Definitely makes the day worth it” you could feel his eyes glued your back.

You smiled teasingly as you turn around to face him.“Oh, so you’re saying I’m the real highlight of your day? I had no idea I had that effect on you” of course you knew that.

Logan grinned, his eyes sparkling while looking at you through his dark eyes. “I thought it was obvious. You’ve been distracting me all day. Not that I’m complaining...”

You raise an eyebrow, walking to him a little closer “Oh really? And how exactly have I been distracting you? I’ve barely said a word to you today” you adored this banter, your pulse increased whenever Logan spoke and he knew that.

He playfully lowered his voice “You don’t need to say anything. You’ve got that look, you know? The one that makes me forget whatever lesson I’m teaching.” He was driving you crazy but you kept your cool. You learned that after all these months with this heartthrob.

You laugh softly, tilting your head “Hmm… I think you’re just looking for an excuse to be distracted. But I can’t say I mind the attention” you smoothly turn around on your heel, grabbing your mug full of that brown liquid.

Logan leaned in his chair a little closer, his voice teasing “Well, if I’m going to be distracted, I’d rather it be by you. Though, if you want me to focus, you might have to step in and help keep me on track”

You smiled mischievously, eyes sparkling with playful viciousness “Oh, I’m sure I can find ways to help you…focus. But that depends, what’s in it for me?” You sway your hair softly, leaning against the counter.

He grined tilting his head while his eyes were full of sin images. “Hmm, how about this? You help me stay focused during the day, and I’ll make it worth your while after hours. Dinner, drinks… your choice.”

You bit your lip playfully, the thought of Logan inviting you on a date doesn't sound bad at all, even tho you have only professional relationship “Tempting offer. You’re really working hard to get my attention, aren’t you?”

Logan just smiled confidently, his dick twitching in his pants at your risky attitude “Oh, I’ve had your attention for a while now. I’m just making sure you know I’m worth yours”

A playful grin appeared on your face, taking a sip of coffee before talking again. “But don’t think you’ve got me wrapped around your finger just yet.”

Logan keep his smirk on his face, locking eyes with you “Oh, I’m not worried. I’ve got a feeling it’s only a matter of time. And I’m patient… when I need to be.” You bit your lip again, as your mind filled up with scenarios where Logan needs to be patient and god bless you, they were naughty.

“We’ll see about that, Logan. Keep working on it, and maybe you’ll get your chance.” A soft scoff escaped from his lips, as he kept eye contact with you. You took a sip from your coffee when suddenly, Storm walks in.

You both turned your heads towards the door and as soon as she saw you both, she started apologizing. "Oh sorry I didn't know you are in here" "It's okay, I gotta go anyway..." you grab your things from the table, giving Logan a devilish smile.

When you were ready to leave, Storm stopped you, whispering in your ear. "Did you fuck already?" you tiredly exhale and shake your head, but couldn't stop smilling. When you finally left, you felt butterflies in your stomach and goosebombs jumped all over your body. Talking with Logan is definitely an experience.

You went to your office where you exchanged some books and got ready for the next class. Suddenly you hear a soft knocking. You look behind your shoulder and said “open!”, curious who is behind the door. When Charles appeared in them a slight disappointment awoke in you, because you wanted to see there someone else, but your smile didn't leave your face.

"Hi Charles, you need somethin'?" you asked after you moved your head back in front, focusing on books laying on the table. Charles closed the door and walked closer to you. "Yeah...you have a lesson now right?" you nodded and fully turned around to face him.

"Don't worry, I won't bother you for long" with those words he handed you a small poster. You gave him a confused expression before you took it and explored it.

MUTANT PARTY TOMORROW was written at the top with the biggest font they could use. You couldn't help but lift up your corners a bit as you read the title. "So a party huh?" you asked but keeping your eyes still glued on the poster.

Xavier nodded and watched your eyes go from left to right, reading every piece of information that was there. "The invitation is also for teachers" he added and you nimbly lift your head up with excitement in your eyes. "Really? That means that I am invited too?" Charles just nodded with a grin and you tried your best not to hug him so tightly, until his organs explode.

Charles scoffed suddenly and you frowned. "Stop reading my mind" you hissed bitterly and he just looked down, with that stupid grimace on his face. "I'll be happy to see you there" he added and left, finally leaving you freedom to show off your happiness.

You jumped few times and quietly screamed, before you returned back to reality. You fixed your clothes and hair quickly, grabbed your teaching supplies and headed off like nothing happened.

You don't even know why you're so excited about some school party for teenagers. You probably miss those years when you went to the club every weekend with your friends and danced your soul away. Now is your chance to go back to those years, even if it won't be the same, it's still a party.

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The school was silent now, all the students tucked away in their rooms for the night. You’d slipped out of the hallway, your steps quiet as you made your way to your room. The evening had been long, and you were ready to sink into bed when a familiar voice caught your attention.

Logan was casually leaning against the doorframe of his own room with a toothbrush in his mouth, his voice low and inviting. “Hey… heading off to bed already?”

You turned towards him, a smile tugging at your lips as you caught the glint in his eyes. Logan looked relaxed, his sleeping pants were loose and you could tell that he has nothing underneath, sending a pleasurable waves between your legs. His sleeping white shirt was tightly fit on his musculing body, emphasizing his biceps.

“I was. Why, do you have a better offer?” You said playfully, stopping near your room.

Logan smirk, his eyes roaming over you slowly before locking with yours. “Actually, I do. How about a drink in the kitchen? Unless you’re too tired for a little company…”

The suggestion hung in the air, the double meaning unmistakable. Something about the way his voice dipped on the last word sent a shiver down your spine.

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, I think I could make some time for a drink… as long as it’s interesting” you finished the sentence with a teasing smile, making Logan grin.

“Oh, I can promise it’ll be interesting” he said, dissapearing in his room to spit off the toothpaste he had in his mouth and before you blink again, he was back in the hallway, waiting for you to join him for walk.

You slowly peeled away from the wall and merge with Logan's footsteps, his eyes pinned on your body. He didn't care if you noticed he's checking you out, you knew it anyway.

When you walked into the dimly lit kitchen, the soft glow from the overhead light casting long shadows across the room. Logan followed close behind, his presence warm, almost electric, as he moved to the counter and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

He poured two glasses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he slid one across the counter toward you.

He then leaned forward, his voice was low and teasing. “So… what exactly does it take to keep you interested?”

You took a slow sip of the drink, your eyes never leaving his as the heat of the whiskey spread through your chest. The playful look in his eyes had your pulse quickening, and you leaned forward just enough to close some of the space between you.

“That depends. Are you up for the challenge?” You said with a sultry voice and teasing smile.

Logan chuckled softly, the sound deep and smooth, sending a jolt of anticipation through you. He stepped closer, just inches away now, his hand resting on the counter next to yours. The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension palpable as his gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again.

“Oh, I’m more than up for it” His voice husky, his breath brushing your skin. Your grin didn't leave your face.

“Are you sure? I can be a difficult beast to tame” You were a little surprised by your own words, but you loved the tension between the two of you. Your core started throbbing as he leaned just a bit closer, the space between you almost nonexistent now.

"Trust me, I can tame anything, even you" his eyes darkened and his grin fade into devilish smile. You felt your breath catch in your throat at his words, the raw intensity in his eyes sending heat pooling low in your stomach.

The tension between you was crackling now, both of you standing on the edge of something dangerous, something neither of you seemed willing to back away from.

However, your really lustful moment was interrupted by a student, who went to the kitchen. You both quickly moved away from each other and awkwardly cleared your throats.

Both of you were so lost in each others eyes, that you didn't even hear his footsteps. "Hey kid" Logan quickly turned the attention away from us and greeted the little boy who really judged you by his face. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, as he opened the fridge and took out an ice cream.

"It's pretty late don't you think?" You noticed how Logan tightly held the edge of the counter, his teeth clenched and his muscles flinched, he really wanted to get rid off that kid. "I can't sleep" he said and casually walked passed Logan to get a spoon.

Logan dropped his head down and shut his eyes, waiting for the kid to leave, but he lost his patience really quickly. "Hey, why don't you eat it in your room?" he snapped at him sternly and the boy was frozen for a moment, before he shrugged and finally left the kitchen.

You chuckle a bit, trying to cover it with your hand but Logan heard you very well. "Somethin' funny?" his voice was stern, but it didn't scare you. "No...no" you tried your best not to laugh when you looked into Logan's eyes again.

"You're a pain in the ass" he exhaled annoyed when he noticed your struggling and took a sip of his glass. You giggled and nodded, letting him know that you are aware.

"Are you goin' to that party tomorrow?" you asked curiously, your voice soft. You decided to change the subject and finally pick up some dignity. After all, you are at school and if only the boy came in a little later, who knows what he would have seen. It definitely wouldn't be professional.

Logan raised his eyebrows and looked at you. As he placed the glass on the counter, he finally answered. "You mean that 'mutant party'?" you nodded and he started laughing, annoyingly. It was a mockery of you for even asking.

You didn't move a nerve in your body and waited for Logan to calm down. "Are you serious?" he asked as he checked you and noticed your stern expression.

"Yes" you hissed and Logan spluttered again. You rolled your eyes and took a sip of whiskey, accompanying a tired sigh.

"You know it's a fucking teen-party right?" he kept giggling at you, making a fool of you. "And? Charles said he'd love to see me there" Logan immediately stopped smiling and finally got serious. "Charles?" He repeated his name to make sure you meant the same person. You nodded, taking another sip from your glass.

"Why the fuck would he want you there" you hit him with an offended face, but when you saw the jelousy in his eyes, you couldn't stay mad for long.

"What? Any problem with that?" you asked, your corner lifting up a bit as you saw Logan struggling to keep his rage under control. “No, I was just surprised” he said in his typical deep voice, but you knew very well that it wasn't true.

"Sure, well I'll come there anyway and I'll be happy to see you there too" you winked at him flirtatiously and took your and his empty glass to the sink. Logan just watched you with unreal lust and admiration, you were the apple of his eyes and the hope of all his desires.

How many nights did he stay up with only you in his head, how many lube did he use over the picture of your beautiful face, all that just for barely touching you in reality. He wanted more, if he could he would fuck you right now and then, but he knows it's not possible.

“Well, I should go to bed now…” you said as you put the glasses down. "But it was nice to have a drink with you" you turn around but your own words got caught up in your throat, as Logan suddenly appeared right in front of you, dangerously close. His eyes were dark, a mischievous grin appeard on his face and his hot heavy breath tickles your skin.

His chest almost touching yours and you gasped quietly when you felt his massive hands gently grabbing your weist. Without much effort he pulled you even closer to him, your inner thighs feeling his growing erection in his pants and your nipples, still covered by clothes, touching his chest. The only thing that was still quite far away were your lips.

You parted them, the throbbing between your legs was unbearable and Logan's provocation of his squeezing of your hips didn't help much too.

He tried to go as far as he could beyond the limits. "Come on, let's stop playin'" he whispered, leaning his face to your ear so you could hear better. "You think I don't smell the wetness in your panties right now?" you froze, not only did his husky voice bring goosebomps all over your body, but his words made your heart skip a beat.

You forgot that he is a fucking Wolverine, and can smell those kind of things, but how could you prevent it? That man can make you climax just by his voice.

Logan chuckles in your ear before moving his face back in front of yours, your noses almost touching. Your breaths were heavy, both of you were one inch away from ruining your professional relationship.

"I know you want it" his grin grew and his hands on your body gave you a light squeeze. Something about his palms on your hips brought you comfort and security, you felt safe with him. You felt like no one could hurt you, like you had superpowers too. It was an inexplicable feeling.

You were so lecherous, so lustful for Logan, for his wet lips, for his cock that makes his pants tight, for him. But after all, you had your conscience, which told you to let it go, to go to sleep, but your body wanted the exact opposite.

It was a fight against yourself, you lick your lip and try to think with your brain, but your body kept failing you. Logan's eyes keep switching from your lips to your eyes, deciding if he should already break the barrier, or wait for your first move.

Fortunately, your difficult decision was solved once again by the boy with the ice cream, who stepped into the kitchen. You pulled away from each other and looked around like nothing happened.

"Hey what you're doing here...again" Logan spoke through his clenched teeth, digging his fingers into the counter. He really wanted to get rid of that kid. "I was just returning the spoon" the poor boy looked confused and quite scared by Logan's expression. He was absolutely killing the boy with his eyes, even though it wasn't the kid's fault, that he always interrupted you. Maybe it was a sign that you simply can't be more than colleagues.

You smiled at the boy and tried to ease his nervousness a bit, but he was gone from the kitchen like a flash. You felt a little sorry for him, but you were too tired to blame Logan.

You yawned and decided to go sleep, finally. "Well, it's really late Logan" you informed him, slowly walking towards the door. "But thank you, for a beautiful evening" you glanced at him one last time and he let you.

Normally he would try to convince you or just simply run to you, grab you and hold you until your limit break and you kiss him, but he didn't do that. He was still leaning against the counter, looking at you through his heavy eyelids and his corners up. He knew nothing was going to happen today.

"Was it interesting, as you wished?" you chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, it was" your voice calm and sleepy, fully ready to drown into a web of dreams.

“Goodnight Lo” you gave Logan one last smile and walked away. You were both disappointed and a little grateful to be apart from each other. It was a really challenging evening, mostly for the psyche. Logan was impatient, waiting for you to break while you tried not to. You both deserve a long, uninterrupted and sweet sleep.

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The next day went smoothly. You had no problems with waking up, you picked your outfit easily, without throwing out all your clothes from your wardrobe and even the kids didn't make any troubles today.

These days are special and usually these things happen when some important event is coming up, which in your case, is that party.

Although you fell asleep quite easily yesterday, it took you a while. You tried to count sheep, as everybody said it helps, but your thoughts always stopped them. Thoughts about tonights party and Logan.

The moment when you were in the kitchen stuck perfectly in your head. His hands firmly gripping your hips as his hard cock teased you and prompts you to prioritize your sexual desires over rational solutions. That tiny distance between your lips, you kept wondering what would happen if you just broke it? How must his lips taste? He is definitely boss in kissing and you were a little disappointed you didn't find out yesterday.

Either way, you were getting a little annoyed with the way your brain kept going back to the image of Logan over and over again. Of course, you taught perfectly in class, as always, but it was much more difficult to stay on topic and not start yapping about something you definitely shouldn't talk about in front of the students.

When you finally had a break, you were in your office, correcting tests. You almost drew a line across of a whole paper, when you heard an aggressive knocking. When your heart calmed down, you shouted. "Come in!" your voice a little frustrated at the interruption, but not for long when you saw an excited Storm in the doorway.

She quickly closed the door behind her and hopped over to your desk like an excited bunny. "Am I disturbing?" She asked out of politeness, even though she didn't care. "Uh well, I'm correcting tests right now-" you innocently tried to give a hint, that you were busy at the moment, but Storm didn't even bother to catch that signal.

"You're going to that party tonight right!?" She was like your nine-year-old daughter, coaxing you to go carousel. You let out a exhausting breath and nodded your head, instantly getting a pitched squeal in response.

Even if you're not in the mood for her childish outbursts sometimes, Storm never fails to cheer you up, at least a little bit. Whether she makes you laugh with her behavior or just with her words, you always have to smile.

"Is Logan gonna be there too?!" you jumped a little in your swivel chair when Storm suddenly got serious and slapped her hands on the table. But the word Logan immediately brought you back to reality. The name was like some kind of trigger for all your emotions to activate.

You took a deep breath and pursed your lips into a thin line as you answered in a slightly mad voice. "I don't know" as soon as you said that you didn't even wait for Storm to answer and continued to write into the papers.

"What do you mean 'you don't know'? Didn't you talk to him?" You flinched slightly as you remembered last night and what Logan's title of the party. "I did. He said that 'It's a fucking teen-party'"

Storm rolled her eyes and grunted in annoyance. "Oh my god" she added looking at you, but you didn't react, you just silently agreed with her reaction. "So he's not going because it's a 'teen party'?" she asked you with disbelief in her voice and you just shrugged your shoulders unconsciously. "I really don't know. Maybe he'll come, maybe not.”

You said it so boldly as if you didn't care at all about Logan's presence there, but the reality was different. You wished and prayed to all gods that he would be there, that he would come and see you. Maybe the last night would repeat itself and maybe something could actually happen if he was there, but right now you have nothing else to do but hope.

"Well fuck him! Even without him you'll enjoy it, because you'll have me" you raised your head to look into Storm's eyes and give her a grateful look.

“Charles is supposed to be there too” you hinted subtly as you finished one paper and rushed to another. Storm froze for a second before she realized. "And how do you know that?" she raised an eyebrow, clearly suspecting you of something. You couldn't but giggle a bit, still paying full atention to the chimney of papers under your hands.

"He said he'll be happy to see me there, so I suppose-" Storm gasped loudly and slammed the table one more time, almost breaking it. "Are you kidding me?!" you shake your head and look up at her, her dramatic shocked expression made you chuckle more.

"But it doesn't mean anything, he just invited me there-" "It doesn't mean anything?! Are you serious?! He wants you so bad" these words were your last straw and you had to laugh. Maybe the burst of laughing was also caused by the little adrenaline in your body and the thought that someone other than Logan would want you. You couldn't lie, you kinda like the idea. It was exciting, it gave you confidence and even chills.

"Like come on! You can date a telepath!" Storm joyfully said with sparks in her eyes. "Storm, calm down-" you chuckle at her random energy boost, but inside you were a little afraid of her.

"I mean, on the other hand, Logan has big claws...maybe that's not the only thing that's big" you couldn't believe Storm's words. You quickly blinked at her a few times, before you shook your head from the shock.

"Okay you dirty minded whore, don't you have a class?" she thought for a second, before her eyes almost popped out of her dimples. "Shit!" was her last shout before she flashly disappeared from your office.

"Crazy..." you slowly shake your head as you keep chuckling. Storms words were hanging in the air and every time your brain plays the image of her saying that you can date a telepath or the thing about Logan's claws, your heart surges with adrenaline and you have to laugh. You definitely have abs by now from the endless sniggering.

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The gym had been transformed for the party—soft lighting, music humming low in the background, and clusters of your colleagues mingling around. You felt the weight of the night disappear as you walked in, your dress hugging your curves in all the right places, a bit more daring than what you'd normally wear at school.

Logan was leaning casually against the far wall, talking to couple of teachers, but the moment you stepped through the door, his attention snapped to you.

His conversation faltered, and his breath caught in his throat. For a second, he could only stare, eyes tracing the shape of your dress, the way it clung to your body, revealing just enough to send his mind wandering. He’d never seen you like this before—confident, radiant, undeniably sexy.

As you made your way toward the drink table, Logan excused himself and crossed the room, his heart racing with each step. He couldn't tear his eyes away. You noticed him approaching, a small smirk playing on your lips as he finally reached you.

“Is this the same person who hides behind a stack of books and coffee mugs all day? Because I don’t remember you looking like this…” Logan said as he gently place his hand on your waist, his hand traveled around your belly as he walked around you. He wanted to touch you so badly, much more when you look like this.

You laugh softly, turning to face him with a knowing smile. “That's the charm of women. A little make-up and revealing clothes and see what a wretch you can make of a man" you looked confidently at Logan, as a cocky smile appeared on his face.

"You're right. You're absolutely right" his voice was low, his eyes traveling over you, lingering just enough to make your pulsw quicken.

You tilted your head slightly, enjoying the effect you’re clearly having on him. “I thought you wouldn't show up here” Logan furrowed his eyebrows at first, confused but then the puzzles in his head connected together.

"I thought this is a fucking teen-party" with this comment you made it even clearler to Logan why you are surprised that he is here.

"Yeah but I've decided to give it a try" he looked around before his eyes landed on you again. The angle of him being way taller than you, looking down at you was sending shivers down your spine.

Logan leaned closer, his voice dropping as his lips touched your ears. "But mostly I'm here because of you" you could feel the heat of his body, his presence almost overwhelming as he stood just inches away, his breath brushing your ear.

The room seemed to fade into the background, the soft hum of the party drowned out by the way Logan moves his head back, his eyes drinking you in. There was something about the way he looked at you now, with a hunger that makes a fountain in your panties

It took a while for you to regain all your senses back, but when it did, you were confident again, but still slightly nervous. After all, who wouldn't be nervous, if a big handsome man stood opposite you, with a sinful expression on his face.

"Fuck, I’m just wondering how long I can keep my cool with you looking like that” he licked his lower lip, his pupils widen and he curled his fingers into a tight fist, fighting all his demons and inner thoughts from touching you.

Your heart skipped a beat at the playful edge in his voice, your skin tingling with the unspoken tension between you. The air felt heavier now, charged with an attraction you both seemed to be dancing around.

“You’re doing a pretty good job so far. But I have to say, it’s fun watching you try” you grinned, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Logan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. “Oh, I’m not trying. You’ve got me right where you want me” he leaned even closer to you, his rusty voice tickles your eardrums.

You raise an eyebrow. “And where's that?” voice softening as you hold his gaze, pure innocence in your eyes, while your mind was far from this word.

Logan paused for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again. His smile turned softer, more intense, as if weighing his next words carefully.

“Standing here, wondering what it would take for you to finally break the barrier of our professional relationship”

The tension between you was palpable now, the playful flirtation slowly shifting into something deeper, more dangerous. You could feel the pull between you, like an invisible thread drawing you closer, even though neither of you made a move. It was intoxicating, thrilling, the way you both hovered on the edge of something you weren’t quite ready to dive into, but couldn’t fully resist either.

"We'll see" you looked up at him with your corners up, all your skin covered in goosebombs, your body hot but not from the temperature in the gym, but because of Logan.

Neither of you moved, content to let the moment linger, the promise of something more hanging in the air. The night was young, but the tension between you was undeniable. It wasn’t a question of if something would happen, it was just a matter of when.

"Anyway, have you seen Charles here?" you looked around trying to find your target but Logan's dangerous silence caught your attention much better.

"Charles?" he growled through his teeth, clearly showing he isn't really happy about you mentioning another man in his presence. You find it cute, that he can't hide his jealousy and his possessive side shows easily.

"Yeah, I wanna talk to him" you nodded and started looking around again, almost stepping out as you saw a familiar figure, but in a second you move your leg, you felt a tight grip on your wrist.

You immediately snapped behind your hand and then looked at Logan. His eyes dark with a dire warning, his stern expression makes your legs flutter and cheeks hot. Before you could tell Logan to let you go, or do practically any interaction with him, Charles appeared to you.

"Hello" he said calmly, breaking your intense moment as you turn to face him. "Hi! I just wanted to look for you!" Your smile shined at Charles, with the purpose of provoking Logan even more. He just cleared his throat and nodded in greeting. Your teasing was more than successful.

"Oh really? Well here I am" you chuckle and quickly check Logan, who doesn't even flinch to look at you, his eyes were glued to Charles. Of course, every telepath knows what's going on in your head, so naturally even Logan's.

When he read his mind, his eyes widened a bit before he recovered.

"Well, I don't want to disturb you, I just wanted to thank you both for coming" he put his hands behind his back and smile. "You're not disturbing at all!" you throw your hand at Charles, Logan giving you a death glare.

"And we thank you that we can be here. It's very nicely decorated" you looked above yourself, where diamonds and blue stones were scattered, before glaring back at Charles. He looked a little nervous, but not because of your presence but rather Logan's.

"Okay well...keep an eye on the kids to avoid some accidents and enjoy yourself” Charles said with a deep sweet voice and with those words he left you and Logan alone again.

As soon as you turned around, Logan grabbed your waist and pulled you dangerously close to him. He didn't care if anyone saw you or if it was inappropriate, his wild side took over. You gasped quietly at the sudden movement and looked up into his lustful eyes. He didn't need to say anything, his face spoke for itself that he has no self-preservation anymore. All he needed was your permission and he would fuck you without hesitation, in front of everyone.

"You really think I didn't notice what you were doing?" his voice grainy and low, very similar to the voice of a wolf. His myschiev grin sends a passionate vibrations right into your core, which started throbbing immediately since Logan landed his hands on you.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and your pulsing between your legs down, only for Logan to give you a strong squeeze, making you whine and drop your head. He scoff at your reaction and started picking on you. "Not so confident anymore, are we?"

You swiftly put yourself together and dare to look back at Logan's face. You put an effortless smile, trying hard not to melt into Logan's clutch.

"And what exactly was I doing?" You plaguinly yet innocently ask, knowing the answer damn well. Logan insidiously smirk, sensing your intentions. He leaned closer, so close that you could feel his heart beating on your chest.

“You’re playing with fire, and you know exactly how much I like the burn” he grunt, your tip of your noses practically touching and your warm breaths mixing with each other. Your pulse quicken, your whole body covered in goosebombs.

Before you could manage to give Logan an answer, your mind senses a loud cheering and screaming. Without delay you turn your head towards the noise, squeezing your eyes to have a better view.

There was a crowd, surrounded by someone. You couldn't really see who was in the center, but that doesn't change the fact that you must intervene. You and Logan looked at each other one last time, before quickly stumbling towards the cluster.

Logan was yelling at them from a distance but you were quiet and tried to move over the kids to the center as quickly as possible. Of course, Logan with his height had found it easier to free himself but that didn't stop you.

When you finally walked over all the kids to the crime scene, you saw two boys standing across from each other. They both looked pretty pissed and probably getting ready for fight. One had a blue hand, apparently wielding ice while the other played with fire in his palm. You recognize these trouble makers immediately. Bobby and John.

The whole school knows that these two really don't like each other. Every time they are together, they immediately start arguing and fighting. Not only do they make a mess, but they often gamble with their and others health This was not an exceptional situation.

Since Logan quickly choose Bobby, you have no one left but John. You quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Bobby and Logan. “Hi John” you put your hands ahead, giving him a clear sign you're surrendering. He looked even more upset when he saw you.

"Get out of my way" he snarled and made his flames on his hands much hotter. You were scared. Of course you were scared, you have absolutely no chance against him even if you wanted to. He could just touch you and you would turn into coal and powder instantly. Despite your fear, you had to calm down and stop the situation to avoid injury. That is the main reason you are here.

"Listen buddy, I know you and Bobby have some disagreements" John moved his head around you and huffed, trying to see over you but he had no chance. That makes him even angrier. "Get out of my way or you'll get hurt!" threatening, his favorite activity. "John just calm down-" you barely started to speak when John cut you off.

"No you calm down and listen to me! I can kill you in a blink of an eye and you'd be nothing but an atom! So get the fuck out of my way or I'll kill you for real" he started charging his flames, making your pulse quicken and hands shake from the dread. The worst part of all of this was, that he was absolutely right, he could make you vanish in a snap.

But you were brave and despite how much you wanted to run away, you still tried to save it. "Yes, you could kill me easily John but trust me, that won't drive your anger away" your voice softened, trying to play on emotions this time. "But I don't want that anger go away!" you quickly sense his body language going for a flame shot. You swiftly dodged, promptly looking where the fire went, so that no one would get hurt. Luckily it flies into empty space where no one was standing, but it was still a shock for you and your body. You started breathing heavily and turned around to face Johny again, who goes for another blast.

You were about to evade again, but this time it was too late. It flies right into your face and you were ready to accept your fate. You closed your eyes when you suddenly felt large hands on your shoulders, turning you around and pulling you sideways. Everything happened so fast that you didn't even have time to recover.

Your head was spinning, people's voices started fade into a loud murmur and everything suddenly slowed down. You saw Logan asking you something and he looked pretty worried but how could you answer him when you couldn't hear his words. He kept squeezing your arms to wake you up, his concerned face was more and more intense because you weren't answering him. He knew something was wrong but how could he know what, if you didn't speak.

You just looked at him dazed, as if you had just drank 3 shots of vodka and smoked weed on top of it. The thing that woke you up was a moment Logan stopped paying attention to you but to John. He looked at him really furiously, his nostrils were big and his clenched teeth were sharp, ready to bite. The world returned to normal speed, the muttering was now clear and you could finally speak.

As Logan stuck out his claws and was about to dash after John, you stopped him. "No! Logan!" you screamed as you placed your hand on his chest, fully stopping his motion. He looked at you, a spark of hope in his eyes as he finally heard you speak. "Are you okay?" he asked again, this time was probably the 30th try. "Yeah but don't do that" you quickly nodded and changed your hand placement on his knuckles, giving him a clear sign of what you meant.

He looked down at your hand, really fighting his every urge to run towards John, but your convincing eyes got him. He retracted his claws and nodded his head, before a reassuring smile formed on your face.

"Hey kid, get lost befote I do it myself" Logan warned John in a gruff voice, who at first looked like he was going to keep fighting until he extinguished his fire out of nowhere, turned around and walked away. You and Logan looked bemused at each other, so did everybody else, but everything makes sense after Charles appeared in the circle. He looked at Bobby, didn't control his mind but just gave him a ‘get out of here’ look and he obeyed him.

It was all too much for you. You were still kind of shocked, after all you faced your own death a few minutes ago in front of young people, who would definitely be traumatized. Not only that, but they could insurgend against teachers, which could cause an unwelcome war. Maybe it wouldn't happen, maybe it's just your unstoppable overthinking but you still felt incredibly anxious.

You needed to get out of there, you needed personal space to chill out, before you break down in front of everyone.

Logan was talking to Charles, you didn't catch what he was saying but that didn't bother you. You took the opportunity of the two of them not paying attention to you and ran towards ladies toilets.

Naturally, Logan was screaming your name as he notices you, but that didn't stop you. You knew he was running after you, and no offense but he has much better condition than you, so he could catch you easily, but you still managed to get to the toilets before he did.

You breathed heavily as you leaned your hands against the sink, head dropping down and eyes tightly shut. You tried to focus on your breath, but the memory of the flame right in front of your eyes kept hitting your mind. You couldn't control it anymore and tears were streaming down your face.

Before long, Logan shows up, ambling towards you straight away. You no longer had the energy to pretend and keep smiling, you let everything out.

"Hey hey shhh it's okay" Logan reassure you, as he grabs you into a tight embrace. He was rubbing your back slowly as you were sobbing into his chest. Your make-up was probably now plastered on Logan's t-shirt, but he didn't mind.

"It's okay princess, I'm right here" he whispered, his voice calm and low, making you feel safe. "I could've died" you stammered, still crying with eyelashes stuck together. "Don't say that" he put his hand on your head, caressing your hair.

He could smell your fear and feel your heart beating like never before. He felt so sorry for you, he wanted to help you and somehow transmit your fear into him, but that wasn't possible. Even so he wanted to help you and comforting was the only option here.

"It's fine now, you're safe" he kept brushing your hair softly, making goosebombs jump on your skin from that feeling. You were much calmer now, listening to his heart while his chest moves up and down under your head, it was like a psychiatric aid to relax and it worked.

After a while, you pulled away from Logan's breast and snuffle few times. Logan cups your cheeks right away and makes you look up at him. He checks your eyes, which were still filled with tears. This view of you like this stabbed straight to his heart.

He frowned sadly and rubbed his thumbs against your face. "Please don't cry" his voice was so soft, you never heard him like this before. "Please" his plea broke your knees and you almost cried even more, but you tried to be strong and think positive. You are alive and well, you have no injuries so why do you keep want to cry?

You didn't want to admit it, but you felt like you didn't belong at this school. Your fears at the beginning, when you started working as a teacher and practically join the x-men, were strong, but over time they eased…until now.

As if John actually told you that you have no point to be here because you will never fight back. You will never be stronger than mutants. The thought broke you again. "I don't belong here" you pursed your lips to indicate that you were driving on a thin ice to starts sobbing again.

"What? What are you talking about?" Logan gave you a confused look and caresses your cheeks with more pressure. "I am not a mutant, I am just a human who was almost killed by a child" you spilled out, tears falling from your eyes. "Oh princess I though we already talked about this" he sighed, giving you a gloomy look.

"It doesn't matter you're not a mutant. Of course you belong here! You're one of us now, whether you want it or not, you're x-men" he smiled at you, his voice sincere as his praise warmed your heart.

"Today was just a small mistake, nothing a cigar or a glass of whiskey couldn't fix" you laugh at his words and the fact that he's thinking about alcohol again.

"Yeah" you sniffled and nodded, while a big smile appeared on your face. "So don't ever think about this again alright? You're smart, you're strong and you're so fucking sexy" you felt your cheeks heating up, but you couldn't hide your face since Logan still held you.

"Stop I have to look like a total mess" you nervously chuckle and shake your head, trying to free your cheeks from his grip, but obviously that didn't work out.

"Mess? Are you kidding me?" he got your attention again. You looked at him like he was a holy angel, a treasure you've been looking for all your life and you finally found it, you looked at him so submissively, that Logan's dick started twitching in his pants. You have gorgeous eyes that drive him crazy whenever you hold eye contact for more than five minutes.

He looked deep into your eyes, his voice soft but full of conviction. “You're stunning, even now, especially now. Your eyes, even when they're teary, they're still the most captivating I've ever seen. And that smile...even when you're trying to hide it, it lights up everything around you” his laud was sending straight rays between your legs but also throughout your body. Your blood was boiling in your veins and you were red as a tomato. But Logan wasn't done.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, inside and out, even in moments like this. I'm here, and I see all of you... and I'm not going anywhere” this was the last straw to do what you've been dreaming of for so long. You break down barriers, throw aside all dignity and let your emotions take over. You quickly reach for Logan's neck and pull him right into your face, pressing your lips against his.

At first he was astounded, frozen in place with his eyes wide open. But when he absorbed the fact that you were kissing him, he immediately began to cooperate. He moved his hands from your cheeks to your hips and nimbly pulled you closer to him.

You ran your fingers through Logan's hair while he was squeezing your hips, making you whine into the kisses. Initially pliable, soft and smooth kisses where you both keep your hands at a certain area turned into rough, coarse and hungry bitting into the lips. Sad thoughs disappear in a snap when lust and need for Logan replaced them.

Both of you started groaning while keep gluing your lips against each other. You were starving for more, your hands smoothly moving from his neck to his back, ending up on his torso. Logan, on the other hand, couldn't get enough of you. The way your hands were exploring his body sends exciting waves directly into his veins on the dick.

Your body was full of thrill and anticipation, your core was throbbing and your panties were already soaking wet. Both of your hand movements were out of control, you reached out to each other wherever you could to feel the other's body and remember it well. However when Logan felt your arousal, he stopped controlling himself and he no longer thought with his brain but with his penis.

He growled loudly as the scent from your panties hit his nostrils and stopped kissing you. He was eagerly tearing off his shirt and you were helping him. A satisfied grin appeared on your face as you noticed Logan's lips being messy from your red lipstick. He didn't care, all he was focused on was getting the useless clothes off him as quickly as possible.

When you both manage to finally take off his shirt, he flashed you with his huge muscular body. The cherry on top of it all was that he was hairy, which just gave him points for attractiveness and made you even more horny.

You couldn't resist and ran your hand on his breast to the top of his pants. It was even hotter to touch. You let out an exciting gasp and Logan just giggled. "Like what you see princess?" he asked you with tease and you readily nodded your head. The image of this body fucking you on school toilets drives you wild.

You disorderly jumped at him and kissed him passionately while your hands unbuttoned his pants. Every time you've touched him his erection grew and he was eager to see your body too. That's why he didn't hesitate and grabbed your dress and lifted them up, but you stopped him.

"Not yet" you whispered with a smirk and continued unbuttoning his pants. His hands were still firmly on your hips, as his eyes curiously followed your every move. As soon as you stripped his pants off, seeing his erection begging to be free from his boxers, you gave him amused expression, before getting on your knees.

You took off the last fabric that separated you from seeing Logan in all his glory and dropped your jaw. He was fucking massive. You admired his bulging veins, his little hairs, his pink tip that was already a little wet. You could watch him all day and not get tired of him, but now you didn't have time for this.

Your mouth pooled with saliva while your pulsating was in insane speed. "Good girl" he gently grabbed your hair and waited for you to finally put him in your mouth. You didn't wait long and while you kept eye contact with Logan by looking directly up at him, you slowly lick his tip, making him shudder.

You repeated this few times because you just loved to provoke him. He was keep swearing under his breath but until you got to his limit. His grip on your hair tightened and lightly jerked your head to warn you. This time you took his signal seriously. You lick your lips and softly open your mouth. Wrapping around his tip you make him whine and struggle to keep eye contact with you. This was just the beginning.

You painfully slowly collected his length, your moans sending heavy vibration to Logan's cock, so that his growls got louder and he needed to lean against the sink with his hands. Your mouth was perfect, small and narrow, like it was made just for him. He knew he won't last long with you.

When you accomplish to take him more, your mouth was damn full. There was no way that you could fit him deep balls, so a little part was still left. Even so he was already brushing the back of your throat with his tip, desperately trying to stir up some friction.

His grip loosened as you slowly suck him, sliding your mouth on him like he was the most tasty lollipop you ever had and indeed he was. After a few motions you grab his base with your hand to help yourself a little, and started picking up the pace.

The combination of your hand and your mouth jerking him off at the same time was sending him to the edge rapidly fast. He always dreamed about this moment, you on your knees, looking at him while your mouth is full of his cock, this is just too good to be true.

Your mouth sometimes slipped off, as you try to breathe in, but you immediately pulled him back in. The wet, clammy sound began to surround the entire toilet and you both prayed that no one would come now. Logan's growl was harsher whenever his tip, already leaking with precum, touched your wet spongy throat.

After a while, you started deep-throat sucking him, moving your head as fast as your body allows. "Fuck" he throw his head back and massage your head, as you tried not to interfere him with your teeth.

He was close, his dick was twitching inside your mouth, his veins pulsating and his whining was choppy. His hips automatically thrusting into you as he tried to catch his climax already. Your eyes watery from the pressure while you felt a drop rolling from your panties.

The last few thrusts took place before Logan hissed loudly and plunged his cock deep into your mouth, making your gag reflex hit a bit but luckily, it wasn't serious. He burst into you, his seed hot and salty but also really sweet. You swallowed everything down to the last drop.

He moved into you few times, trying to catch his breath and ride out the orgasm. You allow him to do that, your lips still tightly wrapped around him, before he finally takes him out.

You admired his face, how tired and devastated it looked. God so many months and so many chances you always avoided and you could have this. His hot breath tickles your nose, as he keeps massaging your head, making you purr and leaned against his touch.

"Fuck you're amazing" he chuckled as he finally opened his eyes and looked at you. His pupils big and his eyes dark, his body full of testosterone as he tried to process the intense climax. You watched him quietly, eyes full of expectation and passion.

After Logan got some rest and regained his strength, he grabbed you and forced you to stand back on your feet. Without further ado, he pinned his lips to yours as he unzipped your dress. His movements were quick and gritty, as soon as he got his energy back he was ready for the next round.

He lost all his patience and interest in whether someone would catch you, when your dress gently fell on the floor, exposing your black sexy lace underwear. As if you knew this moment would come and prepared yourself.

Logan looked you over swiftly and grunted in excitement. "You're driving me crazy" he hissed before he aggressively started tearing off your bra and panties. All were gone in a second and you feel goosebombs creating on your skin and your body hair straightened up, as the cold fresh air touched your naked body. Logan was hungrily kissing you, fighting with your tongue and from time to time biting your already bloody lips. You really did drive him crazy.

You both breathed heavily and moaned into the kisses, as the impatience started being unbearable and you longed for much more intimate than just exploring each other's naked bodies with hands. You wanted his dick and he wanted your core, so why not finally indulge?

He turned you around and adjusted himself to enter you without any trouble. You were in front of the mirror, your lower stomach pressing into sink and you watched Logan's reflection, as he looked intently at your ass. He slapped you hard, making you whine loudly and held your hips.

After that, without further delay, he slowly started penetrate you. He was slow, enjoying the way your pussy was even tighter and wetter than your mouth but at the same time, respecting your pain.

You shut your eyes and dropped your head, despite the pain from his entering, your body automatically reacted and your ass moved backwards. Logan groans as you unintentionally pushed yourself against him, gaining more of him. He wasn't all the way in yet, but you already felt full, like there was no room for more, but he still continued and fit into you balls deep.

You let out a loud whimper as he spread your walls and throw your head back. Logan gentlemanly waited for you to get used to him, but his desire didn't allow him to wait long.

After a while, he started slowly and gradually moving his pelvis, stretching you even more. Your jaw dropped and whenever he pushed himself against you, your throat let out a sigh. Little by little he started to speed up his movements and pick up the pace as he strengthened his movements as well.

The clapping sound began to reverberate throughout the toilet and the atmosphere became stiff. Your unrelenting throbbing stopped right away, when Logan found your spongy cervix and began to hit that spot over and over again, making you seeing stars. You sighed his name while your eyes were still closed so that your brain could focus only on Logan inside you.

He noticed your eyes shut, but he needed to see them, how beautiful they shine in reflection of light and how pathetic you look at him. He grabbed your hair tightly and shook your head a little. "Open your eyes" a grunt in his voice as he was thrusting headlong into you.

You struggle a bit to open them, since your eyelids were really heavy, but somehow you manage to do it. You look at yourself, sweat forming on your forehead, boobs moving rhythmically with Logan's thrusting and you keep rolled your eyes, because the pleasure was now indescribable.

However, you weren't just curious about yourself and you had to look at Logan too, who was mercilessly hitting the right spot inside you. His teeth clenched as he looks at the part you two were connected. His face expression really focused and passionate, while he still held your hair firmly. He flicked his eyes at you in the mirror, smirking as he realized you were watching him the whole time.

He couldn't get enough of you. You were the goddess of all his desires and needs, you were the goddess of orgasm.

He lost his control in his lower body and just instinctively slapping your ass by his lower stomach. Your mind was turning off as you felt dizziness hitting. At the same time, your vision got worse and you saw nothing but blurriness, it was no longer worth keeping your eyes open.

You scream Logan's name as you start feeling the weird urge to pee, your walls clenching against him, making him closer to his edge too. You were both huffing, moaning and grinning. Your overwhelming feeling started kicking in and you slowly stopped feeling nerves in your legs.

Logan sense you are getting close, but he wanted to see your face closely when you're gonna cum. In few quick moves, he pulled out of you, turned you around, grabbed your legs and pushed into you again. Your shock from the sudden position change was immediately replaced by the urgent feeling of cumming.

Before you could warn Logan, you tense your body, trembling until you let everything out and finally release.

A chill ran down your spine when your core pulsates and Logan still hurshly thrusts into you, until he cum too, definitely in a much dramatic way than you. His groan must've been heard miles away.

He dropped his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and desperately trying to catch his breath. You also had a problem with oxygen in your lungs and your head was still spinning from that intense climax. Last time you had sex was months ago, you even forgot what it's like.

Logan chuckled as his eyes were still closed, trying to come back to his senses and you had to laugh too.

Suddenly you heard a door opening. You both snapped and turned your heads towards the sound. Of course, there was none other than Storm standing there.

At first she surprisingly didn't notice you, but it didn't take long for a shocked expression to appear on her face. "Shit I'm sorry..." she quickly grabbed the handle and closed the door, only for opening it again. "I'm sorry?!" she looked at you with huge devilish smirk with a teasing and surprised voice.

"Get out!" Logan scream at her, which was a bit mean but on the other hand, you get it. You were sharing the most intimate moment and Storm was just scanning you breathlessly.

"Fine fine…" she obediently closed the door slowly, giving you a thumbs up before closing it completely. You laugh and Logan just shakes his head. "She won't stop yapping about it" you said and Logan grunted in agreement. "She's our biggest fan" his voice was crusty and low, his wolf tone melted your heart.

Well, if Logan is going to calm your fears like this every time, then you're afraid you won't be able to ever walk again.

"Shouldn't we go back?" you asked with huge puppy eyes and Logan scoffed annoyingly. He really didn't want to leave your warm body and go back among those pesky kids.

He loved your presence and wished he could hold this moment forever. But that didn't happen and after a few minutes, you plucked up the courage. Both of you got dressed and put yourselves together, before casually walking out of the toilets like you just weren't missing for about half an hour.

You quietly walked consecutively and when you returned back to the hall, luckily, no one noticed you. "I'll go grab some whiskey" he leaned to your ear and tickles you by his voice, before smacking your ass and walking away. You gasped and incredulously shook your head with a pleasing grin.

You watched Logan slowly disappear into the crowd and let out a satisfied sigh.

The only thing you regret was that you didn't break down these barriers sooner and thus find out how damn good he is at pleasing a woman. You couldn't wait for him to show you what else this maniac can do.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

[itsnesss]

𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 | charles leclerc × fem!reader

summary | after a secret night of passion, charles promises everything—but gossip spreads, silence follows, and you're left wondering if it ever truly meant something

warnings | smut, explicit content, p in v, unprotected, power dynamics, emotional tension, risk

word count | 2.2 k

🖇 more cl16 🖇 f1 masterlist

The roar of the engines still echoes in your ears as you cross the paddock for the first time. It’s overwhelming. The heat from the asphalt, the smell of burnt rubber, the constant motion of important people who move as if they’ve been synchronized for years… and there you are. The new one.

Physiotherapist for the Ferrari team.

You repeat it like a mantra as you clutch your folder of recovery plans for the drivers tightly to your chest. You can’t afford to hesitate for a second. It took everything to get here, and you know one mistake, one misplaced word, or one misinterpreted glance could cost you everything.

And that includes Charles Leclerc.

Especially him.

"Bonjour," he says with a mischievous smile when you're introduced.

He’s tall, but not imposing. His presence doesn’t scream—it whispers. He greets you with a brief but firm handshake. His eyes flicker from yours to your mouth and then back, like he’s allowing himself the indulgence. You nod with professionalism, even though your stomach flutters.

From that day on, Charles doesn’t stop seeking you out. A passing comment, a visit to the massage room without any real reason, jokes that make you smile even though you try not to. He never crosses the line, but he dances dangerously close to it.

And you… you do too.

The rules are clear: no relationships between drivers and team staff. You could lose your job. He, his image. But when you're alone with him in a closed room, those rules seem far away. Almost unreal.

Like today.

"You have ten minutes before the team meeting," you say as you help him lie on his back on the mat. You’re in the physio center of the garage, right before qualifying.

"With you, I’d take a full hour," he replies, wearing that smile you already know by heart.

You don’t answer. You just roll your eyes and begin the protocol. First his arms, then his neck. Always focused. Always professional.

Until it’s time to stretch his leg muscles.

"You’ll feel some pressure in your quadriceps," you warn, gently bringing his leg toward his chest.

He nods, but his eyes aren’t on his leg. They’re on you. On your lips. On the bead of sweat running down your temple.

Your hands are on his warm skin. His team shorts don’t leave much to the imagination. You try to keep your focus, but the tension between you two is thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Do I make you nervous when you touch me?" he whispers.

You freeze. You look at him, serious. "Don’t say things like that."

"Why not? Don’t you feel something when we’re this close?"

Your breathing quickens. He notices. Of course, he notices. Your fingers press harder than necessary, like you're trying to punish him for making you feel this way.

But he doesn’t complain. Quite the opposite.

"You shouldn’t," you say softly.

"But I want to."

Your gaze locks with his, and this time, you don’t pull away. You say nothing.

There are just his eyes on yours, your hands on his leg, your body dangerously leaning over him.

"If you kiss me, I won’t stop you," he says, so quietly you barely hear it.

Your heart pounds. Do you want this? Do you really want to risk everything?

He lifts his torso effortlessly, now only inches from you, lying there on that mat that suddenly feels more like a bed in disguise.

"You’ve got five more minutes," he reminds you, his voice rough.

"Enough," you murmur.

Your lips crash into his in a desperate kiss. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s feral. Urgent.

Charles groans into your mouth, his hands on your waist, pulling you on top of him like he needs you to breathe. Your legs fall on either side of his without a second thought, and he feels so firm, so real, so yours in that moment that the world fades away.

Your hands move over his chest, his neck, his damp hair. He bites your bottom lip and laughs against your mouth.

"You’re playing with fire," you say between kisses.

"That’s exactly what I want."

He flips you over with such ease it knocks the air from your lungs. You’re beneath him now, on that mat that holds no innocence anymore. His body presses into yours, his arousal undeniable between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back as his tongue traces a burning path down your neck. You bite your lip to keep from moaning too loudly. The walls are thin. Anyone could walk in.

"Charles…" you whisper, your voice barely there.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he says, but you don’t.

Because you don’t want him to stop.

Your hands travel down his back to the edge of his clothes. He understands. With swift, practiced movements, he removes the last barriers between you.

There’s no time for games. Not now.

But there’s no need for them anyway.

You feel him enter you, fill you, stretch you, and your body arches into a perfect curve that begs for more. Each thrust is like a crash, like a whip of pleasure shooting through you. Your nails dig deeper into his back with every movement, and your lips seek his with desperation.

"I have to be quick," he whispers urgently. "I have to be perfect."

And he is. Every move he makes is a masterpiece of control and passion. His hands grip your hips with a force that makes you moan louder, and you realize the pleasure isn't just about the speed or the need… it's about the moment.

"You're so deep inside me…" you moan, but there's no time to say more. His lips seal yours in a hungry, devouring kiss while his body both demands and gives at the same time.

"You're mine," he whispers in your ear, and you believe it, because in that instant, you are.

"God… Charles…" you pant, and he turns you over again, but this time he places you face down on the mat, your back to him. One hand holds your neck gently but with authority, while the other guides your hips backward with each thrust.

"This… this is how I want you," he pants against your ear.

And you do. You surrender to his rhythm, his strength, his passion. Your moans mix with his, forming a symphony that echoes in the small room, and you don’t care who might hear. You just want more.

"Don’t stop… please," you beg, and he responds with more intensity, as if your voice fuels him to go beyond.

"Yes… yes… like that…" you moan against the sweaty mat, and he makes you arch more, take him deeper, fuller.

"You’re perfect," he whispers, and those words push you to the edge of pleasure.

"I’m gonna… I’m gonna…" you try to say, but the words are lost in a choked scream that he captures with a wild kiss.

"Wait for me," he pleads, and you try, but your body is a volcano ready to erupt.

"I can’t… I can’t…" you beg, and he gives you everything—every part of him, every heartbeat, every whisper.

And when the end comes, it’s like a blaze that consumes you completely. You let go, give in, surrender, and he keeps going, relentless, perfect, until pleasure shakes you to your core and makes him cry out too, with your name on his lips, his body collapsing over yours.

"God…" is the last thing you hear before he’s there, holding you, kissing your forehead gently.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.

"More than okay," you smile, and he smiles too, a smile more sincere than all the ones before.

"Just in time," Charles says, looking at his phone. "I have to go."

"I know," you reply, but you stay in his arms a few seconds longer.

"What was this?" you finally ask, honestly.

"Something that should’ve happened before," he says, looking into your eyes. "Something I want to happen again."

And for the first time since you arrived, you allow yourself to believe that maybe the rules can bend, that maybe the risk is worth it. Because when you look at him, you don’t see the Ferrari driver, you don’t see the superstar… you see Charles.

And he sees you.

The air vibrates between you as you dress in silence, glances exchanged, sighs held in. You know the clock is still ticking, that each second brings you closer to reality and further from the moment. But you’re not ready to leave yet.

"We have to talk about this," you say finally, breaking the spell.

Charles nods seriously, his eyes already more focused, more aware of what’s happened. "As soon as I’m back from the track."

"Yeah," you agree, though part of you already fears that conversation.

"Trust me," he says before leaving, and you almost believe you can.

The rest of the day is a blur of activity and adrenaline. Every time you see Charles walk by, in his racing suit and helmet in hand, your stomach flips. You don’t know if it’s fear or anticipation, but you do know nothing will ever be the same again.

When the race ends and the paddock starts to empty, you receive a message on your phone. It’s from him.

"Where are you?" Just that. No emojis, no jokes. Just a question heavier than all the words he hasn’t said.

"In the massage room," you reply, knowing it’s already empty. It’s the most private place you can offer him without raising suspicion.

"Coming now."

The minutes before he arrives feel like hours. You wonder what he’ll say, if he’ll apologize, if he’ll pretend it was a mistake. But when the door opens and he walks in, his hair messy and eyes bright, you know he didn’t come to apologize.

He closes the door behind him with a click that sounds like a gunshot. He doesn’t say anything, just walks toward you with confident, determined steps. Before you can speak, he grabs your waist and kisses you like he hasn’t kissed anyone since he left you on that mat.

"Charles…" you try to say between kisses, but he doesn’t let you speak.

"Let’s not talk," he whispers against your lips. "Just know I want to be with you. No one else matters."

"The rules…"

"To hell with the rules," he says with a passion that makes you tremble. "I want this. I want you."

"But the risk…"

"I’ll take it," he interrupts, looking so serious it silences you. "For the first time in my life, I’m willing to risk everything for something that isn’t four wheels and an engine."

"What if we get caught?"

"Then we get caught," he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. "But I’m not letting this go. Not when I know what I feel."

His words hit you with the force of a high-speed crash. You’ve never heard anyone speak like that, like love was more important than success, more valuable than gold.

"And you?" he asks, eyes locked on yours. "What do you feel?"

"I’m scared," you admit, because it’s the truth. "But I want this too. I want… I want you."

"Then there’s no problem," he smiles. "We’re on the same team."

And in that moment, you believe it. You believe you can overcome anything, be stronger than any rule. Because when he’s in your arms, the whole world feels possible.

But reality is cruel, and the paddock has eyes and ears in every corner. Monday morning, while you’re reviewing the drivers’ performance data, you feel a presence behind you. Before you can turn around, you hear a voice that isn’t Charles’s.

"I see why you’ve been so cheerful lately," says the technical director, his tone laced with irony. "But remember, we all have our roles here. And yours isn’t to distract our drivers."

The ground seems to disappear beneath your feet. You don’t know what to say, how to defend yourself. The words die on your lips as you watch the boss nod slowly before walking away.

"Are they together?" asks an engineer walking down the hall, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Rumors?" another one responds, like he’s talking about a crash on the track. "There are always rumors around here."

But it’s not just rumors. They’re seeds of doubt planted in the heart of the team. And you know in this world of high speed, doubt can turn into disaster faster than a blown tire.

Charles doesn’t come looking for you all day. No messages, no stolen glances in the strategy room. It’s like he’s disappeared, like yesterday’s race never happened. And that hurts more than any words.

"Something wrong?" one of your coworkers asks as you pack up to head home.

"Everything’s fine," you try to smile, but you know she won’t believe it.

"It’s him, isn’t it?" she insists, her voice low but pressing. "I heard rumors. Don’t get involved. He’s not worth it."

That night, you fall asleep with your phone in your hand, waiting for a message that never comes. The silence says more than any conversation ever could. And when you finally drift off, it’s with the feeling that you’ve lost something you didn’t even know you had.