callachloe

A chill danced over the bare flesh of your shoulders when the silk sheet was ripped from your body. Your eyes snapped open and you quickly sat up on the bed; you had only let your guard down for a few minutes, just long enough to lightly doze, but now all your senses were alert and tense. You craned your neck to look around the darkened room, your panicked vision impaired by the unfamiliarity of your surroundings.

You gasped when your eyes settled on him standing at the end of the bed. His burly figure seemed so tall and ominous, the scowl of his rugged face partially shroud in the shadows created by the moonlight pouring in from the balcony. His dark brown eyes bored into yours, baleful and stony. The white gown wrapped around his form, leaving his torso half naked, his burly chest and solid arms on display. The greying curls of his hair appeared slicked, like he had just freshly showered.

"I saved you from the miserable existence as a prisoner of war. But do not be so naive as to think that I have spared your life out of the goodness of my heart." His voice was deep and rumbling, with a stern firmness that left no room for argument. "For I am not famed for my kindness."

You knew that. There was not a shred of kindness or humanity shown when General Acacius and his army had invaded your village just yesterday. They had slaughtered almost everyone before burning the township to the ground. The general had found you himself, cowered in an alleyway between a cluster of homes, and he dragged you to the makeshift camp where the prisoners of war were held. He had ordered his men to not touch you. After the army had transported the survivors of your village to Rome he had personally sought you out from the crowd and whisked you away from the city prison. He brought you to his quarters without saying a word to you, and instructed his servants to bathe, feed and clothe you.

You had been so traumatised by what you witnessed during the conquest of your village that you hadn't fought. You hadn't begged for freedom. You had simply wept, silent in your despair, wishing you had been shot in the heart with an arrow, just as your sister had. You hadn't the clarity to understand just why the general had taken you.

Until now.

"I saved you because I have use for you." General Acacius stepped around the massive ornamented bed frame that you sat upon, his intense gaze never leaving you. "I have chosen you to be my mistress."

Tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head slowly, disbelief robbing you of speech. Acacius came to stand at the side of the bed, towering over you. He shrugged off the white night robe and unwound the material from around his hips. As he moved you could see the scars marring his skin, the definition of his thick muscles as they flexed. Your heart drummed inside your chest.

"All that is required of you is to be a wet hole for me. You will remain in this room, and you will please me whenever and however I wish. "

"No," you croaked, your throat dry and hoarse.

The remaining length of his robe dropped to the floor, revealing the soft middle of his stomach, the solid meat of his thighs and the intimidating sight of his thick cock, already half hard. You gasped and pushed yourself to the other side of the bed, panic coursing through your body.

"You have been given the honour of being my mistress," Acacius snapped. "And now you will thank me for being so merciful."

"No!" You cried out, scrambling to stand up from the bed and try run. You hadn't even placed your feet on the ground before he sprang into action, tackling you face up onto the mattress. You yelped as he pinned you down, his thighs straddling your hips while one large hand wrapped loosely around the your neck, completely immobilising you. You could feel the heat of his skin radiate through the thin night dress you wore, as well as the erect length of his cock jutting against your mound. Your panicked eyes locked with his smouldering gaze.

"There is no where for you to run," Acacius sneered. "There is nothing for you outside of these walls. This is where you belong now."

Your body quaked with fear, warm tears streaming from your eyes as you stared up at the powerful older man. You couldn't believe this was your fate; just yesterday morning you lived a peaceful life tending to the village crops, and now you were to be held captive as the general's sex slave. You turned your face to the side and cried helplessly.

"You will come to appreciate your good fortune. Until then I suggest you do as I say."

You felt Acacius's other hand skim over your thigh up to your hip, his calloused palm prickling over the smooth material of your dress. He gripped a bunch of the fabric and tugged it upward, exposing your bare cunt.

"Spread your legs," he ordered.

You ignored him, your body wracking with muted sobs, head still turned away. He let out a growl of irritation and squeezed tighter around your throat, a warning.

"Do not test my patience, woman. Spread your legs."

You quickly parted your legs and he slotted himself inbetween them, the expanse of his hips and thighs keeping you spread wide. The head of his cock slapped against your naked mound.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now look at me. I want to see your eyes when I split you open."

You choked out a scared sob but summoned the courage to tilt your face to look at him. It was the first time you had come face to face with the ruthless conquerer, the man who was renowned for decimating cities and slaughtering innocent civilians on behalf of the Roman empire. Trapped beneath him like a hare caught in a snare, so close you could smell the sweet wine on his breath, you could properly absorb the features of his face; the crinkles around his eyes, the scar on his cheek and on the bridge of his nose, the chilling hunger that swirled in his dark eyes.

General Acacius was undoubtedly a handsome man, but his looks did little to assuage your terror. You knew the violence he was capable of, had heard the nightmarish rumours of women and girls raped and enslaved by the empire. You needed to comply, lest you make your fate any more abysmal.

"There you go," he crooned, hunger and something wicked swimming in his intense stare. "Such a pretty mistress you are."

Acacius released his hold on your neck and reached down to fist his dick. He pressed the tip against your puffy lips and the heat made your whole body jolt. Your hands tangled in the silk sheets underneath you with anticipatory dread.

He angled the tip against your hole and then drove his hips forward to penetrate you, but his attempt was met with resistance. You were too dry and he was too big.

He grunted, annoyed, and sat up on his knees. He brought his hands to your pussy and spread your lips open with his thumbs, making your stomach roil with shame. He pursed his lips and spat a wad of saliva right at the entrance of your cunt before spreading it around with one of his thick digits.

"Please," you whispered tearfully, a plea for some kind of leniency. "Stop."

Acacius ignored you, focusing instead on holding his cock to press once more against your hole. You were too scared to watch, your muscles tensed for the imminent pain; he had not prepared you with his fingers, had not even tried to work you open, and you knew it was going to hurt.

When he propelled his hips forward and the fat head breached your entrance you let out a shriek of pain. Acacius lowered his front down to hover over you, one hand planted by your head. His eyes flickered back up to your face, your eyebrows knitted into a wince.

"Keep your eyes on me," he growled.

You obeyed and forced yourself to meet his deviant gaze, your bottom lip trembling. He sunk his tip further inside you, a satisfied groan rumbling through his chest at the pleasurable sensation of your tight heat enveloping him. Your stomach tensed and you cried out, fisting the silk sheets tightly in your grip.

"How long has it been since you have had a man take you?" Acacius purred.

Without warning he thrust half of his fat length into you with one forceful stroke. Your back bowed and a scream ripped from your throat, the burning stretch of his girth agonising. The corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk at your reaction. The hint of cruel delight in his expression caused a fresh set of tears to well in your eyes.

"I thought all you village girls were sluts," he whispered. "But you are so tight - perhaps you have not laid with a real man before."

You hadn't yet adjusted to the fullness invading your insides before he rammed the rest of his thick cock into your pussy. Your mouth fell open as you wailed a loud, ear piercing cry, your hands flying up to press against his broad chest in a futile survival reflex. You felt the skin around your hole tear as his heavy ballsack pressed against your ass.

"Struggle all you like," Acacius murmured, unfazed by your torment. "I enjoy a fight."

He slowly withdrew halfway from your throbbing pussy before impaling you once again, earning another anguished cry from your lips. His hand came up to sweep a lock of your hair from your face, an almost tender gesture.

"Is it too big for you?" He asked, his eyes adopting a look of faux concern. "Does it hurt?"

You sobbed and nodded your head pitifully, tears still pooling within your eyes. Acacius cradled your cheek in the large palm of his strong hand and brushed his thumb over your lips. This time he drew back his hips all the way, slipping the head of his dick outside of your hole. It was only a split second reprieve before he fed the entirety of his dick back inside you with a single brutal slam. Your face contorted with pain and you let out a strangled screech. Your nails clawed at his chest like a weak kitten.

"Beg me," he growled, his brown eyes glinting with cold blooded intensity. "Beg me to stop, just as your people did when I slaughtered them like pigs ."

His vile demand repulsed you, flaring a flicker of defiance and anger deep within you. The general had destroyed your home and murdered your people, had ruined your life with not an ounce of remorse, and now he was defiling not only your body but your pride and honour.

You refused to give him the satisfaction of begging for his mercy.

Boldly you flung your head to the side and clamped your mouth shut. You heard him huff a noise of aggravation before he cruelly dug his fingers into the sensitive flesh of your cheek and wrenched your face back to him.

"You will speak when I demand you to," he snapped angrily.

To punctuate his point Acacius began to drive his cock in and out of your cunt with savage, punishing thrusts, his hand still gripping the side of your face. Your vision blotted with stars each time his tip kissed your cervix.

"Do you understand me?" He spat, his mouth curled into a snarl. "As my mistress you will submit to me, without argument and without insolence."

His opposite hand grabbed at your breast and squeezed hungrily, using the added leverage to pump you even harder.

"It hurts," you managed to croak, throat cry from weeping so much.

Acacius yanked the top of your night dress down and roughly pinched your nipple. You squealed and writhed uselessly, unable to escape his grasp with his cock still impaling you.

You swear you could feel the lips of your pussy bruising with every stroke, the contraction of your pelvic muscles with every heavy smack of his balls. Your hip joints started to ache from the pressure forcing your legs apart. He was everywhere all at once, violating each one of your senses.

"If you refuse to submit, I will make it my mission to break you each time I fuck you."

He abruptly stopped his movements and pulled out of you before effortlessly manhandling you onto your stomach. Despite his age and size Acacius was agile and swift, able to utilise his strength effectively without being slowed down by his mass. You squeaked in shock, completely dazed by the change of position and the feeling of emptiness in your core.

He knelt between your legs and shoved his cock back inside you, too impatient and uncaring to gather more saliva to lubricate you. The stinging stretch made you hiss and grit your teeth in pain. Acacius caged your back with his massive body, restraining you against the mattress. He wrapped one arm around your neck, cradling your head in the crook of his bicep, while his other hand grabbed a hank of your hair.

"I am going to give you a taste of just how wretched this can be for you," he breathed in your ear. "Then we will see if you still dare to defy me."

He resumed his ferocious rhythm from behind, the new angle so intense and deep that that you swear you could feel his cock churning in your guts. He grunted and panted like a feral animal as he fucked you, pulling guttural groans from you that sounded more like a beast than a human woman. Your eyes rolled back in your skull.

"This is how whores are treated when they are disobedient. Do you like being used like this?"

The onslaught of his desecration became more intense with each tortuous second. With your body smothered underneath his weight and your neck locked in his strong bicep, you struggled to breathe. Your head began to swim and your lips tingled. Your tongue felt heavy and swollen in your mouth. You felt yourself teetering on the precipice of unconsciousness.

Perhaps this was your fate, to die not by the general's sword but by his cock.

As you started to slip away from reality your imagination projected dream like images inside your mind; you could see your family going about their day to day life in the village, a montage of the mundane happenings that had encapuslated your once peaceful existence.

Your mother in the kitchen with your baby brother on her hip, trying her best to prepare a meal. Your father and younger brother toiling in the fields, harvesting crops alongside other villagers, including the man who was to become your husband. Your older sister sitting with her friends and weaving baskets together.

You could finally be reunited with your loved ones.

Just as you were about to pass out Acacius shifted his arm and loosened his hold on your throat, finally allowing you to inhale some much needed air. Your eyes flew open wide and you let out a rasping howl as you were suddenly brought back to your current state of agony. Pain immediately assaulted all your senses. The delicate skin around your entrance was torn and throbbing, irritated further by the scratch of his wiry pubic hair. The ache of your pelvic muscles was made worse by the constant prod of his dick against your cervix. Your scalp seared from the pull of his fist in your hair, the discomfort flaring when he gave your head a rough shake.

"Have you had enough?" Acacius sneered tauntingly.

He continued to snap his hips against yours, his veiny girth pummelling in and out of you, balls clapping loudly against your labia. A ragged, miserable scream clawed it's way up your parched throat, a pathetic sound of distress and defeat.

It was too much to bear.

"Are you ready to beg?"

You could go on no longer.

"Y-yes," you spluttered inbetween broken moans. "Please."

"Louder." He ordered simply, slightly breathless from his exertion yet his pace never faulting.

"I b-beg you," you gasped. "P-please stop." Salty tears cascaded down your puffy cheeks and intermingled with your snot before trickling into your mouth, stinging the cracks along your swollen lips.

Acacius gave a sharp thrust and buried his cock to the hilt, sinking himself so deep inside your battered cunt that you feared your stomach would rip open.

You screamed again, all of your limbs vibrating uncontrollably. "I beg you!"

He stilled, keeping his fat appendage nestled snugly in you. You felt it pulse momentarily.

"There we go," he murmured silkily, smug intonation clear in his voice.

You cried loudly, unabashed and ugly, completely devoid of pride or dignity. His massive hand moved to smear your mucus and tears across your face, rubbing your shame all over your skin with his palm and fingers.

"You will be the prettiest whore in all of Rome. And you will only be mine."

It started with a simple task, one you had barely thought through before you found yourself at Logan’s doorstep. It was something trivial, a book you had left at his place months ago that you borrowed from a friend and now had to get back. Maybe it was something more, an unspoken pull that led you there despite knowing better. You could have just as easily ordered a new copy.

When Logan had answered the door with that same smug smirk, leaning against the frame, looking you over like he was surprised but pleased to see you, you knew you were fucked. “Well, well, well,” He drawled, stepping aside to let you in. “Look who finally came home.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you turned to him with arms crossed. “I just need my book.”

Logan arched a brow but didn’t argue, closing the door behind you. “Sure thing, princess, but since you’re already here, why don’t you stay a while?” You hesitated, shifting on your feet. You should have left, but Logan was already heading toward the kitchen, pouring you a drink like you belonged here. Like you’d never left.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself on his couch, drink in hand, listening to him talk like nothing had changed between the two of you. And then he moved closer. “I’ve missed you,” He murmured, his fingers ghosting over your knee before tracing their way up your thigh. You swallowed but didn’t respond, your breath hitching when he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. You let out a quiet sigh as his lips traveled lower, along the slope of your neck, his stubble grazing your skin. “Say you missed me too,” Logan pleaded, nipping at your collarbone, his hands warm against your hips. You closed your eyes, tilting your head slightly to allow him more access - a betrayal in itself. Instead of answering, you let out a soft, shaky breath. An exhale indicating your surrender. Logan smirked against your skin. “Let me keep you a little longer?”

And so you let him kiss you, let him lead you toward his bedroom, your mouths never parting as you fisted your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Once inside his bedroom, you stopped him, your hands pressing against his chest. “We’re not having sex, Logan.”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” He chuckled, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. His fingers then trailed along the hem of your sweater before tugging it up and over your head, his lips tracing the new skin he exposed.

Piece by piece, he undressed you, taking his time, kissing every inch of you, worshipping you with his lips and hands. And you let him unravel you, let him press you into his bed, let him whisper how beautiful you are as he kissed his way down your body. All the while, Logan stayed dressed. He slid between your thighs, his lips trailing down the inside of your leg, his breath hot against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.” And as his tongue finally met your heated core, you gasped, your fingers twisting into the sheets and you knew you weren’t leaving - not until he was done with you.

Almost an hour in and Logan had been relentless, his tongue and fingers working you over with practiced ease, watching every little movement, every quiver and tremble as he pulled you apart again and again. It was muscle memory for him. He easily remembered how to curl his fingers just right to press into the spot that made you jolt with pleasure. He remembered to suck on your clit when your breath hiccuped in order to push you just a little closer to the edge. His free hand kept your leg over his shoulder, caressing your soft skin while he whispered about how sweet you taste - just like he remembered. Your thighs were shaking, your breath ragged, your body wrecked with pleasure, and Logan was fascinated as always with how easily he could unravel you even after months apart. The way you pulsed around his fingers, the way your release glistened as it dribbled down your folds; he wondered if he could push you further.

“Think you can do it for me, baby?” He asked suddenly, sucking and kissing softly on your swollen bud. You quickly shook your head, pushing on his shoulders with no avail. You knew what he was asking, he had tried once before when you were actually dating. You had stopped him then because you were nervous about doing something so obscene with your boyfriend. “No, Logan.” You stopped him now because you didn’t want to let him believe he could still control you. “You can squirt, sweetheart,” He murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You just don’t know it yet.”

You whimpered, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

Logan smirked, his rough fingers gliding to your oversensitive clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that had your body twitching in response. “You can,” He murmured against your thigh, pressing a few lazy kisses there before sucking a fresh mark into your skin. “And you will.”

Your legs kicked slightly, your body thrashing under the pressure, overwhelmed by the slow but intensifying stimulation. “L-Logan - stop!” You gasped, your hands gripping at his shoulders, your body arching off the mattress.

But Logan didn’t stop. He kept rubbing, his fingers working with precision, his mouth coaxing more desperate whimpers from your lips. “Come on, princess,” He cooed, his voice gentle but commanding. “Give it to me.” You sobbed, your body writhing as the heat built impossibly high, too much, too fast - and then you broke.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as your release hit, your body shuddering violently as liquid gushed from you, soaking his fingers, his wrist, his fucking sheets. Logan groaned, his pupils blown wide as he watched, utterly enthralled by the sight of you coming undone like this. “Fuck,” He rasped, his fingers slowing as he smirked up at you. “Knew you could do it.” You whimpered, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath. You turned your face to the side, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Logan grinned, pressing a final, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh before crawling up the bed and cupping your flushed cheek. “Don’t go hidin’ from me now, princess,” He murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “We’re just gettin’ started.”

Ex!Logan, how I’ve missed you🫠

The mere sight of Logan stepping onto the landing as he arrives home makes your breath stop and his eyes find yours immediately, a dark smirk tugs on the corner of his lips as he leans against the staircase railing to watch you fumble with your keys. “Have a fun girls night?” He asks conversationally.

You look at him over your shoulder and try to even out your breathing before nodding slowly and saying, “Yeah, I - uh - we had a nice time.”

“Hm,” Logan pushes off the railing after a moment and saunters over to you. “Not too drunk, are you?” He asks, standing right behind you and taking your keys from you to finally unlock your door. Your body is tense against his and you slowly shake your head.

Fuck, you think to yourself, should’ve left earlier.

Now, you’re sitting on his lap in your living room. Your hands are holding tightly onto his flannel, you’re squirming and gasping softly as his lips and tongue trace over your pulse. He gets off on this, on the sweet innocence that trails behind your anxiousness, he gets off on how clueless you are to the things he thinks about doing to you. “Ow, wait - ” You whimper in a brief panic when he bites too hard on your collarbone, wanting to push him away, but he doesn’t like when you fight him. Your approach has to be sweet and gentle, you don’t want to upset him. “Please, baby, slow down for me?”

Logan groans softly at the nickname and he kisses over the spot soothingly. “Sweet little thing,” Logan’s hands smooth down your back and grip firmly on your hips. “You’re my sweet girl,” You brace onto his shoulders as he begins grinding you onto the erection in his jeans. “Aren’t you? You like this, right, sweetheart?”

And you nod, giving him a soft, uneasy smile before bringing him back to your lips for a nervous kiss. It’s easier to give in, leaves you aching less because he doesn’t mind exerting his mutant strength over you. But if you play him the right way, you can get him to ease up a bit.

You’re not quite sure when it started. This unorthodox situationship. Perhaps the night when you and Wade fell asleep in the living room. His was a sugar and cocaine induced sleep while you simply knocked out from exhaustion. When you woke up, you found yourself in Logan’s bedroom, his head between your thighs making the most obscene noises you had ever heard. The feeling of his tongue was hot and wet, swirling around your clit and drinking your arousal while growling and swearing about how fucking sweet you taste. “Logan, no! This isn’t - no - stop!” You had cried out when the shock subsided any sleepy confusion, the pleasure and shame overcoming you mixed into a feeling you didn’t know quite how to name. “Logan, it’s not right!”

It had surprised you to wake up like this. Your best friend’s roommate pleasuring you, tasting your cunt like it was some midnight snack. Your body convulsed with both fear and pleasure and the questions started swarming your mind. How long had you been in here alone with him? How long had he been going down on you before you woke up? Was this all that he had been doing? You didn’t feel like you had been fucked, and you were certain some sort of ache would remain after sex with Logan.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” Logan had growled, only to pin your legs more firmly onto his shoulders while you struggled to push him away with no avail. “Been dropping hints for too damn long, you’re so fucking clueless.”

And you couldn’t fight him off, couldn’t stop yourself from reaching an orgasm even though you knew this wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way - there was no courting, no proposal of a relationship, just feral dominance and ownership. Logan scared you when he became impatient like that - he was so rough and mean. If you had to be with him, you much preferred that he was sweet and gentle.

Like right now.

“C’mon, baby, let me feel you.” He begs, his nose nuzzling into your neck as one of his hands slips between your bodies. His fingers brush over the crotch of your gym shorts and you shudder at the feeling. His fingers are so thick, so long. You’re not a virgin, but you don’t doubt that taking Logan would feel as if you were. “Just once, she feels so warm. Just the tip, yeah?” Logan already lifting you up and walking to your bedroom decidedly and you feel a surge of panic as you cling to him and rake your mind for an excuse.

“Logan, I’m - it’s not a good night, baby.” You try, gasping as he drops you onto your bed, he hovers over you, removing his flannel and undoing his belt as he looks down you at with dark, hungry eyes. “Why don’t we - let’s just kiss, yeah?” You say hopefully with a little nod of encouragement as you reach a hand out to him. Logan looks at you for a moment before taking your hand and following your lead as you part your legs and let him ease between them. “Mm, you feel so strong.” You whisper in a shaky voice, hoping that feeding into his need for praise will help.

“Yeah?” He smirks, kissing you softly at first, and you nod, returning the kiss and cupping his jaw so he’ll stay where he is and not try to venture any lower. “You’ve got no idea.” He whispers, one of his hands squeezes your thigh tightly making your breath hitch and he chuckles, but seems content to carry on with your make out session. And for that you’re thankful.

You’re not ready. Not yet. Not if you can delay it a little longer.

There isn’t ever a pattern to Logan’s urges. You just know when he looks at you a certain way or when he shows up at your apartment door with that easy smirk that sends a chill down your spine. Some times, it could be days before he ever looks at you. Those days, it’s easy to forget you’ve got someone looking at your every move. Logan knows your day to day schedule not by being neighborly, but by being obsessed.

You didn’t think much about it when you let a co-worker walk you home. It was more out his own need to know that you made it home okay since a few of you had to stay late. It was a gentlemanly offer rewarded by a chaste kiss on the cheek and nothing more. To Logan, it was a challenge. The moment you saw him stalk up the dark staircase, your blood ran cold and you put some space between you and your co-worker. “I’ll see you at work.” He says, giving you a friendly wave, only mildly surprised to have turned and seen Logan leaning against the railing. “Oh, hey, have a good night, man.”

“Night, bub.” Logan says, surprisingly calm.

The moment your co-worker has disappeared down the stairs, you and Logan are staring at each other like prey and predator. Your heart is pounding in your chest, even though you have done nothing wrong. Your lips part as if to say something, as if to defend yourself, and Logan is towering over you in three long strides. His hand is forceful on your jaw and you can’t stop yourself from gasping fearfully, pushing at his abdomen to keep distance between you. “You fuck him?” He asks coldly and your eyes well up as you shake your head. “Then why’re you cryin’, sweetheart?”

You can’t stop the tears from falling and you look up at him pleadingly. “Because you scare me, Logan.”

His eyes soften if only be a fraction. “You’ve got nothing to be scared of, baby.” Logan pushes open your apartment door and guides you inside. “I take care of my things,” He says while pinning you to your now closed door, locking it before holding your hips tightly. “And you’re mine, aren’t you?” You give him the smallest nod, a sign of submission, and he chuckles before pressing a kiss to your nose and whispering. “My girl.” His hand bunches up the length of your skirt until he can slip his hand beneath the fabric and his fingers press against the crotch of your panties. You shudder and remind yourself not to struggle, but his jealousy is clearing working him up.

“Oh,” You gasp when his fingers slide past your panties and into your pussy. “Logan!”

“Why don’t you kiss me like that?” He growls, his stubbled cheek pressed against yours as his weight keeps you pinned to the door. “What’s that asshole got that I can’t give you?” His fingers curl deeper and you cry out from the foreign sensation.

Your mind is spinning between fighting him and appeasing him, but it’s obvious any form of a struggle will be useless. Logan’s far too strong. “Lo, baby, I promise I’m not with him.” You whisper, cupping his jaw and making him look at you. “You believe me, right?”

Logan’s nostrils flare as he tries to control himself. With his fingers struggling to burrow into you, he knows you’re not having sex with anyone else. His chest falls and rises as he looks down at your wide, anxious eyes and he gives you a small nod. His fingers push deeper and a small whimper leaves your lips. “You’re too damn tight.”

“It’d probably hurt if you did anything to me right now.” You whisper, slowly easing his hand out from between your thighs. The loss make your shudder and you clench your legs together as you bring his hand to your waist. “You don’t want to hurt me, right, baby?” You bring his lips to yours slowly and sniff as you kiss him. “Don’t hurt me.”

Logan picks you up in one smooth motion as he leads you to your bedroom and you tremble as he lays you down gently. Your eyes widen as he unbuckles his belt and you shake your head. “I’m not going to hurt you,” He whispers, pulling your skirt off and ripping open the front of your blouse, making you gasp. “But I can’t promise it won’t hurt.”

“Logan, please,” You cry as he pushes his pants down enough for his cock to spring out. “Please, baby, don’t do it this way.” You beg, pushing softly on his chest as he lines himself up to you despite your pleas. “Just - make love to me, be gentle. You don’t - there’s no reason to be jealous. I’m here, with you, right?”

Logan suddenly takes your hands and pins them above your head with one hand. His body is thrumming with jealousy and with desire and there’s nothing that can stop him right now. “‘M sorry, sweetheart.”

With that, his cock pushes through you and you whimper at the feeling, the intrusion. It’s too much, too quickly, and your hands push on the hard planes of his chest. “Please.” You moan involuntarily as his hard shaft begins pumping in and out of your tight cunt, the resistance only spurring him on.

“Just relax, it’ll feel good,” Logan groans, dipping his head down and capturing your lips in a possessive kiss. “Fuck, you feel real good, baby.” His body shudders and you whine from the way his hands grip your hips and angle them to receive his consistent thrusts deep into your core. “I’ve wanted you like this for months.”

Your arm wraps around his shoulders while the other hand remains on his chest, fingernails digging into his skin as he takes what he’s been chasing for months now. And the way you’re laying underneath him, a mess and pleading for him, it’s an all-consuming feeling for Logan. Like finally scratching that itch that’s been bothering him for hours. It feels too good to stop, too good to take precautions. “I’m not on - I’m not - ” You struggle breathlessly, your hands clutching onto his shoulders while the tension in your lower belly forms. “Logan, pull out, please.”

“No.”

The sudden feeling of his release - thick, warm, and plenty - it makes you squirm and, perhaps worst of all, pulls you over the edge to your own peak. You tuck your head into his chest and sob as he continues, pumping deep and deliberately into your full pussy. The squelching noise of your mixed arousals betrays you when you plead him to stop and Logan buries his face into the crook of your neck, telling you to be his sweet girl and take it.

So you do, because there’s no sense in fighting.

You are his.

I do not know what came over me, but here is the result! Let me know what you thought kind readers!

Now, when it came to quickies, the pants were a bit of a hassle at first, but he came to enjoy the barrier. He was a wild animal earning his meal, clawing at buttons. Ravenous: peeling off the courderoy fur of his prey, just enough to dig in. The primal display turned you on--that was no secret, the way your back arched as he undressed you, grunting, panting. Quiet growls from his chest. By the time you were spread open for him, he was aching to be in you. Sometimes he didn't realize he was holding his breath until he bottomed out and gasped for air, then let out a shudder of a sigh.

At first, he was taking your pants and panties down together, but you enjoyed this primal ritual so much that he found the patience to prolong it. He'd tug your pants down first, then bring his face to where you throbbed for him. He'd gnash his teeth and gnaw at your panties, dampening the cotton as he hooked his fingers under the sides to pull them down.

His favorite pair had a bow on the front. He'd bite it and growl with a dark glance up at you, a twinkle in his eye. It made you giggle and it made you gush, but after a few seconds, you'd start to help take them off. He'd release the bow from his mouth, and the elastic waistband would snap back against you. Then he'd pin your wrists together with one hand as he used the other to tease you through the panties until he just had to yank them down and bury himself in your snug, wet heat.

Bottoming out felt like its own climax to both of you, and by then you were often half-way to the big one. His hips pushed you toward it with each punch of his cock bringing him closer, too. His eyes would go wild and he'd grit his teeth. He'd rest his open mouth against your neck or cheek, and each thrust would drag his lips toward your ear and heighten his animal sounds.

You'd writhe and moan, gasp and sigh, let out pretty little grunts and whimpers. Your hips would tilt to meet his, and your head would roll back. You'd whine his name and tug at his hair, you'd dig your nails into his back as he packed you tight, and when you came, the world disappeared. Except for the pulse of his shaft and the spread of warmth in your belly.

As the burning heat of your skin began to fade into the weather, he'd find the will to pull out. And then, he'd kiss your forehead, and pull up your panties with care, planting a kiss on the bow before buttoning your pants.

----

----

She doesn’t notice Logan walk in at first, but he notices her immediately. The scent of her sweat and faint traces of her arousal hit him like a punch to the gut, making his chest tighten and his hands itch with need. She’s ovulating and that fact alone sets a fire within him. He stops in the doorway, his sharp eyes raking over her as she moves. The sway of her hips, the bounce of her chest, the strength in her legs - it all sends a primal ache through him. Logan doesn’t even try to fight it. He strides into the gym, his footsteps heavy on the floor, and she senses him before she sees him. His presence is undeniable - strong, commanding, and utterly unignorable.

She slows the treadmill slightly, pulling out one earbud as her eyes dart to him. He’s standing near the free weights, his intense gaze fixed on her like a predator sizing up his prey. Her heart skips, and she feels a mix of fear and relief - it’s just Logan. A part of her is relieved because of the familiarity, another annoyed that he’s now resulted to stalking her at her local gym.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, darlin’,” Logan says, his voice a low rumble that makes her stomach twist. “Just here to get a workout in.”

She swallows, her throat suddenly dry. She knows she could leave, call it a day and avoid the tension crackling between them, but she doesn’t. “It’s a public gym.” She replies, her tone neutral as she picks up the pace again.

“Sure is,” Logan says, his lips twitching into a smirk as he picks up a pair of dumbbells. “You’re making it a little hard to focus with a view like this though.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t respond, focusing instead on the numbers on the treadmill screen. She feels his eyes on her, though, tracing the curve of her legs, the dip of her waist, the rise and fall of her chest. Logan starts his workout, moving through a set of curls, his muscles flexing with each deliberate motion. She tries not to look, but her resolve weakens every time he grunts or exhales, the sound rough and guttural.

People filter in and out of the gym, doing what they came to do, somewhat aware of the tension between them as it is too palpable not to feel. Logan’s gaze never strays far from her, and anyone who walks in feels the oppressive heat between them, leaving quickly after their workouts to avoid the awkward atmosphere.

When Logan moves to the bench press, she catches herself sneaking glances. He lies back, his broad chest heaving as he lifts the barbell with ease. Sweat drips down his skin, glistening under the lights, and when he pulls off his soaked tank top, revealing his burly, broad torso, she swears under her breath.

Logan notices. He sets the barbell down with a heavy clank and sits up, his sharp eyes catching hers. A slow, cocky grin spreads across his face as he stands, stretching lazily as he makes his way toward her. She steps off the treadmill, trying to steady her breathing as he corners her near the wall. His scent - earthy, musky, undeniably him - wraps around her, and her pulse quickens. “See somethin’ you like, darlin’?” Logan asks, his voice a low growl as he tilts her chin up with a single finger, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She snaps, though her voice trembles slightly as she moves his hand away.

Logan chuckles, his hand sliding to the side of her throat instead, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I can hear your heart racin’. I can feel your pulse. I can smell the way you react to me.”

Her breath hitches, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “You’re the worst.” She mutters, her voice barely audible.

Logan leans closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers, “At the end of the day, you’re just a woman with urges. I’m the only one who knows exactly how to take care of them, aren’t I?.” Her knees weaken at his words, heat pooling low in her stomach despite herself. She wants to push him away, to tell him to leave her alone, but her body betrays her momentarily, leaning into his touch instead. Logan pulls back just enough to look at her, his hand still resting firmly on her throat. “Say the word, princess’,” He murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

She glares at him, her lips parted as she struggles to find the words. She knows this is a dangerous game, that Logan’s intensity will consume her if she lets it. As his thumb brushes over her racing pulse, she realizes she doesn’t quite know the man he has become now. “Logan…” She whispers, her voice trembling with both anger and desire.

His grin widens, his free hand sliding to her waist as he presses her back against the wall. “That’s all I needed to hear, sweetheart.”

The gym fades away, the world narrowing to just the two of them as Logan closes the space between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s equal parts possessive and desperate. Her body trembles as he pushes her against a nearby wall and she shakes her head as he moans against her lips. “No, stop.” She presses her hands into his chest, but he doesn’t budge. Logan cups her face and deepens the kiss, biting on her bottom lip and she whimpers as she uses her full strength. “No, Logan!” She snaps at him and he growls as he is forced to take a step back.

“C’mon, princess,” Logan’s hands clench and unclench at his sides, aching to touch more of her. “Just one more time.”

“No, Logan,” She says, creating more distance between them. “It’s never just one more with you.”

And with that, she turned away from him, leaving him alone in the gym. She had barely made it to the showers, her legs shaky from the workout and the tension he had stirred in her. The hot water hit her skin, but it did little to ease the fire burning beneath it. She leaned against the tile, letting the water cascade down her body as she tried to compose herself.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about his stupid muscles, or the way he looks at you, or how he touched you -

The faint clinking of weights echoed through the gym, a reminder that Logan was still nearby. She cursed under her breath, vowing to finish quickly and leave before he could corner her again. As she rinsed the sweat from her body, however, she felt it - the heavy, unmistakable presence of him. Logan had been unable to focus after she had left for the showers, her scent still clinging to the air, taunting him. His chest heaved with frustration and want, and after a few minutes of futile attempts to distract himself, he gave in. He wandered toward the showers, his footsteps slow and deliberate. When he saw her silhouette through the glass, the steam curling around her, he froze, watching her for a moment. Her damp hair clung to her back, the water streaming down the curves of her body, and the ache in his chest grew unbearable.

Logan didn’t bother to rationalize his decision as he stripped off the remainder of his gym shorts and stepped into the shower behind her. She jumped slightly when she felt strong hands grip her hips, pulling her back against a warm, solid chest. She gasped, her body tensing as Logan’s familiar scent - now mixed with sweat and soap - washed over her. “Logan…” She breathed, her voice trembling.

“Relax, darlin’,” He murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of her neck. “Just couldn’t stay away. Not after seein’ you like that.” Her heart pounded as his hands roamed her body, his calloused fingers tracing the curves of her waist and thighs. His lips pressed against her neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to her shoulder. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He whispered, his voice rough with need. “The way you move, the way you smell…I couldn’t possibly pass this chance up, princess.”

She shivered, her resolve wavering as his hands and lips ignited a fire she couldn’t extinguish. “Logan, don’t…don’t do this to me.” She pleaded, her voice soft but filled with conflict. How many times would he continue to take space she no longer held for him?

“You don’t want me to stop,” He said, his hand sliding up to gently grip her jaw, turning her head so he could kiss along her jawline. “I can feel it, darlin’. You want this as much as I do.”

“I don’t…I can’t,” She whispered, her body was tense yet she still leaned into his touch, trembling as his teeth grazed her neck. “Please, not here.”

When her hands came up to brace against the shower wall, Logan took it as the permission he needed. He pressed her harder against the cold tile, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned himself behind her. The swollen head of his cock nudged between her thighs and he groaned as her tight hole kissed his tip. Her gasp turned into a muffled cry of as he slid into her without pause, his hand quickly coming up to cover her mouth. “Quiet now, sweetheart,” He growled. “Don’t want anyone thinkin’ I’m hurtin’ you.” Logan didn’t hold back, his thrusts deep and demanding as he groaned against her ear, the tightness of her core snug around his throbbing length while she shook her head. “God, I missed this,” He murmured, his lips brushing against her shoulder. “Missed you, princess. No one else feels like you.” She whimpered against his hand, her body trembling from the cold tile at her front and the intensity of his movements behind her. The slap of his hips against her ass echoed in the showers, the water and their arousal making a lewd chorus every time their skin met in harsh claps. She rested her forehead against the tile and cried from how weak she was for him, how she pathetically let him do whatever he wanted just because of their shared history.

As Logan’s hand slid to gently grip her throat, she cried out, her cunt clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her. “Logan, please!” She gasped, her voice trembling.

“Please what, darlin’?” He growled, his lips against her ear, his other hand kneading the wet, plush skin of her ass as he spread her open for himself.

“Don’t…don’t finish inside me.” She begged, her voice soft and pleading.

Logan’s movements slowed for a moment, his forehead pressing against her shoulder as he groaned. “I need to,” He muttered, his voice rough. “I need this. Need to feel you, all of you.” She cried weakly, bracing herself against the wall as Logan’s thrusts grew erratic, his growls vibrating against her skin. With a final, low moan, he spilled into her, his grip on her hips tightening as he shuddered with release.

The water had turned cold by the time Logan pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her trembling body to keep her warm. He kissed the side of her neck, his breath heavy and uneven. “Take me back, princess,” He murmured, his voice soft but filled with desperation. “I can’t do this without you.”

Her chest tightened as she pulled away slightly, turning to meet his gaze. “Logan…” She began, her voice trembling. “I can’t.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hope. “Why not?”

“Because you’re too much,” She said quietly, stepping out of his hold. “You scare me.”

Her words hung in the air like a final blow, and Logan didn’t stop her as she wrapped herself in a towel and left the shower, leaving him standing under the cold water, broken and alone.

There have been many asks for the non con situations and this is my attempt at easing you all into more future non con works because apparently that is what the people want🤣

Logan’s heightened senses have always been both a gift and a curse, especially when it comes to you. Your scent is something he could never escape, even when you weren’t together. It clung to his clothes, haunted his thoughts, and made it impossible for him to move on. But what made it worse was knowing when your body was at its most responsive - when you were ovulating, your scent subtly changing, your pheromones spiking in a way that drove him to the brink of madness.

During your break ups, Logan would catch your scent unexpectedly - at the bar where he worked, when he “accidentally” runs into your favorite cafe, or in passing your place - and it would hit him like a freight train. The knowledge that you were at your most fertile, that you were probably feeling that same undeniable pull, was torture. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you, about the way your body had always responded to his touch.

At times, his obsession got the better of him. He’d find excuses to see you, showing up under the guise of needing to talk or dropping off something you’d “forgotten.” He’d charm his way into your space, testing your patience with his easy grin and teasing remarks. “You gonna let me in, or you gonna make me stand out here all night?” He’d ask, leaning against your doorway, his gaze smoldering.

You would roll your eyes but eventually relent, letting him in with a warning not to overstay his welcome. But Logan knew exactly what he was doing. He could sense the shift in your mood, the way your guard would drop little by little as he got closer. His words would grow softer, his touch lingering, until the tension between the two of you snapped, pulling you both under.

Tonight, it starts like it always does - Logan shows up at your door unannounced, leaning casually against the frame with that cocky smirk that always makes your stomach flip. He has a knack for knowing when you’re at your weakest, both physically and emotionally, and tonight is no different.

“What do you want, Logan?” You ask, your voice sharp but lacking real conviction.

He shrugs, his piercing gaze sweeping over you. “Just thought I’d check on you. Been a while.”

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m fine. You can go now.”

But he doesn’t move. Instead, he steps closer, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that always gets to you. “You look good, princess. Way better than the way I’ve been imagining you.”

You try to ignore the way his words make your pulse quicken, but it’s impossible when his scent and presence are so overwhelming. You know you should push him away, send him home like you always do, but the heat in his eyes and the way he steps closer make it hard to resist.

“Logan,” You warn, your voice faltering slightly.

He smirks, closing the gap between you and brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What? Can’t a guy miss his girl?”

“I’m not your girl.” You mutter, turning your head to avoid his gaze. But he doesn’t let you escape. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him, and before you can protest, his lips are on yours. It’s rough and desperate, like he’s been starving for you, and despite your better judgment, you kiss him back.

You barely make it to your bedroom before Logan’s tugging your clothes off, his touch both gentle and possessive. By the time you’re tangled together on your bed, your resolve is crumbling. His cock slides into you with a familiarity that’s both thrilling and comforting, you feel safe and taken care of when you’re in his arms, irritating as the notion might be.

“You know I’ve been thinkin’ about you, right?” He murmurs against your neck, his arms caging you in as he’s leaving open mouth kisses along your neck and collarbones.

“Logan - ”

“You’re all I think about, princess,” He continues, his voice low and full of heat as your pussy clenches around him just the way he’s been dreaming about for the last month and a half. “Every damn day, every damn night. Drives me crazy knowing you’re not being taken care of - not the way I do it.”

You try to focus on the pleasure, on the way his lips and hands make your body burn, but his words sink in too deeply, stirring up emotions you’ve been trying to bury. “Stop talking.” You whisper, pulling him into a kiss to silence him.

But Logan isn’t easily deterred. He pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, his hips pressing against yours in a way that makes you gasp. “What’s the matter? Don’t like hearin’ how much I want you?”

“Logan,” You whine, but it’s already too late. He knows exactly what you need, what you like, and he’s not about to let up.

“You missed me too,” He growls, his voice dripping with confidence as he moves inside you, expertly hitting the spots that make you abandon your morals and principles. “I can feel it. The way you’re squeezin’ me, I can smell it on you - you need this just as bad as I do.” You shake your head, biting your lip to keep from agreeing, but Logan’s relentless. He leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Say it. Say you missed me.”

You try to fight it, to stay in control, but the way he’s touching you, filling you, and pushing you closer to the edge makes it impossible. “I missed you.” You finally breathe, your voice trembling.

Logan grins, his arms sliding underneath your shaking frame to keep you pressed against him as he buries himself deeper into you. “That’s my girl.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you’re suddenly clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you beg him for more. “Don’t stop, Logan. Please.”

“Never,” He growls, his thrusts becoming rougher, more urgent. “You’re mine, princess. Always.”

And in that moment, as you fall apart beneath him, you know he’s right. You’ll always come back to him, no matter how hard you try to stay away.

Those nights, when you finally give in, are everything to him. He’d savor every second, memorizing the way you feel, taste, and move against him. Even if you kick him out the next morning, even if you swear it won’t happen again, Logan will leave satisfied - at least for a little while.

You broke up with him again.

Logan tells himself he doesn’t care. You and him have been through this song and dance before - together, apart, rinse and repeat. But now, seeing you and Pietro, the so-called Quicksilver, sharing laughs over some inside joke that Logan will never know, his jaw clenches so tight he hears the crack of his own teeth.

At first, he convinces himself it’s nothing. You’re too smart to fall for someone like that, a show-off with a cocky grin and an ego as fast as his feet. But as days pass, he notices you paired together more often during missions, lingering too close in the common areas, and worst of all, your laugh - the kind that used to be reserved for him.

“Something on your mind, old man?” Pietro smirks one evening, leaning casually against the doorway of the kitchen as Logan is making a sandwich. “You keep looking at me like you’re about to put me six feet under.”

“Wouldn’t take me that long.” Logan growls, not even glancing up from his task.

Pietro laughs, a little too carefree for Logan’s liking. “Relax. Y/N and I are just friends.”

“Friends don’t make eyes at each other like that.” Logan snaps before he can stop himself.

“Eyes?” Pietro raises a brow, then smirks knowingly. “Ah. Got it. You’re jealous.”

The sharp SNIKT of Logan’s claws extending sends Pietro out of the kitchen in a flash, his chuckles echoing behind him, leaving Logan to stew in his own frustration.

Later, when you find Logan alone in the gym, beating the life out of a punching bag, you lean against the doorframe with a familiar smirk tugging at your lips. “Word is you’ve been brooding around the mansion again.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan grunts, fists connecting with the bag in a steady rhythm.

You stride closer, arms crossed, clearly enjoying yourself. “You don’t get to act possessive, Logan. We’re not together anymore.”

Logan stops, the bag swinging back and forth as he turns to face you. “Doesn’t mean I like watchin’ you cozy up to someone like him.”

“Someone like him?” You echo, tilting your head. “You mean someone who doesn’t treat me like a ticking time bomb?”

He steps closer, his voice low. “You think I don’t care, Y/N? ‘Cause I care a hell of a lot more than that speedster does.” Logan pauses, his eyes searching yours. “I just ain’t good at showin’ it.”

Your smirk softens, and for a moment, the two of you are caught in a charged silence. Then you shake your head and step back. “Figure yourself out, Logan. Until then, you don’t get a say in who I spend my time with.” You walk out, leaving Logan with nothing but the faint scent of your perfume and the lingering ache of knowing you’re right.

Late one night, Pietro's fingers trail lazy circles over your bare thigh, his lips brushing against your temple as the soft glow of your camera illuminates the room. You’re curled against him, your body warm and familiar, your focus on the images flashing across the small screen. He watches you with a faint smirk, enjoying the rare softness in your expression.

"You really are obsessed with that thing, huh?" He teases, nudging your leg with his knee.

You hum, scrolling through pictures of him. Some are candid - his crooked grin, the way his silver hair falls into his eyes. Others are more intimate, catching him sprawled across your bed, smirking up at you as if he owns the moment. "You don't seem to mind when it's pointed at you," You fire back, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckles, his hand sliding further up your thigh. "Can you blame me? You're capturing my best angles."

Your about to reply when the next image makes you pause. It's an old photo, one of you and Logan. Your breath catches ever so slightly, and Pietro doesn't miss it. His playful demeanor shifts as he cranes his neck to see the screen. The photo is candid - you and Logan caught mid-laugh, your free hand on his chest, his on your waist. There's a closeness in the shot that feels undeniable, even to Pietro.

"Still love him?" He asks, his voice casual but curious.

You don’t answer immediately, your thumb brushing over the edge of the camera. "It's...complicated with Logan.” You says finally, your tone soft but weighted.

Pietro exhales through his nose, leaning back against the pillows. "Complicated. That guy's whole vibe." You glance up at him, a flicker of guilt in your expression, but Pietro's smirk returns as he cups your cheek. "You and me? We don't have to be complicated. We can just...be." His lips brush yours, soft and easy, and you kiss him back, deeper this time, letting the camera slip from your fingers. Your hands slide over his toned chest as you shift onto him, your hair falling around your face as you lean in. Pietro grins up at you, pulling you closer, and before you can protest, he grabs your camera and snaps a picture of you straddling him.

"Pietro!" You laugh, trying to grab it back, but he holds it out of reach, his other hand gripping your hip.

"Hey, fair's fair," He teases. "I've been your muse all night. Time to return the favor."

You’re still laughing when he tosses the camera aside and flips you onto your back, your teasing dissolving into another heated round, uncomplicated and fleeting, but fiery all the same.

One afternoon, Logan leans against the entrance of the Danger Room, arms crossed as he watches you and Pietro spar. He doesn’t announce himself right away, instead letting his gaze flicker between the two of you as you clash - your precision and controlled movements countering Pietro’s speed and cocky unpredictability.

It’s almost funny to watch - the way your power slows him mid-dash, forcing him to adjust on the fly. For a moment, Logan’s almost amused. Almost.

Then Pietro suddenly halts in front of you, his hands finding your waist as the sparring shifts into something far more intimate. Your lips meet his, and Logan’s amusement vanishes, his claws itching to make an appearance.

He clears his throat loudly, the sound sharp and deliberate.

Neither of you flinch.

Pietro’s lips barely leave your before he casts a glance over his shoulder, that trademark smirk firmly in place. “Oh hey, old man. Didn’t see you there.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, and his voice drops to a low growl. “Doesn’t look like much training going on.”

Pietro shrugs, still grinning, and leans back in for another kiss, but you stop him and take his hand, leading him towards the exit as you tilt your head toward the door. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” You say, not taking your eye off Logan until you pass by him.

Logan straightens, his arms falling to his sides, hands balling into fists. “Don’t stop on my account.” He says dryly, though his tone makes it clear he’d very much like for you to stop.

Pietro, ever the smartass, winks at him on his way out, his arm slung casually around your shoulders. “See you around, Logan.”

The sound of Logan’s claws extending echoes through the room, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. Instead, he glares after the speedster, his chest tight with a mixture of anger and something far more complicated. He mutters under his breath as you disappear, his voice gruff and bitter. “Kid’s got no idea how close he came to losin’ those damn legs.”

Late at night, Logan sits in his room, a glass of whiskey in hand as he stares at his phone. He shouldn’t text you. Hell, he knows he shouldn’t. But the thought of you with him - the way you laughed, the way you touched him - eats away at his resolve. With a frustrated sigh, he types out a message.

Logan: I miss you.

Logan: I miss your smart mouth, the way you used to laugh when you got under my skin.

Logan: I miss how you smell. Still in my damn sheets, Y/N.

It takes a minute before your reply comes in, and when it does, it’s not what he expects.

It's a picture.

You in bed, your hair mussed, your lips curved into a playful smile. Pietro is asleep beside you, shirtless, his arm draped casually over your bare waist. The text that follows twists the knife in Logan's chest.

You: I’m with him. We're not getting back together.

Logan stares at the image, his grip tightening on the phone. He could leave it at that. He should leave it at that. But when it comes to you, he's never been good at restraint.

Logan: You're not doing a great job convincing me. You're still texting me back.

Logan: Guess that means you're thinking about me.

He sends it, letting the whiskey embolden him. When your reply comes, it's teasing but sharp, just like you.

You: Maybe I'm just bored.

He huffs a dry laugh, already typing out his next response.

Logan: Yeah? You bored with him, princess? Are you bored enough to talk about how much I wanna put my mouth on you right now?

Logan: 'Cause l'd make damn sure you weren't thinking about him for a second longer.

There's a pause this time, and for a moment, he wonders if he's pushed too far.

Then your response comes in.

You: That's inappropriate, Logan.

His smirk is instant.

Logan: Is it? Doesn't seem like you hate it.

To drive the point home, he snaps a picture - evidence of how much the exchange has affected him. His abs visible, his hand teasingly low, and the unmistakable outline of his erection beneath the sheets. He sends it without hesitation.

Logan: See what you do to me, princess?

Your reply takes longer this time, but when it comes, it's exactly what he expects.

Yana: You're ridiculous.

He can almost hear your laugh as he reads it.

Logan: And yet, you're still here.

You: You're lucky I find your cocky side entertaining.

Logan grins, leaning back against the headboard, his confidence surging.

Logan: You don't just find it entertaining, darling. You like it. And you know where to find me when you're done playing with the kid.

You don’t respond right away, and he knows better than to expect you to admit it. But he can tell, even through the screen, that he's in your head now. And as much as you want to push him away, you’re still letting him in.

The smell of fresh coffee fills the kitchen as you lean against the counter, one hand curled around your mug. You hear him before you see him - the heavy tread of his boots, the low grunt of acknowledgment as he steps inside.

“Mornin’, darlin’.” Logan greets, his voice gruff and warm, but there’s a teasing edge to it that makes your pulse quicken. He stops beside you, leaning casually against the counter, his sharp eyes fixed on you.

You don’t look up, pretending to focus on your coffee. “Morning.”

Logan isn’t one to be ignored. He moves closer, his body brushing yours as he rests his hands flat on the counter, one on either side of you. He leans in, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear. “You didn’t tell me what you thought of that picture I sent you.”

You snort softly, taking another sip of coffee to hide the way your breath hitches. “Didn’t seem like it needed a response.”

Logan chuckles low, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your back. “Is that right? Figured you’d at least tell me how much you liked it.”

You hate how his smooth-talking always gets to you, how his deep voice and the heat of his body so close make your knees feel like jelly. When his lips press against the back of your neck, slow and deliberate, your grip on the mug tightens. “Logan.” You warn, though your voice lacks conviction.

“Yeah?” His hand slides up, skimming over your stomach beneath your shirt, his touch rough and familiar. “How much longer you gonna punish me, huh? You’ve made your point, princess.”

You swallow hard, your free hand snapping up to push his away before he can go further. You turn around, placing the mug on the counter with unnecessary force. “We’re done, Logan.”

He stays close, his eyes locked on yours, intense and unrelenting. “Are we?”

“Yes.” You insist, though the wavering in your voice betrays you.

Logan tilts his head, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you don’t push me away until it’s already too much. And even then, I see the way you look at me.”

“Logan.” Your tone sharpens, your resolve hardening. “It’s over. You need to move on.”

His expression shifts, the teasing fading as he studies you, his voice softer now. “You love him? Pietro?”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before answering. “That doesn’t matter.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, his hands falling to his sides. “The hell it doesn’t.”

You straighten, arms crossing over your chest. “What matters is that you and I don’t work. We fight more than we talk, Logan. We’re not good for each other.”

His eyes bore into yours, raw and unyielding. “Maybe not, but don’t pretend this thing between us is just gonna disappear.”

Your breath hitches again, and you hate that he can still get under your skin so easily. “We’re not getting back together.” You say firmly, stepping around him and walking out of the kitchen, your head held high.

Logan watches you go, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to go after you. The scent of your perfume lingers in the air, and it only makes him want you more. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” He mutters to himself, his voice low and determined.

The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves of the tree, casting dappled light over you and Pietro. You kneel in front of him, camera in hand, grinning as you adjusts the lens.

“Come on,” You tease, “Show me some muscle, Pietro. Let me see what you’ve got.”

Pietro smirks, ever the performer, flexing dramatically and earning a laugh from you. But the sound of your laughter, the way your dress clings to your legs as you shift on the grass, pulls his focus entirely. In a swift motion, he grabs your wrist and tugs you into his lap, his lips brushing your neck as he murmurs, “Forget the pictures for a minute, huh?”

“Pietro,” You protests softly, glancing around nervously. “We’re outside. Someone could see - ”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” He promises, his hand already slipping under the hem of your dress. “I promise, no one’s coming.”

His playful confidence breaks through your hesitation, and soon enough, your resolve crumbles. His lips murmur compliments along your neck as he unbuckles his belt and you lift yourself on your knees so you can sink down onto his thick cock. Pietro shudders subtly as your warmth wraps around him, his hands smoothing out the skirt of your dress. You’re moving against his lap, gasping as his hands guide your hips. Pietro presses his lips to your ear, whispering praises, telling you how beautiful you look, how perfect you feel.

“Pietro…” You moan softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair as he bites softly on your neck while you ride him slow and steady, taking your time.

Neither of you notice the figure standing at the window inside the school.

Logan watches, his teeth clenched, his hands gripping the windowsill so tightly it groans under the strain. His heightened senses pick up every sound, every gasp and whispered word. It burns, and though he tells himself to turn away, he can’t. The image of them together sears itself into his mind, feeding a fire he’s been trying to tamp down for weeks.

A few nights later, once everyone has gone to sleep, Logan waits until the mansion is quiet. He knows it’s reckless, knows he should leave you alone, but the memory of your soft gasps and flushed skin won’t let him. He slips into your room without a sound, the door clicking shut behind him. The anger and tension finally boiled over within him and he simply had to get you back. You stir in your bed, sitting up abruptly when you realize you’re no longer alone.

“Logan…” You starts, your voice sharp, but he’s already moving toward you.

“Don’t,” He murmurs, his voice low and rough. “Don’t tell me to leave. I can’t.”

Before you can protest, his mouth is on yours, demanding and hungry. His hands grip your waist, pulling you against him as he kisses you deeply, like he’s trying to erase the memory of anyone else. You twist away, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. “Stop,” You say, though your voice falters. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you anymore.”

Logan freezes for half a second, his forehead resting against yours. “Don’t lie to me,” He growls softly, his lips moving to your jaw, your neck. “You don’t want me, but you can’t stop letting me in. Can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

“Logan…” Your voice is breathless now, the fight slipping from you with every kiss, every touch.

“Say it,” He whispers, his mouth trailing lower, his hands finding the soft skin beneath your shirt. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave. But you can’t, can you?”

Your resolve crumbles as his hands and lips overwhelm you, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the familiarity of him consuming you. “I hate you.” You murmur, though it sounds more like a plea than a declaration.

Logan smirks against your hip. “Yeah, but you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You don’t answer, not with words, but the way your fingers clutch at his shirt, the way your body arches into his touch, tells him everything he needs to know. You don’t even notice the way your legs spread for him as he kisses the top of your thighs. Logan pulls your panties aside, inhaling the scent of your cunt before licking a long stripe over your slit. Your body shudders at the sensation and one of your hands finds it way into his hair while you muffle yourself with your palm. Logan pushes your thighs further apart and he spits on your clit before sucking it into his mouth, nipping lightly which pulls a soft laugh out of you.

By the time he finally pulls you beneath him, you’re whispering the words he’s been dying to hear. “I want you, Logan. I always want you.”

It’s all the permission he needs.

The room is dark, the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains as Logan’s hand moves over your body with practiced confidence. His hips are driving slow and harsh into yours, making you feel every inch of his hard cock dragging against the fluttering walls of your narrow hole. His lips are at your ear, voice low and teasing, every word designed to unravel you. “Can’t ever get enough of me, can you?” He murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. “No matter how many times you say you’re done, you’re always right back here.”

You shudder under his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders as you shake your head weakly. “That’s not true.” You whisper, though the breathy tone betrays you.

Logan chuckles, the sound deep and rough, vibrating through your chest, his thrusts never faltering in their steady rhythm. “No? Then why are you holding onto me like you’re scared I’ll let you go?” He trails kisses down your neck, his hand sliding lower, his grip firm and possessive on your thigh as he hitches it onto his waist. Your protests fade into soft gasps, your body arching into his touch. Logan smirks, leaning in close. “Bet Pietro doesn’t make you feel like this,” He taunts, his lips brushing against yours. “Bet he doesn’t fuck you so good you forget how to breathe.” Your cheeks flush, your grasp on him tightening, but you don’t answer. Logan takes your silence as confirmation, his confidence surging. “You’re shaking for me. Is it that good?” He teases, kissing the top of your head and resting his cheek on your forehead, his cock pounding into you like a punishment.

And then his gaze falls on your camera sitting on the nightstand, and an idea sparks. “Hold on, darlin’.” He mutters, reaching for it. You stir, reaching for him as his warm, heavy body moves slightly away from you, watching him with wide eyes as he powers it on.

“Logan,” You start, your voice barely above a whisper, “What are you doing?”

He settles on his knees, his cock still throbbing inside your aching pussy, his free hand cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes over your lips. “Relax,” He says with a smirk. “Just a little keepsake. Open up for me.” Your hesitation lasts only a second before you part your lips, your body responding to him without question. Logan slips his thumb into your mouth, his gaze darkening as you obediently suck on it, your cheeks hollowing and your lips swollen. “Good girl,” He murmurs, raising the camera and snapping a picture. He pulls the camera back, checking the image with a satisfied grin. “That one’s for Pietro,” He says smugly, his tone laced with amusement. Your eyes widen, your cheeks burning, but before you can respond, Logan thrusts more forcefully into you, sliding a hand lower along your trembling body until his thumb is circling your clit, accompanying the intense plows of his cock.

Almost immediately, Logan coax you closer to the edge. Your head falls back, your breath hitching as his touch drives you higher, every nerve in your body alight with pleasure. Logan watches you intently, his free hand raising the camera once more. “And this one,” He says, his voice softer now, almost reverent, “This one’s for me.” He snaps the picture just as you reach your peak, capturing the way you body trembles, the way your face twists with pure ecstasy. Lowering the camera, Logan sets it aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply. “That’s the look I live for,” He murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with possessive pride as he settles back over you, chasing his own release within the confines of your wet, tight pussy clenching around him. “No one else gets to see you like this, princess. Just me.”

And in that moment, you can’t bring yourself to deny him.

I have been daydreaming about Aaron Taylor-Johnson after watching Kraven the Hunter🤭 Him and Hugh paired together?? My, my, my🫠