Mio

A floater student is what you would consider yourself, showing up to class once in a blue moon, rather busying yourself with doom scrolling in your dormitory or shopping off campus at the mall, only showing up during exam time and barely passing. your prognosis would be one of the many hyperactive disorders, but you never bothered to diagnose yourself officially. In high school, your parents didn’t make a huge deal of your grades, thanking a graceful god out there that you even got your diploma to begin with. At this age however, with tens of thousands of dollars being poured into your tuition, your mother and father have seemed to coil up even tighter in terms of frustration with your nonchalant attitude towards school. 

A report card from your fall semester riddled with C’s and D’s, emboldened and italicized as if to taunt you silently, was the final straw, the cussing you received was enough for a lifetime. At your parents' discretion, before the start of the semester you consulted with your academic advisor in suggestion of a course schedule that wasn’t a twelve hour day, and professors who would accommodate you with in the case of your late assignments and missing homework. 

All classes but one would be easy- you had been told. Your world history class and its professor had been the only one where you had been saddled with a hardball teacher, rate my professor describing one Logan Howlett, teacher of Modern World History in the Context of Classic Literature, as a man with a foul mouth and harsh grading asshole— with an excellent curriculum but horrible grade weighting, as described by your fellow student body, the mandatory attendance and participation accounting for twenty percent of your grade alone pulling a groan from you as your laptop screen stares back at you, the blue light emitting from it seemingly silently taunting you with the course course outline. Get used to looking at my screen. Three hours in an auditorium, every Wednesday and Friday for twelve weeks at nine in the morning with this douchebag.

You mentally prepare yourself for the exhaustion of the upcoming semester, shutting your laptop closed with a huff of annoyance before laying in bed, mentally preparing yourself for this seemingly infamous professor Howlett.

After a rather inadequate night of sleep, a zero sugar monster energy (gotta give in for the sake of your health where you can) and a double shot latte, you feel something that briefly resembles yet still distant from awake, you find yourself struggling to get comfortable in the stiff chairs in your lecture room. You’re glad you tucked yourself away in a seat in the corner, four rows back from the front, embarrassed that your peers are silently mocking your struggle. 

It’s some odd minutes to nine on the dot, and you’re rather proud of yourself for being able to make it minutes early rather than stumbling in twenty minutes late like you’re prone to doing. Face resting on your hand, cheek squishing your right eye closed, your left eye flits around the room to the other people present, and you wonder if anyone else is stuck in your current situation: burnt out student who didn’t have a choice but to take this class at the least convenient time possible, simply for your graduation credits. Unfortunate kismet, you think, if anybody else in this room also had the privilege to have been born with the unlucky gene you possess. 

Your eyes are heavy, the seconds tickering away at the speed of minutes, and you can’t help it when the last open eye you have flutters close. You hum to yourself, relishing at the feeling of finally being able to rest some more. the quiet shuffling of your classmates feet and the soft scrapings of their chairs, clock ticking so quietly that it barely registers in your mind. The ambient noise is like a blanket to you. It’s not more than five minutes, just a micro nap— you tell yourself, counting the seconds of each minute down silently. 45, 44, 43, 42, what minute is this?, 30, 29, 28, so tired, 22, 21, time to sleep…

Your eyes shoot open when you hear the auditorium door slam shut, blinking away softly the sleep in your eyes. your heart sinks for a minute and panic sets in— did you sleep through the whole class? On the first fucking day? You look around, eyes wide, and immediately sigh in relief when you’re greeted with a full hall. Conversely, you see everyone’s attention to the front of the class with materials out, so you trail your eyes to the front of the room and that’s when you see him, finally. Not his face yet, the wide expanse of his back and tail of his coiffed head facing you all instead. Your eyes trail down his body to his feet, clad in a pair of black combat boots, you can’t help but quirk up and eyebrow, bootcut jeans that seem to be worn in well, seemingly like they’re tailored to his long, very legs, then you see his jacket, which now you catch in time to see him taking it off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath and your breath hitches a bit. You can only see his triceps flexing as he maneuvers his jacket off, but you can just tell he’s covered in rippling muscle, his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, wondering if his face is as captivating as the rest of him. Your eyes flit over to the girl sitting two seats down from you, and you can’t help but smile a little at her expression, teeth chewing her bottom lip and eyes widened slightly and blinking in slow flutters, seemingly thinking the same things about this Professor Logan Howlett as you are; He’s obscenely sexy even though I haven’t even seen his face.

When you focus your attention back to the front, your face warms immediately upon finally seeing his– Professor Howlett’s face and fuck, you feel stupid for even thinking that he wouldn’t be even a fraction of attractive. His hair, oh god his hair, styled as if he just rolled out of bed and ran his hands through it once, maybe twice even, streaked with gray at his temples, peppering down into his sideburns and disappearing in his scruffy beard. His eyes are an enrapturing shade of hazel, almost brown, almost green, you squint a little to see the mix of hues better, cursing yourself for sitting so far away. His nose, button-like yet poses so masculine at the same time. His lips look so soft and kissable, framed perfectly by his facial hair as if it’s screaming at you to kiss there, to taste each other, let your tongues touch and whisper your deepest secrets to one another-

Gravelly and deep, his voice rouses you from your rather indulgent fantasy. “Good morning. Lively bunch this semester,” he quips and a quiet wave of laughter reverberates and echoes around you. Your chest tightens at the sound of his voice and you want to smack yourself silly for it. “Gonna spare you all the pointless introductions n’ ice breaking crap, yeah? We’ll go over the syllabus and get this show on the road.”

He’s curt, forward, doesn’t bite his tongue, you deduce. Not the jackass his reviews seem to pin him as, though it’s only the first class. They didn’t seem to mention how ruggedly handsome he was as well, you think and pull your lips taut as Professor Howlett, continues to read off the syllabus. Two essays, three quizzes, and a final reading comprehension exam. Attendance is mandatory Your eyes quickly flit to the back of your skull as he reads off that point. No makeups. No late work. No excuses. 

You feel your heart hammer in your chest a little, a sense of anxiety bubbling up in you at how much this class demands. It’s nerve wracking, super fucking discouraging to say the least given your track record, but you know you have no other choice but to commit fully and pass this class, so help your parents. You suppose you can find the motivation in a hot professor and at the very least, make an effort to roll out of bed and be presentable on the days you show up to his class. You exhale softly, hearing the shuffling of books and closing laptops to rouse you from your thoughts. 

“And don’t forget, first five chapters of tulip fever for next class,” his voice booms in the auditorium, fighting with the noise of students desperate to leave and head to their next class or back to their rooms. You flit your eyes towards your professor, arms crossed and muscles bulging against his shirt, casually leaned against his desk. His eyes meet yours for a moment and your breath hitches immediately. His brow quirks at you silently and you’re sure you might disintegrate on spot. You feel your face heat up and you break away the eye contact to rush out of the lecture, both exhausted and perpetually embarrassed, not having enough energy to handle feeling both. In your haste, you miss the way Logan's lip quirks up for a split second at you, rushing out the door with Tulip Fever and streaks of grey on your mind. 

You find you can’t keep your modern history professor off the brain since leaving the lecture hall that wednesday, ever so flustered. You thought about his thick arms back at your dorm, and how they might feel wrapped around you in a warm embrace. You thought about those graying temples, and the picture it would paint with his head between your thighs. You thought about him in your humanities class as your professor droned on about morality and its many philosophical perspectives, but you tune her voice out and think of his instead, wondering what it would sound like whispering sweet nothings in your ear. The level of yearning you’ve reached is bound to get you in trouble, hell it’s gotten you in trouble already— completely neglecting to finish the first five chapters of Tulip Fever like Professor Howlett had assigned, losing yourself in the work from your other classes. Friday had snuck up on you and you smacked your forehead for being so forgetful, the beginnings of discourage and a knot forming in your stomach. I’m a failure, I suck at this, I should drop out, I’m such a fucking idiot.

The thought of letting down a man you barely know has you berating yourself even further. You need to get a grip and quickly— he’s your teacher for God's sake. You suck in a breath, finding yourself sat in the same lecture hall your vivid fantasies found themselves being born in, laptop open as you’re frantically reading the Sparknotes summary minutes before class is set to start. Today, you chose a seat in the second row, still far off to the right side. You weren’t sure you could stay coherent with his gaze on you so heavy.  You tell yourself you picked this spot for a better learning experience, closer seats meaning less of a chance you fall prey to your fantasies, but deep down beyond the denial you knew better than to convince yourself of a lie like that. You sat upfront because you wanted to see Professor Howlett better, to pinpoint the hues of his eyes you couldn’t make out yesterday from so far behind. You wanted to trail your eyes up and down his muscular frame, taking snapshots of the hair on his forearms, the freckles on his thick knuckles, the veins trailing his big hands—

“Good morning, everyone,” a gruff voice speaks and you feel a ball of energy sits itself deep in your stomach, it’s him. You've missed the deep baritone of his voice, you realize. “Hope you all read up the chapters, yeah? We’ll be discussing ‘em today, and I am the asshole who picks on students to participate.” There’s a soft wave of grumbles from some, but your panic is quiet and you hope to a God in heaven somewhere that he doesn’t pick you, god knows you barely retained any information from your flash round of Sparknotes earlier.

“Like any book, the first few chapters were mostly exposition, character and scene setting stuff. Tell me, what does Sophia’s marriage and lack of heir signify to us in these times?” Professor Howlett asks, and you immediately avert your gaze to the grooves and scratches in the table in front of you. Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, please please please— “Yeah, you,” your head snaps up, heart hammering in your chest when you see him nod his head at some girl, some girl with too much fucking chest out, you spit, her hand raised high and smile plastered across her smug little face. Your brows pull together and you barely contain the urge to roll your eyes at her enthusiasm. 

“Thank you, Professor,” This fucking bi- “I think that- that while Cornelius and Sophia are often representative of the way marriage was a lot of the times something more transactional, her being unable to have a kid being a main problem- shows how a lot of times a marriage with no evidence of, um, consummation, is seen as practically null and void.” Your fist tenses against the desk at her answer.

“Little long winded, but yeah, good job..?” his voice lilts off, and you smile a bit knowing he doesn’t even remember her name. “Oh, um, Amber,” she sputters out. He nods at her response and continues asking questions about the book. You feel a little bad as class progresses, your unprovoked and unwarranted jealousy towards another woman over a man who’s simply an authority figure to you both, no matter how attractive, makes you cringe. What is he doing to you? 

“Good answers, guys. Glad you all did more than skim the book,” Professor Howlett muses, turning his back to face you all as he digs through his briefcase. You take this time to admire how broad his back looks, draped in a black polo shirt today that practically has you drooling. “The rest of you I didn’t pick on today aren’t unscathed unfortunately,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns around and presents the stack of papers between his large hands to you all and he smirks, “Pop quiz.” 

A myriad of groans come crashing from all over the lecture hall right down to your ears and you silently join, hands falling down against your desk. You sincerely hope these weren’t going to be graded, praying that Professor Howlett possesses some sense of apologeticness, knowing that the definite zero percent you’d get on this would completely fuck over your overall average for the rest of the semester, subsequently giving your parents ample reason to rip you a fucking brand new one. 

Row by row, he passes a stack of papers for each student to pass down and he stops in front of you, seeing as you so conveniently sat at the end of the second row. “Nervous?” he asks, brow quirked and smug fucking look on his face as you look up at him. You quirk your eyebrow right back at him, “Hardly.” A group of papers fall in front of you and he breathes out a laugh, leaving you to pass papers to the next row. You lied like shit, you were insanely nervous, knowing you hadn’t retained a lick of information from your mini crash course nor the class’ discussion prior.

“No tech, no cheating. You guys know the drill, don’t make me catch you and have to chew you out. Twenty minutes and I’m picking ‘em up.” Logan says, walking down the aisle and back to his desk, his hulking frame leaning against his desk and his arms crossed up against his chest so tight that his biceps practically bulge out of his shirt. Or maybe, he’s just that toned, that any movement, minuscule or major, would have him threatening to rip out of his clothes. You’re practically fighting yourself in your seat, tearing your eyes away from his thick arms and heavy pectorals and down to your paper. 

It’s one page, front and back, ten questions. It wouldn’t be so bad had you actually read the book, considering you can’t even remember the name of the main character in the book. You bite your lip, trying so hard to rack your brain for something that resembles a coherent answer to these questions that will give you at least a 75%, knowing it wouldn’t skew your grade average completely off. What does Maria’s role stand to symbolize in the context of 1600’s Amsterdam?. You clench your  fist so hard around your pen you’re almost amazed that it doesn’t break under the pressure. You didn’t even remember a Maria in the book.

Twenty minutes of writing later, grasping at straws for potential points that would make you feel better than getting a big fat zero on your first quiz in this class, in his class, you’re walking to his desk to place your quiz in a pile with the rest of your peers, just as he’d instructed. You kept your eyes down the entire time, feeling too embarrassed to look at him after that silly excuse for banter you had attempted earlier. Hardly. Yeah fucking right. 

After your quiz, you had been dismissed from class, and you felt the anxiety set in almost immediately. The phone call you had with your parents that weekend over your classes and grades so far only worsened, the stern and subtly implied threat of coming back home to learn at a local college looming silently above you if you didn’t keep your grades up. You had obviously avoided mentioning the pop quiz you had, choosing not to set them ablaze at the mention of the fact that you most definitely failed that pop quiz. The stress of your grades instilled a new found productivity in you, in which you took initiative to read ahead of the assigned chapters and annotate as well as take notes for your modern history class, hoping to be prepared next time he’d ask a question. Your stomach churns at the thought of his praise, Good answer. Very good, kiddo. Like that idea. you imagined he’d say to you. You bite your lip as you study your western civilization notes, maybe he’d even indulge in you, call you his good girl, his good little student, something that Amber would never have above you. 

Monday and Tuesday went by uneventfully, as you completed your labs and started on your assignments when assigned. Tuesday night however, you had been anxious almost, or maybe excited— you weren’t sure, but you did know you wanted to be prepared for this class, to prove to Professor Howlett that you could handle his class, show him that you wouldn’t let him chew you up and spit him out so easily. You took the time before bed on that Tuesday to prepare your books in your bag, organize your notes, and even pick out an outfit, neatly folding it and leaving it on your desk chair. Grades be damned, you were beyond ready to prove everyone wrong, yourself included. 

You sat in the front row again, enraptured in the world of Tulip Fever, but really you would rather focus on Professor Howlett. He was all you thought about these days, especially at night when it was only you and the dark of your dorm to entertain you before bed. You hear a giggle next to you and you snap your head to the direction of the noise. Amber. A deep rumble sounds in front of you, someone clearing their throat. You look forward again and see your professor and your face heats up. “Welcome back to earth, sweetheart,” he muses, humour painted all over his face. Your eyes widen at the pet name he’s given you and you feel like sinking into your seat. “I need you here next time, yeah? Not in that pretty little head of yours,” he says, quiet enough so only you and the front two rows can hear. Your head spins. Pretty. He called you pretty. He continues his lecture like nothing else happened, leaving you dazed at his affection. His eyes flit to you briefly and he smiles, before walking back to the front of the class. 

Little moments like these pepper themselves throughout your lectures with Profess Howlett in between the assignments and lectures and raised hands. You’d catch him looking at the juncture of your breasts sometimes as you wore low cut tops, his lilting voice calling you precious pet names, sweetheart, kiddo, sweets. They all have your face warming. Heated gazes, stolen smiles, one off banter, you were convinced you were being delusional. One particular moment after class where you had asked for details on an assignment had you reeling for days. You went up to him after class to ask your question. His face was insanely close, you could smell the mint off his breath from the gum he was chewing during the lecture, feel his words fan your face, deep rumblings and focused glares as you were only inches away from his face. His lips, oh God his lips… so close, so soft looking, so pink, you had been so caught up in him the entire time. And he had noticed, his fingers coming up to your chip to raise your gaze. He did it wordlessly, eyeing you as you eyed him. His look daring you to say something. Challenge me. I dare you. But you didn’t— you couldn’t, you had tried to focus on something else, his musky woodsy scent, his greying stubble, anything, as he continued to explain your question to you. You walked out of his class that day with jello for legs, replaying the moment in your mind. 

Next class you had seen him he had given the assignments back, adorned with little gold stars on those who had grades higher than a B minus. Your paper had come back to you with an A minu, a little gold star next to your grade. “Boosts morale,” had been Logan’s explanation when a student had asked why the gold star. You smiled. Cute. 

You had felt like you finally found your groove, despite the hiccup you had at the beginning. Your first test of the semester approached, and you weren’t nervous, in fact you showed up to class early, getting a chance to get a good spot and watch Professor Howlett walk in and begin setting up. You had waved, a meek good morning in your own words and he returned a wink back. Your insides tugged at themselves. He had waltzed over to you in your seat, starting up conversation. “Nervous?” he asks, curt and short. You smile, “Hardly,” using your own words once more. “I’m gunning on a gold star. I studied extra hard.” Professor Howlett hums, smile on his face. “I look forward to seeing your work. I enjoy reading it,” he says. He leaves you with those words as he walks back to his desk, more students beginning to pepper in the classroom as the test hour approached. You had been so sure you did excellent on your test, studying for days and days beforehand. So when you got back your test, a C Minus staring back at you with a gut wrenching empty space next to your grade right where a star would be. Tears prick your eyes as you look at the grade, feeling so disappointed in yourself. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

You had promptly stayed behind after class to speak to him, and it seemed like Amber had the same idea, her body close to his as she spoke lowly. She didn’t spare a glance back at you as she spoke to him, hand grazing his bicep as she walked away and past you. Your eyes rolled in your head and you walked up to Professor Howlett next. He’s in the middle of packing up his papers in his bag when you come up to him, and he glances up in acknowledgment before going back to what he’s doing. You breathe out and his brown quirks as he pauses and looks at you. “Yes?” he asks. “I… I would like to see you after class if possible to discuss my grades,” you say, fist curling and uncurling with nerves. ”Tomorrow afternoon come see me at my office,” he says, arms crossing. “Don’t be late. Don’t get your hopes up either,” he quirks. You chew your lip before sighing. “I’ll be there. On time.” 

And true to your word, you showed up promptly and on time. Your heart was hammering in your chest cavity so hard you felt like it would burst through your ribcage. Your lower lip found itself between your teeth, chewing at it tenderly. You had been staring at the mahogany colored door, finished with a shiny golden plaque, L. Howlett, PHD. carved within the surface of the precious metal. His name posed just as intimidating as he did. You’d been standing in front of his door for almost three minutes now, fingers skimming along the hem of your plaid skirt. The accompanying white tanktop and white cardigan hand made your subconscious intentions loud and clear, as some part of you, a delusional part of you, had hoped this school girl-esque get up would grant you some sort of leniency with Professor Howlett as you begged for him to give you a retake, a makeup assignment, something for God’s sake.

Any moment more of hesitancy and you would be late for your two o’clock appointment time, so you bring your knuckles up to the door to knock, twice in succession, when the door swings open in front of you. Your knuckle is almost met with Amber’s face, her shock seeing you just as evident as hers. She doesn’t let it linger however, as she casts a glance over her shoulder and muses a “Bye Professor. Thank you so much, I’ll see you in class Monday,” before looking back forward and right back at you, holding your gaze as she walks right out the door and past you, making sure her shoulder doesn’t miss yours. You scoff. Bitch. 

“Right on time. Come in,” he gestures, refusing to get up from his comfy looking office chair. As you walk around his office you take in the interior briefly. The mahogany furniture, the lingering smell of cigar smoke, evidence of his nasty habit sitting on top of an ashtray on his desk, the glass bar cart, adorned with various bottles of whiskey and gin, and a mini fridge sitting on its bottom shelf— filled with ice and garnish you assume. You eye his book cabinet, shelves stuffed with various literary titles, old and new, classic and contemporary. You find yourself impressed, but you shouldn’t be, his teaching— albeit rough, brutish sometimes even— is a testament to his passion towards books and literature. You smile a little as you sit down in the foam lined chair in front of his desk. You try not to think of who sat in it before you as you feel the residual warmth of it against your thighs. You take in Professor Logan, black t-shirt and dark blue jeans— casual, but damn if he made it look good. You eyed his arms, veiny and bulging out his shirt, before flickering your attention back to his face, framed by those greying temples you oh so loved.

“So?” He trails, redirecting his attention from his desktop to you. You swallow a little and sigh. “Um, I know that you said no… no retakes or anything, and I understand your answer if it’s a hard no,” you say, pausing to look at him to try and assess what he’s thinking, but you’re simply met with a raised brow and crossed arms as he leans back further in his chair. “But I… I was wondering if- Well, my parents, they said that If I have a grade lower than an A on my report card this semester I had to drop out and transfer locally, and I don’t want to make this a pity story but I… It’s only this class where I’m having trouble. And I know what you said but my last test really fucked my average and I-” your nervous ramblings are cut off by him raising his hand. Your lips clamp and you watch him, waiting for his impending words. He makes you sit in the silence and with your words, instead opening his desk drawer, rifling between what sounds like various loose pens and papers before taking a lighter out. Small, sliver, zippo style and engraved with meticulous swirls. He picks up the already cut cigar out the ashtray, placing it between his pink lips, and lights it— two experimental puffs of smoke floating your way and you get dizzy. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks only now, and you try not to roll your eyes and that façade of chivalry. “No,” you shake your head. “Thought so,” he smiles, smug. He puffs from the cigar once more before he places it down on the glass ashtray once again before he speaks up. “As it stands now if you tighten up for the rest of the semester you can pass my class with a B something, which don’t sound too bad to me, sweetheart.” Your gut twists with tension. A B isn’t what you need. You brows furrow and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. “I would love to help you sweetheart, trust me I would. But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other students who come waltzing in here dressed just like you, begging for an A,” he drawls, picking up his cigar again and slotting it between his lips before he stands up and your breath hitches. “Wh- dressed like me? I didn’t-” you begin, confused at what he’s implying. Your eyes follow his moving figure, his steps taking him around his desk to the side of your chair, conveniently eye level to his groin. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” he asks softly, thumb coming to your chin to direct your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t understand…” you murmur, skin beginning to warm at the rather inappropriate contact and position. Your chest heaves up and down beneath your cardigan and he surely notices letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can put two and two together,” he continues, thumb rubbing softly back and forth against your chin before he drops his hand from you completely. Your eyes drop in sync to his limb, your mind racing a million thoughts a second. But… isn’t this what you wanted? What you needed? What you’ve dreamed of for weeks upon weeks? “Look at me,” he says, stern. And you do. “You listen so well,” he hums and you feel the makings of a fire ignite itself inside you somewhere deep. I’m being good. Good for him. “Kills you inside that you couldn’t get that shiny little sticker, doesn’t it?” he muses, looking down at you with mirth swirling in his eyes. You feel tears spring to your eyes at his words. He sees right through you. It did hurt. All you ever wanted to be was good for him. 

“We can fix that today. Tell you what, you be a good student for me, and I’ll be a good teacher to you, yeah?” he says, taking a puff from his cigar. “Nod your head like a good student.” And you do. Up and down, slowly. Your brain is fuzzy. This surely isn’t happening, is it? It couldn’t be. He walks away and back to his desk, propping his cigar down after asking it. He pushes a pile of papers from his desk, until he finds what he’s looking for. A sticker sheet. What is he…

“C’mere,” Professor Howlett gestures with a finger, simultaneously sitting back on his chair. Your legs are trembling under you as you get up and walk towards his side of the desk. Logan pivots his desk chair to the side as you walk over to him and you find yourself standing between his legs, quiet. “Take that off,” he says, flicking his head towards your cardigan. You let it drop off your shoulder promptly, standing only in your white tank top and plaid skirt. “Kneel,” he says, and you drop immediately. Pathetic. Your hands lay in your laps as you’re sat between his legs on your knees. Your breathing is as laboured as ever. You can’t believe this is happening— something that you spent nights dreaming of. Touching him, tasting him, feeling him. He reaches over to his desk and grabs the sticker sheet of gold stars, a fresh sheet of stars neatly arranged row by row. “You know what to do, don’t you sweetheart?” he asks, palm of his hand running against your face. You nod, reaching forward to the zipper of his dark denim jeans before his palm grabs your hand. “When I ask you somethin’, I want a verbal answer. Y’understand?” he says. Your voice feels caught in your throat. He’s so intense your head is spinning. “Y-yes,” you breathe. “Yes what?” he spits back and your heart hammers. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he hums. He lets go of your hands, taking a sticker off the sheet and placing a small gold star right next to your left eye. Your face heats up at the praise and you almost let out a breath, but you don’t. Your hands go back to undressing Professor Howlett, fingers deft with his button and zipper. He lifts his hips up and helps you shrug his jeans down until they’re sitting on top of his black combat boots, clad only in black briefs. The heavy tent in his pants makes your eyes go wide but you persist, thinking of your grade on the line. With a tug at his boxer band his dick pops up over the elastic, and you pull down until the full sheath of him is bobbing freely. Your eyes widen a little at the sheer size of him, wondering how he could possibly fit inside your mouth let alone your pussy. He was long, eight inches you’d guess just by looking and insanely thick. He was heavy too— the length of him unable to stand up fully, bobbing haphazardly as he twitched from arousal. You looked up at him, and his gaze was steady. Expectant. You sucked in a shallow breath before grabbing his cock, warm to the touch. Your fingers barely touched. You’re hand jerked up once before Professor Howlett was grabbing your wrist, only to spit on his dick, the string of saliva landing on the shaft. “S’better. Go on,” he encourages, and you do— jerking him a little faster now with his spit lubricant, the sound of his slick skin making your pussy feel warm, wet. You jerk him faster, spitting in the palm of your second hand before you join your other, breasts bouncing up and down as you jerk him. Little grunts leave Logan, and it makes your tummy feel warm. You were making him feel— “Good, just like that, yeah. Use your mouth now,” he moans. You felt intimidated by his size, but you persisted still. You wanted to be his good girl.

You look up at him as your mouth opens, coy like a fish, and you wrap your lips around his tip. He inhales a sharp breath and it gives you some encouragement. Be good. Your head drops lower, lower and lower until your mouth his full and his tip is tickling your uvula, and you gag around him, sputtering spit all over him. You pull off his dick to cough and he chuckles at you. “Let’s try again together, yeah?” You nod, “Yes, Sir.” You reposition yourself, back on your knees in front of him. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out, open real wide,” he says, tapping your cheek. It felt soft slap more than a tap however. But still, you open your mouth wide, tongue hanging out. “Juuust like that, yeah…” Logan groans, slapping the warmth of his cock on your tongue. “Breath through the nose,” he says, before putting the length of him in your mouth and pulling your head down on him, fist clenched in your hair. He pulls you down deep, further than you managed to reach alone and you gag, spit everywhere, but he pays you no mind. His curses under his breath before standing up out of his seat, your head craning up as his fist pulls at your nape. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes, thrusting his cock in an out of your mouth. Your throat feels rubbed raw, tears pooling in your eyes but you hold on, hands gripping his thighs. “Take it, fucking take it,” he grunts. His hand disappears before placing a sticker on your spit-covered cheek and you whimper around his cock. Logan’s brows pull together and he laughs. “That turn you on? You like being my good little student? You like sucking off your professor?” he laughs, fucking your face with a deep pace. You muffle a Yes, Sir around him as his spit soaked balls slap against your chin and he laughs. Sticker after sticker covers the expanse of your face, a juxtaposition to your debauched mascara-streaked-spit-covered face.

Your throat is raw, but you’re relishing in the attention, the praise, the intensity of it. “One more mouthful, c’mon,” he grunts, pushing your head down even further down his cock and you squeal around him. Your eyes snap shut, focusing on holding your breath as he brings his dick deep down your throat until your nose is buried in his greying pubes. “So fucking nasty,” he drawls, deep groan leaving his chest. “Take it, be good and take it,” he says breathless, before he’s spitting his cum down your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow his bitter semen. Your eyes wretch open lowly, watch Logan’s face contort in pleasure as he finishes in your throat and you whimper, squeezing his thighs tightly. “Good student,” he coos, pulling his cock from your mouth and it’s a relief that’s long overdue. Your first unobstructed breath is a deep one, and you’re slightly dizzy from the oxygen after having it restricted for so long. You don’t think about it for long before a hand is pulling you up off the floor, and before you know it, lips are on yours, tongue finding tongue. Your eyes close by themselves and you melt into the kiss, Professor Howlett’s lips soft against yours, but kissing you so roughly. Your arms grip his biceps, desperate for something to hold onto, anything to steady yourself with. 

The kiss breaks and your mind feels hazy. Your eyes open and you see Professor Howlett staring back at you, hands roaming your body. “Pr-professor…” you moan out after a particularly hard squeeze at your ass. “Logan, baby,” he says, kissing your lips once in a peck, and again as a sloppy embrace, his tongue swirling in your mouth and you keen into him. His hands pull at the back of your thighs and you jump up in his arms, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He walks you a few paces, still stuck in an embrace, until he puts on you down on his desk. He breaks the kiss between you two before pulling the front of your tank top down, revealing your breasts to him, nipples pert. He wastes no time kissing and licking your chest, and you throw your head back in a silent moan. He sucks on your nipples for a minute, pinching and toying with your breast until your chest is heaving and nipples are raw. “What a sight for me,” Logan hums, and you feel shy under him like this. “Lean back and spread your legs f’me,” he says low, kneeling as you do as he asks. He’s eye level with your pussy, only covered by your skirt and white panties. He lifts the plaid fabric up and groans, the little wet spot of your pussy a delectable sight. 

Logan leans forward and licks the wet gusset of your panties and you let out a shuddering moan. “P-please, Logan…” you breath, too wound up to wait. He smirks and indulges in you, pliant and needy. He hooks a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulls them to the side, hurrying his face into your wet and waiting pussy. It’s an enrapturing feeling, having him suck and lick and taste your clit and folds like this, groaning into you and he praises you for having such a sweet fuckin’ pussy, baby. He sucks your clit roughly, before pulling back to spit on your pussy, rubbing his nose against your clit before flattening his tongue against your gushing slit once again. The streaks of grey between your thighs sends blood rushing downwards to the center of your arousal and you can’t help but run your hands through his salt and pepper hair. He licks and tongues you until your legs go numb, teasing your orgasm from you time and time again until you’re nearly in tears for him, ready to cum.

 “Please Lo- Sir. Please, Sir. Wanna cum, I’ll be good. Just-” your begging is cut short as two thick fingers push themselves in you and you throw your head back at the stretch. “You’re gonna come for me in a little, sweetheart. Be good for now,” Logan coos, kissing your inner thighs. You’re heaving as he curls and scissors his fingers inside you in a way that feels so unfairly good that tears begin to streak down your face, gold stickers peeling and falling off your damp skin; scattering down on the desk and falling on your chest. “G-gonna… Oh my God, Sir,” you squeal, just about ready to… Until his fingers deftly leave you. Before you can whine about this, Logan’s thick fingers covered in your slick push into your mouth and you groan. “Hush, baby. You’re about to feel real good in a little,” Logan hums, rubbing his cock, now hard again, up and down your wet and sensitive pussy, the head of him hitching your clit so good it hurts. His fingers leave your mouth. “Beg for it.” And you do. You’re a babbling mess under him. “Inside, p-put it inside me, Professor,” you moan, and Logan's resolve snaps, thrusting into you in one fluid movement.

You see stars, no pun intended, at the stretch of him. Your stomach feels full and you shudder, laying back down against the desk. “Tightest, sweetest fucking pussy I ever felt,” Logan coos, fingers pushing back into your mouth. His unoccupied hand grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder and he begins to thrust in and out of you, knocking the wind out of you with every push in and out. Your intermittent moans turn into a symphony of cries as his pace increases and he’s fucking into you at a brutal speed. Your hands are grasped around the wrist of his hand that’s by your mouth, sucking his fingers to soothe the burning part of the pleasure. “That’s it, fucking take it,” he grunts, pushing your leg from around his should back until your knee was touching your shoulder. The new angle made the pleasure unbearable, every movement rubbing against your g-spot. Your eyes begin to close, your body shutting down seemingly as you begin to enter a pleasure comatose, the bubbling pleasure, the fingers in your mouth, it all feels like too much. But Logan doesn’t let you stay in that place for too long, his fingers leaving your mouth to slap your cheek, pulling back down. “I need you right here, know it feels good but I want you with me,” he says breathy, thrusts still never faltering. 

Without his fingers in your mouth your moans are free to be heard, your incoherent babbles of “s’too much,” and “so deep in me, sir,” floating in the air between Logan’s heavy breaths and obscene curses. You’re breasts jump with every thrust in you, your head bouncing up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. “T-Tell me…” you stutter out, eyes fluttering. “Tell you?” he asks, grinding his hips up and deep, and you’re sure he’s grazing your cervix. You grip his t-shirt and keel. He gets what you mean. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re the best girl. You want another star, don’t you?” he breathes out, a hand moving down to your clit as he thrusts up and out, up and out into you. You whimper, his words and ministration’s overwhelming, “Yes, Sir. M’good. So good. W-want it. Please, can I have it?” you babble. You belly feels warm, and the heat bubbles with every brush at your swollen clit and thrust in your pussy. He lets go of the hand at your knee, spreading you open to grab a sticker from the sticker sheet. “Stick your tongue out f’me,” and you do, overwhelmed with this moment. You’re being good. You’re being good. You’re almost there, keep being good. He spits in your mouth and you moan holding it there and waiting for him to tell you what to do. “Swallow it,” he huffs, thrusts faltering. He’s close, you deduce. I don’t want it to end. Please don’t let it end. You swallow and stick your tongue back out to show him and he groans.

He puts the star sticker on your tongue, and he thrusts in you harder, tweaking at your clit as he does. Your body seizes and you melt into a fit of moans and grunts, and you finally cum, Logan fucking you through it. “Yeah baby, just like that. Kneel for me,” he says, pulling out of you. You lay up off the desk and fall promptly to your knees, watching him jerk himself to orgasm above you with your tongue out, gold star on the middle of your tongue. He grunts with deep Fuck! before warm ropes of cum spray your partially sticker-covered face and tongue. Your eyes close and you hum, relishing in the warmth. Logan wipes the cum from your eyes with his thumb and sticks it in your mouth, and you suck, no questions asked. “Good fucking girl.” 

The moments following are awkward. Logan tucks himself back in his pants, and pulls his jeans up and you’re left laying on the floor, coming down from your ecstasy high. The zip of his jeans breaks the silence and you’re looking up at him, soiled with cum, spit, stickers, tears and mascara. He walks to his bar cart and grabs the cloth hanging off the handle bar, and he hands it to you. You clean yourself up, and when you’re done you find his cardigan in his hands. You fix your tank top back over your breasts and pull the crotch of your panties back into place before grabbing it from him. “Thanks,” you say quietly. “See you in class on Tuesday,” is the last thing he says to you before you leave his office. Stunned.

On Tuesday, he hands you back your test with a new grade, an eighty, and gold sticker placed on it right next to the new grade. He glances at you as you look over your test, and smirks. You read the note he left in red ink on the back of the test, heart beating a little faster once you look back up at him. Good girl. 

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Remy Lebeau/Gambit

- to say he’s into it is an understatement. I don’t think he minds his partners sex drive (was willing to pursue his love for rogue, even when neither of them were sure if there would ever be a solution to their touch problem.) however, I think he’d be more than happy to have a lover with a similar or same libido to him. Sex happens so often it’s genuinely a miracle either of you get stuff done. A morning quickie, date night sex, club bathroom, his car, the couch, kitchen counter. You’ve both mastered the art of getting each others clothes off in record time.

- He’s down for pretty much anything that isn’t hurting you, he’s okay with putting you in a bit of a headlock, maybe a little holding your jaw, but he doesn’t want you ever struggling to breathe, even a little. He has no qualms with you tying him up, giving him a little adrenaline rush, edging him. He’s an adrenaline junkie, he loves that shit. He can be dominant or sitting on his knees begging to go down on you, it’s up to you really.

- Remy is a “ready for sex” whenever kind of guy. You feel in the mood? The dudes already hard. He could go almost anywhere, anytime, anywhere, although his favourite places would be: bed, couch, and his car. He would have no issues keeping up with you, and would enjoy it.

- We KNOW he’s competitive, so occasionally seeing who can overexert each other more is a game. Teasing eachother, seeing who taps out first.

In the case that you win.. what finishes him off is you riding him. Seeing you on top of him, There’s a strange sort of intimacy of it. You moving slowly up and down his overstimulated cock, it makes his eyes glass over a little. He forgets to speak English, clutching onto your hips like it’s all that’s keeping him together. He looks sooo pretty when he finally reaches his climax.

In the case that he wins.. he’s going down on you. He has been for hours. Teasing you, coaxing each edged orgasm after orgasm from you. His hair messed up from your sweaty hands pulling on it helplessly. he gets so fucking cocky with you like this. he could honestly cum just from going down on you. at your final orgasm, on the last leg of his relentless victory, he wouldn’t tease it out of you. instead just letting you cum. Kissing up your body afterward for a brief break before round two.

- Remy can absolutely keep up. no matter how competitive you both get, you end up haphazardly thrown around each other, snoozing together and contentedly exhausted. He wakes before you just so he can make you something to eat, kissing you awake with the gentlest coaxing.

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Kurt Wagner

- Mr.“make more mutants” himself… the dude is a freak. gambit could match your libido, but kurt?? he is THE freak. i don’t think he could go a crazy amount of rounds all at once, BUT i do think he has stamina. so multiple longer, drawn out rounds, a lot of experimenting…if you catch my drift. he is into it!! i think he would be able to manage it pretty well. probably does need a decent amount of recharging time however.

- The tail gets used. (looking at you, Uncanny Spider-Man Issue #3 and legion of x #4..) he can grab with it, he can restrain wrists with it, any wild thing you could think of to do with his tail? he’s not above trying it at least once.

- I feel like he’s a little shy about biting/leaving hickeys, but if you’re into it he doesn’t mind a little grazing of skin with his fangs. i think he would draw the line at drawing any blood on purpose though. He’s SO down for you biting him a little, and would totally be down for you giving him hickeys,..except, he feels bad that they don’t show up and you have to have a mouthful of fur each time you attempt to give him any/

- Slightly off but on topic, i think he prefers sex in a colder environment cause of his fur, not overheating makes him last longer. He also doesn’t mind a little cold temperature play as well. Ice, water, cold hands..as well as having a shower ritual before having sex with you (unless you don’t mind the sulphur smell that clings to his fur, however he would need to be HEAVILY talked into not showering before sex. Dude gets a little insecure of the weird rotten egg smell)

- Again, he’s not one for super fast aggressive rounds, the slower, sensual, drawn out ones are what he’s good at. If you’re both starting to tire it’s not uncommon for you both to end up falling asleep while having sex, waking up and then starting up again.

- He gives the sweetest aftercare, he’s all holding you close, making sure he didn’t accidentally cut you or leave any marks, pressing kisses all over your shoulders while you bathe together (it’s also incredibly fun to lather up his fur. It just feels cool).

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Storm

- The most elegant freak you’ve ever came across. When you guys start having sex I think both of you are mapping each other out. The first few times you both realise you have high libidos and from there, it only gets better. Storm is so lovingly put together and calm, that half the time you can’t fully tell when she’s down for sex until she’s kissing just a little too low down your neck.

- Shes the type to go multiple rounds with you, fall asleep with you—and when you wake up she’s drinking tea and reading a book as if you weren’t making each other cum hard enough to feel a little light headed and seeing stars. She will smile sweetly, pouring you a cup too (if you like tea) and sitting with you for a little while, reading together or she reads and you watch something on TV.

- TEMP PLAY!! or messing about with sensations!! I defo see storm as being somebody who can take both a dominant role, or a more submissive one. However if she’s feeling like being a little dominant: you blindfolded, trailing a thin layer of water over your skin and using her mutation to summon a little breeze to blow over your skin, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. I also don’t think she would entirely object degrading you a little. Not super cruelly, but more of a “praise and degrading” sort of thing.

- Loves receiving oral or having you either get off on her strap (yes, she has one. it doesn’t matter if you’re a man or woman, or anything in between.) or, other way round and it’s her being on the receiving end of some form of penetration. especially if she doesn’t have the full energy to get into the mood and wants to take a bit of a backseat while you satisfy yourself.

- Honestly, depending on the day I think it’d be you worrying about if YOUR libido could match hers, again. She is so calm and wise but I don’t think she’s shy in the bedroom by any means, if she’s in the right mood she can outlast YOU 😭

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Jean Grey

- Yes. So blatantly yes. Jean is similar to storm in a way, she comes off so calm and lovely, nobody would guess how she could be in the sheets. It even took YOU off guard. You assumed she would likely just able to manage the average, when you guys decided to have your “what to expect from sex” talk (what are hard no’s, kinks, how you like being taken care of after, getting to know what lines can or can’t be crossed) you’d let her know about your high sex drive. Letting her know that she never needed to feel compelled to keep up, and that if she was tired you had no qualms getting off yourself. She just smiles, telling you not to worry.

- When you have sex, she can fully keep up. In fact SHE is the one giggling about slipping in a little morning sex after a night that has tuckered you both out. Shes like..half subtle. Jean is the type of woman people lower their heads to simply out of respect. She can semi keep that air about her when both of you decide to sneak off for a little while.

- A hard no for her is ever using her telepathy on you during sex or using it to manipulate your feelings/consent in any way. Although, she’s not above using her telekinesis to make stuff move. if you’re both women (or a dude into this sort of thing), yes she is controlling the thrusting movement of a dildo for both of you.

- she gives the BEST aftercare, I see her as being very attentive. Again, the telekinesis comes in handy when it comes to getting things for you both from far away. She knows what you want (she may or may not read your mind to figure it out, however she knows you pretty well regardless)

- Neck kisses make her fold, literally for ANYTHING. If she’s contemplating something and you pull out the puppy eyes and a kiss to her neck? She’s a goner. And that includes caving in the bedroom too, if you beg just right she would let you cum in a heartbeat, She thinks it’s sweet even in the most sexual of contexts.

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Scott Summers

- He’s into it but he lowkey plays it off at first. the first time you guys have sex he’s a little awkward, and very much scared of his visor accidentally getting nudged or coming off. “am i doing this right?” “does this feel good” needs a lot of hands on learning, show him where you like being touched, let him watch you masturbate for uh..scientific research, let him learn what you’re into. However once he learns? the dudes a menace. he learns quick and keeps that information locked in his mind.

- He can last a long time, but similar to Kurt loves a sort of soft thought out sex. He’s also not above having sex to de-stress, being a leader sucks at times and sometimes he just wants to have you ride him or let him take over while he mutters about his day under his breath. he gets the habit of pulling on the sheets to the point there’s faint frayed spots all over them where the fabric has been worn down.

- Big fan of cuddling with you after sex, he might sit there working away on stuff while having his arm around you or your head on his shoulder. He needs a good recovery time afterwards. He also unironically loves holding hands during sex. You’re riding him? His hand is lacing with yours. He’s got you down on the bed? You feel his hand creeping up to give yours a squeeze

- Acts like the idea of you giving him head under his desk is scandalous, however does still allow you to do it time to time, only when he KNOWS nobody will walk in. The risk is there, sure. But if he’s expecting somebody it’s a hard no. He’s a freak, a shy one—but he also wants to remain professional when it matters.

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Logan

- Assuming we are talking about Logan when he’s in his prime, not only has he been alive for a long ass time, but we all know he could keep up as well as have a shit on of experience (If it’s old man Logan, I don’t think so. Be careful with that old man, he tries.)

- He’s into it absolutely no question. The dude goes FERAL for it. He has no shame either, that little guy is dragging you away at moments notice if you’re both in the mood (which, pretty much every time you both are) + he can smell when you’re getting a little hot under the collar. He uses that to his advantage as often as possible.

- Hard, Rough, Toe curling, Bed breaking sex. Sure, he’s small for a dude but he packs a punch (not literally. He’s here for a little grabbing your chin to look at him, but never actually hitting you). He can also lift you pretty easy no matter how much taller/heavier you are than him.

- This may be a head canon that gets me jumped by a certain area of wolverine enjoyers, but I don’t think logan is exactly the biggest down under the way I’ve seen others write him (I’m talking, people writing him as if he’s wayyyy above average.) he’s thick and 4-5 inches so kind of average/a little below, a lot of body hair. He knows how to use it, and he’s well past any shame he may face.

- Sex anytime, anywhere, any planet, and he’s pretty much down for anything. He goes between being pretty dominant, purely sweet and loving (when he really wants to appreciate you and love all over you), and being grumpy and slightly reluctant when receiving, not cause he doesn’t like it. But when he’s the center of attention, he gets a little flustered. Instead of flushing pink like the average person, he opts for being grumpy.

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Remy Lebeau/Gambit

- to say he’s into it is an understatement. I don’t think he minds his partners sex drive (was willing to pursue his love for rogue, even when neither of them were sure if there would ever be a solution to their touch problem.) however, I think he’d be more than happy to have a lover with a similar or same libido to him. Sex happens so often it’s genuinely a miracle either of you get stuff done. A morning quickie, date night sex, club bathroom, his car, the couch, kitchen counter. You’ve both mastered the art of getting each others clothes off in record time.

- He’s down for pretty much anything that isn’t hurting you, he’s okay with putting you in a bit of a headlock, maybe a little holding your jaw, but he doesn’t want you ever struggling to breathe, even a little. He has no qualms with you tying him up, giving him a little adrenaline rush, edging him. He’s an adrenaline junkie, he loves that shit. He can be dominant or sitting on his knees begging to go down on you, it’s up to you really.

- Remy is a “ready for sex” whenever kind of guy. You feel in the mood? The dudes already hard. He could go almost anywhere, anytime, anywhere, although his favourite places would be: bed, couch, and his car. He would have no issues keeping up with you, and would enjoy it.

- We KNOW he’s competitive, so occasionally seeing who can overexert each other more is a game. Teasing eachother, seeing who taps out first.

In the case that you win.. what finishes him off is you riding him. Seeing you on top of him, There’s a strange sort of intimacy of it. You moving slowly up and down his overstimulated cock, it makes his eyes glass over a little. He forgets to speak English, clutching onto your hips like it’s all that’s keeping him together. He looks sooo pretty when he finally reaches his climax.

In the case that he wins.. he’s going down on you. He has been for hours. Teasing you, coaxing each edged orgasm after orgasm from you. His hair messed up from your sweaty hands pulling on it helplessly. he gets so fucking cocky with you like this. he could honestly cum just from going down on you. at your final orgasm, on the last leg of his relentless victory, he wouldn’t tease it out of you. instead just letting you cum. Kissing up your body afterward for a brief break before round two.

- Remy can absolutely keep up. no matter how competitive you both get, you end up haphazardly thrown around each other, snoozing together and contentedly exhausted. He wakes before you just so he can make you something to eat, kissing you awake with the gentlest coaxing.

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Kurt Wagner

- Mr.“make more mutants” himself… the dude is a freak. gambit could match your libido, but kurt?? he is THE freak. i don’t think he could go a crazy amount of rounds all at once, BUT i do think he has stamina. so multiple longer, drawn out rounds, a lot of experimenting…if you catch my drift. he is into it!! i think he would be able to manage it pretty well. probably does need a decent amount of recharging time however.

- The tail gets used. (looking at you, Uncanny Spider-Man Issue #3 and legion of x #4..) he can grab with it, he can restrain wrists with it, any wild thing you could think of to do with his tail? he’s not above trying it at least once.

- I feel like he’s a little shy about biting/leaving hickeys, but if you’re into it he doesn’t mind a little grazing of skin with his fangs. i think he would draw the line at drawing any blood on purpose though. He’s SO down for you biting him a little, and would totally be down for you giving him hickeys,..except, he feels bad that they don’t show up and you have to have a mouthful of fur each time you attempt to give him any/

- Slightly off but on topic, i think he prefers sex in a colder environment cause of his fur, not overheating makes him last longer. He also doesn’t mind a little cold temperature play as well. Ice, water, cold hands..as well as having a shower ritual before having sex with you (unless you don’t mind the sulphur smell that clings to his fur, however he would need to be HEAVILY talked into not showering before sex. Dude gets a little insecure of the weird rotten egg smell)

- Again, he’s not one for super fast aggressive rounds, the slower, sensual, drawn out ones are what he’s good at. If you’re both starting to tire it’s not uncommon for you both to end up falling asleep while having sex, waking up and then starting up again.

- He gives the sweetest aftercare, he’s all holding you close, making sure he didn’t accidentally cut you or leave any marks, pressing kisses all over your shoulders while you bathe together (it’s also incredibly fun to lather up his fur. It just feels cool).

────୨ৎ──── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. ────୨ৎ────

Storm

- The most elegant freak you’ve ever came across. When you guys start having sex I think both of you are mapping each other out. The first few times you both realise you have high libidos and from there, it only gets better. Storm is so lovingly put together and calm, that half the time you can’t fully tell when she’s down for sex until she’s kissing just a little too low down your neck.

- Shes the type to go multiple rounds with you, fall asleep with you—and when you wake up she’s drinking tea and reading a book as if you weren’t making each other cum hard enough to feel a little light headed and seeing stars. She will smile sweetly, pouring you a cup too (if you like tea) and sitting with you for a little while, reading together or she reads and you watch something on TV.

- TEMP PLAY!! or messing about with sensations!! I defo see storm as being somebody who can take both a dominant role, or a more submissive one. However if she’s feeling like being a little dominant: you blindfolded, trailing a thin layer of water over your skin and using her mutation to summon a little breeze to blow over your skin, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. I also don’t think she would entirely object degrading you a little. Not super cruelly, but more of a “praise and degrading” sort of thing.

- Loves receiving oral or having you either get off on her strap (yes, she has one. it doesn’t matter if you’re a man or woman, or anything in between.) or, other way round and it’s her being on the receiving end of some form of penetration. especially if she doesn’t have the full energy to get into the mood and wants to take a bit of a backseat while you satisfy yourself.

- Honestly, depending on the day I think it’d be you worrying about if YOUR libido could match hers, again. She is so calm and wise but I don’t think she’s shy in the bedroom by any means, if she’s in the right mood she can outlast YOU 😭

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Jean Grey

- Yes. So blatantly yes. Jean is similar to storm in a way, she comes off so calm and lovely, nobody would guess how she could be in the sheets. It even took YOU off guard. You assumed she would likely just able to manage the average, when you guys decided to have your “what to expect from sex” talk (what are hard no’s, kinks, how you like being taken care of after, getting to know what lines can or can’t be crossed) you’d let her know about your high sex drive. Letting her know that she never needed to feel compelled to keep up, and that if she was tired you had no qualms getting off yourself. She just smiles, telling you not to worry.

- When you have sex, she can fully keep up. In fact SHE is the one giggling about slipping in a little morning sex after a night that has tuckered you both out. Shes like..half subtle. Jean is the type of woman people lower their heads to simply out of respect. She can semi keep that air about her when both of you decide to sneak off for a little while.

- A hard no for her is ever using her telepathy on you during sex or using it to manipulate your feelings/consent in any way. Although, she’s not above using her telekinesis to make stuff move. if you’re both women (or a dude into this sort of thing), yes she is controlling the thrusting movement of a dildo for both of you.

- she gives the BEST aftercare, I see her as being very attentive. Again, the telekinesis comes in handy when it comes to getting things for you both from far away. She knows what you want (she may or may not read your mind to figure it out, however she knows you pretty well regardless)

- Neck kisses make her fold, literally for ANYTHING. If she’s contemplating something and you pull out the puppy eyes and a kiss to her neck? She’s a goner. And that includes caving in the bedroom too, if you beg just right she would let you cum in a heartbeat, She thinks it’s sweet even in the most sexual of contexts.

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Scott Summers

- He’s into it but he lowkey plays it off at first. the first time you guys have sex he’s a little awkward, and very much scared of his visor accidentally getting nudged or coming off. “am i doing this right?” “does this feel good” needs a lot of hands on learning, show him where you like being touched, let him watch you masturbate for uh..scientific research, let him learn what you’re into. However once he learns? the dudes a menace. he learns quick and keeps that information locked in his mind.

- He can last a long time, but similar to Kurt loves a sort of soft thought out sex. He’s also not above having sex to de-stress, being a leader sucks at times and sometimes he just wants to have you ride him or let him take over while he mutters about his day under his breath. he gets the habit of pulling on the sheets to the point there’s faint frayed spots all over them where the fabric has been worn down.

- Big fan of cuddling with you after sex, he might sit there working away on stuff while having his arm around you or your head on his shoulder. He needs a good recovery time afterwards. He also unironically loves holding hands during sex. You’re riding him? His hand is lacing with yours. He’s got you down on the bed? You feel his hand creeping up to give yours a squeeze

- Acts like the idea of you giving him head under his desk is scandalous, however does still allow you to do it time to time, only when he KNOWS nobody will walk in. The risk is there, sure. But if he’s expecting somebody it’s a hard no. He’s a freak, a shy one—but he also wants to remain professional when it matters.

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Logan

- Assuming we are talking about Logan when he’s in his prime, not only has he been alive for a long ass time, but we all know he could keep up as well as have a shit on of experience (If it’s old man Logan, I don’t think so. Be careful with that old man, he tries.)

- He’s into it absolutely no question. The dude goes FERAL for it. He has no shame either, that little guy is dragging you away at moments notice if you’re both in the mood (which, pretty much every time you both are) + he can smell when you’re getting a little hot under the collar. He uses that to his advantage as often as possible.

- Hard, Rough, Toe curling, Bed breaking sex. Sure, he’s small for a dude but he packs a punch (not literally. He’s here for a little grabbing your chin to look at him, but never actually hitting you). He can also lift you pretty easy no matter how much taller/heavier you are than him.

- This may be a head canon that gets me jumped by a certain area of wolverine enjoyers, but I don’t think logan is exactly the biggest down under the way I’ve seen others write him (I’m talking, people writing him as if he’s wayyyy above average.) he’s thick and 4-5 inches so kind of average/a little below, a lot of body hair. He knows how to use it, and he’s well past any shame he may face.

- Sex anytime, anywhere, any planet, and he’s pretty much down for anything. He goes between being pretty dominant, purely sweet and loving (when he really wants to appreciate you and love all over you), and being grumpy and slightly reluctant when receiving, not cause he doesn’t like it. But when he’s the center of attention, he gets a little flustered. Instead of flushing pink like the average person, he opts for being grumpy.

“slow down, pretty girl. stop squirming so much.”

“mm— haah! please stop teasing me!”

the man in your lap writhed at your touch. careful hands gliding down his chest, drawing circles around his nipples as he thrashed between your legs.

how’d you even get here? you don’t remember. well, you do. but you aren’t focused on remembering. not when the flame hashira is at your disposal. burning, sticky skin and sweet-sounding whimpers from his lips a stunning combination of reactions to your touch.

you’re a demon under kibutsuji. one of the latest recruits to the twelve kizuki. being an upper rank is tiring. always lounging about in the manor you’ve made for yourself, waiting to get this damned job over with and kill those little brats they called the demon corps.

but this one… this one may be spared.

rengoku kyojurou, that’s what his name is — the thundering flame hashira that it seems the whole of japan has been talking about.

and he’s wandered straight into your lair, ready to slay you.

yes, that’s what he had planned — until while during your fight, your claws tore a less than convenient rip in his uniform. straight through the chest to reveal the space between his muscular pecs that you just had to stop and stare at.

and now you’re here. the hashira sat between your legs as you toyed with his chest and body.

hey, you couldn’t help it; not when his tits — pecs — were practically begging to be touched and fucked. and he was, too. not like he denied it at all. you may be a demon, but that definitely did not take away from your temptation. and looks.

“relax, baby. you’re stressing too much.” you cooed to the whining rengoku as you pinched his nipple between your fingers. he jolted, shaking his head as your free hand held his hands behind his back.

you sighed and looked at his swollen nipple between your pointer and thumb fingers. “look at you,” you feigned a pout. “your tits are all red. is that what you wanted, flame hashira? to make your big tits all red and sore?”

“they are not — tits.” rengoku whimpered, his voice lowering to almost a whisper at his last word. “what was that?” you asked into his ear, pulling at his sore nipple and letting it go, watching it bounce back as he let out a long wail.

rengoku’s hips bucked up as you fondled his pecs, tracing round his right bud with your sharp, manicured claws. “i — i can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” he whined. “a demon using and teasing my body.”

“oh, how shameful.” you chuckled and flicked his sore nipple, making him jump. you switched hands to hold his wrists, off to pay more attention to his neglected side as you immediately began to knead his left breast. “a demon having their way with you. how will you explain to your beloved corp that you’ve come back sore with no victory?”

rengoku went silent. pressing his raw lips together to muffle his grunts and whines. dissatisfied by his lack of response, you pinched his left nipple and leaned in to whisper into his neck. “answer me, flame hashira.”

his lips parted to speak, but all that came out was a shaky breath from the tip of his tongue. you began to grow increasingly agitated by his silence, and so you took it upon yourself to force the answer from him.

you rose your hand and brought it down onto his chest with some force. the hashira flinched in your hold; whining out as the sting along his chest and sore nipple left him squirming. “are you going to answer me?” you snarled just beneath his ear, breathing against rengoku’s neck and making him shiver.

“i — i don’t know.” he stammered and swallowed harshly. you laughed at his response and shook your head. “aw. pretty girl can’t think. i can’t imagine what your co-workers will think of you when you return.”

rengoku couldn’t imagine it either. he was afraid, honestly; unknowing of what his fellow hashira will think of him if he admitted to returning to them with no victory, all for a few moments of pleasure. but at that point, he didn’t care. it felt too good to give up. never had he felt this way before.

all of his thoughts immediately dissipated once he felt your cold hands pinch at his hot nipples once more. rengoku yelped, not noticing you had let his wrists go and was now using both of your hands to knead his chest.

“ah! please…” he sniffled, watching your hands press his chest muscles together and trace his burning buds with your freezing fingertips “your hands… they’re so cold.”

kyojurou felt his cock strain against his pants. the sight of you toying with his pecs made his mind go numb. at that point, he was melting into you. nodding mindlessly whenever you commented something about his fat tits or his hard nipples. the way he reacted to you was addictive.

a few more times did you strike rengoku’s chest; making him wail and writhe more in your arms. whenever he seemed too lost in watching you press his breasts together while you were asking a question would you remind him with a sharp smack straight onto his flaming nipple. then he would recoil and slowly answer your question — too invested on how red and sore his chest was growing. but he loved the burning feeling.

“can’t imagine how wet you must be for me, flame hashira.” you purred. “your pussy is probably drenched. it must be, considering how you’re reacting to just me touching your boobs.” and you laughed, lips twitching up into a grin.

“d-don’t — haah… don’t say those things.” rengoku whimpered, squirming in your hold as one of your hands massaged his right breast while the other began to trail down his body. fingers ghosting over the evident bulge in his pants as he panted and gasped for air. the hashira felt his cock twitch pathetically in his pants as you laughed.

your sly smile grew with each mewl rengoku let slip. “aw, is my girl embarrassed. don’t wanna admit how wet ‘n excited i got you, princess?” you purred into the shell of his ear as he trembled. “i’m not… wet.” he grumbled, and you just had to laugh again.

“show me then.” you insisted. your hands trailed down to his belt as your fingers slowly began to undo it. “show me you’re not leaking from my touch.” the flame hashira swallowed thickly as you leaned in to murmur to him.

“don’t be shy, princess. show me all of you.”