#wolvering

The memory was vague in your head, it's like you were already born into this. It's like you're not someone who moved out of her family's home, in search for something promising out there to give food and shelter for the people back home while fighting for a much higher education, a bachelor's degree, in a foreign city. Your parents had sent you off with hopes bundled tightly into the folds of your suitcase—dreams of a bachelor's degree that would one day deliver you into the hands of a secure, well-paying future. They believed in that dream for you, and so you believed in it too. But reality never plays out as neatly as the promises whispered before you left.

You've caught yourself short on money, in a city full of strangers. The part-time jobs are scattered, inconsistent, fleeting. And just when you think the struggle might drown you, there’s a whisper. A friend of a friend of a friend, the kind of connection that feels like it’s made of smoke, tells you about a job. It pays well, they say. But there’s a catch. It always comes with a catch.

The catch is the little boy's 30 something year old father, who's gotten you dazed from the moment he opens the door to greet you and welcomed you inside his humble abode. The whiff of his body odor let alone could send you in a trance. But when the sun shone down, your eyes narrowed to where it's shooting, a flash of his gold wedding ring that's hugging around his ring finger. And of course, he is married.

And it was most likely started around three months ago. Now you're here, still trying to catch your breath as your chest heaves up and down, your back leaning against the wooden door of your apartment. As you brought your head up, you're instantly greeted with a girl that has her hair disheveled, her shirt slightly ruffled, and although she still looks pretty as ever, you always came home frowning.

And you wondered why you frowned, once you unlocked your door, got yourself in, and be greeted by the reflection of your disheveled looking. Weren't you smiling, three months ago since you started? The smile always faded once you stepped foot in the hallway and inching closer to your room at the end of the hall.

A ping from your laptop drew your attention, snapping your head in its direction. Pushing yourself off from the door now, you walked towards your desk and noticed that the sound was to notify a new email just came. It's from a guy you knew, he wasn't a friend, but he wasn't new. He'd asks if you could help him with a subject that he's struggling in and apparently the professor has recommend him to reach for you as you were his star student.

Adjusting your posture before typing your reply, and from that point on, the conversation transitioned to text messages. The two of you agreed to meet at the park after class tomorrow for a study session. It was your day off, so it wouldn’t conflict with your babysitting schedule.

A burst of giggles escaped the little boy’s lips as he chased after the butterfly, his tiny hands reaching for its delicate wings. The old man followed behind with a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he watched the boy’s excitement. He kept a slow, steady pace, but when he saw his son suddenly come to a halt, he quickened his steps, ready to ask what had caught the boy’s attention. Before he could speak, the boy eagerly pointed ahead and shouted,

“Papa, look! It’s Missy Sitter!”

His voice was filled with delight as his small finger directed the man’s gaze toward you, seated at a picnic bench with a laptop open, surrounded by scattered books. The man’s eyes followed the boy’s gesture, taking in the sight of your petite frame, your long hair cascading down your back. For a brief moment, he admired the scene—until he noticed you weren’t alone.

You were sitting too close to someone, closer than he liked.

“C’mere, son,” he called, his voice soft yet firm, a subtle tension creeping into his posture.

“Come on, let’s say hello, Papa!” The boy’s voice bubbled with excitement as he broke into a sprint toward you. His eager footsteps caught you off guard, and you quickly stood up, a warm smile spreading across your face as you bent down to wrap him in a hug.

“James…” The old man’s voice followed, rough and low, his son’s name slipping from his throat like gravel. There was a tension in the way he muttered it, though he stood just a few steps behind, watching the two of you with unreadable eyes.

“Mister Howlett,” you greeted nervously, giving him a small nod as Logan approached. “I didn’t know you liked taking James out to this park,” you added, your voice trailing off, unsure of how to continue.

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smile at the sound of your soft voice, momentarily pushing aside the simmering annoyance that had clouded his mind. For a moment, he almost forgot what had irked him in the first place. Then again, why was he upset?

Ignoring your comment, he glanced toward the bench where your friend sat, observing the scene with an amused smile, clearly charmed by James. “Who’s your friend?” Logan asked, his voice steady, but his eyes narrowing slightly, betraying a hint of curiosity—or perhaps something more.

“Oh, this is Micah, my friend,” you said as you stepped back, gesturing toward your companion. “I’m helping him study for our major’s subject.”

Micah, ever the gentleman, rose from the bench with a polite smile, extending his hand toward Logan. For a brief moment, Logan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, a hesitation that almost made him dismiss the gesture. But with James watching curiously from beside you, he grudgingly took Micah’s hand, giving it a firm shake. His grip was strong, maybe a touch too strong, as if silently reminding Micah who he was dealing with.

Logan’s lips curved slightly in acknowledgment, though his eyes remained guarded. “Good to meet you,” he muttered, his voice cool and measured. Then, without missing a beat, he shifted his attention back to you and James, his posture still protective, as if assessing the situation.

“So, when are you coming back home?” Logan’s voice cut through the moment, leaving you blinking in confusion. Your eyebrows knit together as you quickly reached into your purse, pulling out your phone. You swiped through your calendar, certain today was your day off.

“Um, but it’s—”

“Yeah,” Logan interrupted, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. “I meant to text you. Got an emergency errand to run. James needed sitting.”

The way he said it was direct, almost too casual for the sudden shift in responsibility, and it left a strange tension in the air. Logan’s gaze never wavered as he spoke, but there was a certain weight to his words, like he expected you to just step in without hesitation.

"Oh, uh— we could wrap this up in maybe 30 minutes, if that’s okay with you, Micah?" you asked, turning to your friend, trying to navigate the sudden shift.

Micah nodded, offering an understanding smile. "Oh yeah, that’d be fine. Actually, I wasn’t planning to stay much longer anyway. There’s a family issue back home I need to take care of. We can always set up another study session later."

Logan’s lips twitched into a subtle, victorious smile at the turn of events, clearly pleased that things were aligning in his favor. But you noticed it—his barely contained satisfaction—and couldn’t help but frown slightly as you glanced at him. There was something in the way he silently claimed this small win that rubbed you the wrong way.

“Great, I’ll see you back home, Doll,” Logan said, his voice casual but laced with something more. The nickname caught you completely off-guard, leaving you momentarily speechless as you watched him reach for James’s small hand.

Your eyes followed them, still processing the unexpected term of endearment. Logan’s smirk didn’t escape your notice, a hint of smugness flashing across his face as he glanced back at you briefly. Then, just as quickly, he looked down at James, his expression softening before they walked away, leaving you standing there, the weight of that single word lingering in the air between you.

The Howlett residence wasn’t far from the park, so after finishing up with Micah, you felt relieved knowing you could make it back easily. Just as you were about to leave, Micah caught you off guard with a question.

“Hey, before you go, how about another study session sometime? And maybe… dinner afterward?” His tone was casual, but there was a hint of nervousness beneath his words.

You blinked, surprised by the invitation. It wasn’t that Micah wasn’t attractive—he was perfectly decent, even charming in his own quiet way. But it wasn’t just about looks. He was the kind of guy who checked all the right boxes: kind, respectful, smart. Maybe too decent, you thought. Yet the surprise wasn’t in him asking, but in him choosing you.

You were always the quiet one in class, keeping to yourself, never standing out or being vocal like some of the other girls. Popularity wasn’t something you chased, and yet, here he was, showing interest. It left you momentarily stunned, unsure how to respond to the idea that someone like Micah would actually want to take you out.

Which you politely accepted, his invitation.

Was the smile on your face too obvious? You hadn’t realized it until you stepped into the Howlett household and heard Logan’s voice cut through the air.

“What’s got you all smiling, Dollface?” he asked, catching you completely off guard. You gasped, stopping dead in your tracks as your eyes found him standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his hands gripping the edges, his gaze steady on you.

You quickly gathered yourself, fixing your composure as you made your way toward him, hugging your laptop bag and books tightly to your chest. "N-nothing, Lo—"

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his head tilting slightly to the side as his eyes bore into you, his expression unreadable. His voice was flat, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn’t buying your excuse.

You frowned, setting your things down on the small dining table across from him, keeping a couple of steps between you, an invisible barrier. His presence was palpable, and you weren’t sure if it was the tension or something else that kept you from moving closer.

“C’mere.” His voice dropped an octave, carrying that quiet intensity that only surfaced when he felt the need to assert control. It wasn’t a request—it never was when he used that tone. He knew how to use it to keep you just within his reach, and somehow, you always felt compelled to follow.

You forced down a swallow before cautiously making your way toward him. The moment you were within reach, Logan’s hand shot out, gripping your hips with an iron-like hold. In one swift motion, he turned you around, pressing you firmly against the counter. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as your back met the hard edge, the cool surface biting into your skin. The sudden closeness left you breathless, his presence overwhelming as his body crowded yours, trapping you between him and the counter.

“I want you to stop seeing him,” Logan said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Logan—I can’t. He needs me, and I need the bonus for—”

“What, more money? Doll, I could get you however much you need. Just tell me, and stop seeing him.” He cut you off, and your eyes shot up to glare at him.

“It’s not about the money; it’s for my grades! And not everything is about money, Logan!” you shot back, frustration boiling beneath the surface. You gasped as you feel his hand flew to grab you by the throat, slightly squeezing it.

"Don't ever use that tone with me, Doll. Remember who you belong to." Logan hissed, glaring at you. He thought with him showing authority might bring your anger boil down, be he thought wrong, instead you shot back again.

"Who? You? As far as I know, after I attempted to tap out, you wouldn't let me and you promised me more. But what, Logan? You still treated me like no one during the day, but a whore at your mercy at night?" The end of your empowering statement came out more like a question. In which you continued, "You knew how I felt about you," Emotion welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over like a dam about to break.

Logan's expression softened, his grip on you loosen as he watched your lips tremble. "I only want you, Logan. But you treated me like trash, I—I tried to get out, you wouldn't let me. And now, you finding me out with a boy that didn't mean no harm to me, all of a sudden I'm somewhat precious to you? Too precious to be seen with anyone but you?" Each word felt heavy in the air, laced with frustration and hurt, as you confronted him with the tangled mess of emotions that had been building between you.

Logan sighed, shushing you gently as you began to sob, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. As your body collided with his warmth, a wave of instinctual comfort washed over you, causing your entire demeanor to melt into his arms. The anger that had been simmering within you, ready to boil over, gradually cooled, leaving you feeling vulnerable and frustrated.

You hated this feeling, this surrender. You hated that you couldn’t fight him, that the fierce resolve you’d built up seemed to dissolve the moment he held you close. It was infuriating how easily he could draw you in, making it hard to remember why you were so upset in the first place. The warmth of his body against yours brought a conflicting sense of safety that only deepened your inner turmoil.

“I—I love you… Logan,” you whispered against his chest, the confession escaping your lips like a fragile secret. He shushed you gently, rocking the two of you side to side, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. The weight of your words hung in the air, and you realized what you had just spilled; you had poured your heart out to him, and now you were finally ready to confront the truth.

You didn’t care that he was married, that he had a son. All that mattered was the undeniable pull you felt toward him. You pulled away slightly, searching his eyes as you repeated, “I love you, Logan. I really do. I really, really love you.” The urgency in your voice was palpable, and you needed him to understand the depth of your feelings.

But Logan didn’t say anything in response, and his expression was unreadable. Confusion and uncertainty flickered across his features, making your heart race. Instead of answering, he cupped your face in his hands, his touch both tender and commanding. Then, without warning, he connected his lips to yours.

The kiss was indescribable—electric and intoxicating. It sent a rush through your entire being, leaving you breathless and momentarily lost in the moment. You couldn’t tell if he was kissing you to acknowledge your confession or if he simply wanted to silence you, to avoid confronting the strange reality that a young girl had fallen for his old-married-ass.

In that heartbeat, everything else faded away. The doubts, the complications, and the chaos of your emotions blended into the background, leaving only the taste of him lingering on your lips and the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

"You belong to me," Logan murmured in between the kiss as you softly moan with your eyes closed. His thumb softly caressing your cheeks while both of your lips are fighting in the battle. "No one else, but me," His words sounded like a vow.

His hands found their way to your waist as he lifted you up to set you down on the kitchen counter. Your legs spread open automatically to welcome him in between them before you both proceeded to tangled each other's lips.

You whimpered when his teeth slightly nib on your bottom lip, as Logan smirked before forcing his tongue down your throat. His right hand comfortably wrapped around your throat, the cold sensation of his wedding finger kept you from melting furthermore into his touch. Logan sensed you're not fully enjoying this as he convinced you to fully succumbed to him by wrapping his hand tighter around your throat earning a moan from your lips.

His right hand then slowly unwrapped as it goes down, lingering freely across your body, caressing your chest down to the hem of your sundress. Logan broke the kiss to move down connecting his lips to your neck as you tossed your head back, rolling your eyes shut moaning his name. His left hand placed comfortable behind your back, as his right hand travels down caressing your soft skin of your thighs.

"Please, please, please..." You whimpered, chills ran down your spine when you felt his warm tongue gliding against the skin of your neck.

"Please what, Dollface?"

"Please touch me."

"I am touching you aren't I?" Logan pulls his face away from your neck to fixated his gaze upon your eyes, darkened by needs and raw, aching longing. A smirked appears on his face, "What are you talking about, doll? Aren't I touching you?" Logan teased, as his right hand caress your thigh up and down, his thumb slipping towards your inner thigh, almost reaching your heat.

"Not there." You murmured with your lips trembling, your head feels heavy as Logan kept on teasing you with his touch.

"Where, doll?" Logan scrunched his eyebrows together, pretending to not understand what you're saying as his right hand finally goes to reach your throbbing heat, clothed with your white laced panties. "Here?" Logan inched his face closer to you as he nudged his nose against yours, his hot breath fanned against your lips.

"Use your words, Dollface." He commanded, as you whimpered while you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Yes,"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, daddy." You whispered.

Logan's laugh erupted, cold and mocking, like a predator toying with its prey, "Good girl." And with that, by ease, he ripped your panties off as you automatically leaned back, spreading your legs wider. Logan's hands went underneath both of your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the kitchen counter.

His left hand went to your back, snaking its way up to nestle at your nape to push your body upwards, connecting your forehead against his. "Open up," He demanded, and by default, you opened your mouth to welcome his two fingers inside. Your tongue swirling and coating his fingers with your saliva, a faint, salty tang lingers on your tongue, mixed with the warmth of his skin and Logan watched you being a good girl, sucking on his two digits. He gently pulls away once he's satisfied and went down to reach your heat.

He gently plays with your clit as you tossed your head back, letting out a moan. "Angh..." When his fingers slowly go down to reach your tiny hole. He teased your hole a little, collecting your moist, before pushing two fingers inside your needy cunt. Another loud moan earned from you, as Logan kept pushing his two digits inside.

"This what you want?" Logan mumbled, glancing down to his fingers inside your pussy before glancing back up to watch your face contorted into pleasure. He rolled his fingers slowly, feeling the spongey walls of your cunt against his pad. "I don't think that boy's fingers can get you this desperate, right?" You only moaned out loud for him, opening your eyes watching his sharp ones.

"Come on, Doll. Y'know who you belong to." Logan smirked and with that he started to flick his fingers inside your cunt, increasing his pace.

"Ah, shit! Daddy!" You shrieked, throwing your head back, your hands resting back to support your weight.

"I know, doll. So good, huh?" Logan mumbled, watching his fingers doing his work. "It's just my fingers inside your cunt, you forgot how it feels when it's my cock?" Logan breathed, his heartbeat increasing from excitement watching you vulnerable on his fingers. He started to thrust his fingers in and out of you, without hurting you, whilst flicking here and there.

"Come on, doll. Cum for me," His left hand went to your back, pushing your body upwards with force. "Open your eyes, I wanna see you shatter." Logan growled, connecting his forehead with yours.

You whimpered, tears stream down your cheeks as you slowly opened your eyes. "There we go, come on, baby, cum for me. Cum for daddy, I know you want to."

"D-daddy..." You whimpered and with that, you reached your high, gushing down his fingers while he kept working it inside you, emptying your fluid.

"Thaaaat's ittt... Good girl, good girl, baby." He whispered as he gently pulls out his fingers. You small smiled, your chest heaves up and down trying to catch your breath.

"About what you said before," He started, you forced down your saliva, mentally embracing yourself to receive his answer. Your once calmed heartbeat now raced back. as his mouth went agape to say something, you both jumped in surprised when the front door sounded open and closed.