Was this karma? Had you been some sort of puppy-kicking throat-slashing cold-hearted bitch in a past life? Are you being bit in the ass for it? Or had the universe just singled you out at some pointto be an object of constant torment?
You'd thought a small town in the mountains was just what you needed: peace and quiet, beautiful landscapes, charming locals. The reality was freezing temperatures as early as September, and elderly neighbours that are just as frosty to the strange young newcomer. Two months in, you could no longer take the loneliness - life became a little brighter when you adopted your fiercely loyal, and almost terrifyingly giant, doberman you named (aptly, in your opinion) Baby.
And then you left the Goddamn back gate open.
Miles of forest stretch up the mountainside behind your house. You've been trudging through the dense woods for hours, voice hoarse from calling for your dear Baby. A whisper in the back of your mind tells you it's a lost cause; he must have gotten too far to find his way back, and God knows the predators lurking in these shadows willing to attack him. These shadows that are getting deeper with each passing minute.
A shiver runs through you, in spite of your thick scarf and fur-lined coat. You scan the surrounding trees as you realise that it's getting harder to see past them.
That's when you halt abruptly.
You have no idea where you are.
-
Right and wrong blurs into eachother sometimes for Logan. He's been alone for so long, and his instincts are so loud, he can't fight these strange animal tendencies that claw into him every so often.
And you, well you didn't help him at all.
Why the fuck would a pretty young woman like you be doing living round here? Walking around his forest every damn day, with that hound that you love so deeply, even though it could easily wrench its lead from your grip or bite your arm clean off with one snap of its wolfish jaws. Of course, he knows it would never do such a thing - it loves you like all dogs love their owners, unconditionally and obsessively and devotedly. It loves you like how he'd love you.
Picking a spot in the shadows and watching you pass by was one thing. Beginning to follow you on your route, all the way back to your home though - his conscience was beginning to blink its red warning lights.
Yet every time he indulges in his guilty pleasures, those lights fade a little more.
He doesn't notice they've gone completely black when he sees you presently, stood shivering in the depths of the forest. Lost.
Your dog blinks up at him, eyes bright and tongue lolling. Excited to introduce you to his new friend.
-
The darkness of the encroaching night, the cruel icy wind, and the severity of your situation is all forgotten when your blessed Baby appears like an angel from the shadows.
“Baby! Oh, my God, Baby,” you sob, kneeling as he runs to you with a furiously wagging tail. “Where have you been, boy? Where the hell have you been?”
You unwind the leash from where you'd knotted it and clipped it to your belt loop and reach for Baby's collar. He twists, not with any fear or violence, out of your grip in an instant. You frown. He hasn't done that before.
He trots over to where he had appeared from, glancing back and stopping, encouraging you to follow.
You step forward, “What are you..”
He returns to shepherd you to his desired direction. You do so, praying that once he's successfully shown you whatever impressive stick or pinecone it is that you can finally go home.
You trudge after your dog for a few more minutes before deciding you've had enough. “C'mon, pup, let's go home. Aren't you hungry? Eh, boy? Want some- shit!”
Baby sprints off suddenly, lightning-fast.
Your feet move before you can think. You're far too exhausted for this chase, but you are not going to lose him again. You shout after him as you sprint through the darkness.
You break through the trees and find yourself skidding to a stop - in front of you, there is a black iron gate.
Beyond it, a gravel drive leads to a shadowed, decrepit manor house, lit only by the full moon above. You don't have time to wonder why there was ever a house built this deep into the wilderness, becauseBaby's running straight to the open door.
-
He pets the dog idly, knowing you'll soon follow. It licks his palm.
The scent of roses, your perfume, strengthens as he hears the stumbling of your hiking boots at the entrance. The dog barks, and you follow the sound.
You burst into the living room, eyes wild when they meet his own.
Got you.
-
His dark eyes are unsettlingly wide as he stares you down.
The man whose home you've just broken into is unlike any around here; considerably younger than the elderly folk in town, perhaps in his thirties. Beyond that, there's something abnormal about him: he towers over you, huge in stature and wide with muscle. And one of his terrifyingly huge hands is petting your dog.
“I am so, so sorry sir,” you stammer stupidly, taking a wobbly step back. “He just - ran off - he never does it I swear, I'll get out of your- Baby, Baby, c'mere.”
He doesn't move.
You tremble as you contemplate grabbing him by the collar. But you can't seem to bring yourself to move towards this man.
“Baby, please-”
The man says your name.
Your blood runs cold. You bring your gaze to his, slow with terror. Another step back.
You could cry when Baby finally moves away from him, only to be further horrified when you beloved protector only does so to get behind your legs and usher you towards the man. The strange man who somehow knows your name.
You lurch forward at a hard nudge of Baby's head against your calf - into his arms. Strong, large arms that wrap around you tightly. Shit. Oh shit.
You shriek, attempting to wriggle free, but the man holds you to him tighter. He removes one arm, keeping you there solidly still with the other, and curls his fingers into a fist.
And three knife-sharp metal claws unsheath from his knuckles.
Your fighting ceases immediately. He doesn't hold them to you in threat, merely displays them in warning: Don't. Even. Try.
They disappear back into his hand and he brings his lips to your ear.
“You ain't going nowhere, sweetheart.”
-
It would've been a nice room, once. A canopy bed in the centre, a velvet loveseat at the foot of it, and a large window stretching across the far wall. Only now, the canopy's sheer curtains are torn, the colour of the seat's fabric faded, and the window completely boarded up.
The only source of light is a lone candle on the dresser. You pace in its dim light, shaking like a leaf, gasping short, panicked breaths.
He'd picked you up as if you'd weighed nothing at all and deposited you in this room, locking it and ignoring how you banged and screamed and shouted at the door. It didn't take long before you'd exhausted yourself and resorted to desperately racking your brain for means of escape.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You sink to the floor with your head in your hands. Hiccupy sobs escape your lips, eyes sore from crying.
A gentle click of the door opening alerts you of his presence.
“I'm not gonna hurt you.”
As he lingers in the doorframe, even bigger from where you're crumpled on the floor, you find it hard to believe. Your breathing speeds up again.
In a stride, he's kneeling beside you. You jerk away with a cry as he tries to reach for your wrist.
His hand curls around your chin and brings your tear-stained, crazed face to his. The wildness in his eyes before was gone - there's a shocking earnestness in them now, as if he hadn't just used your only companion against you in luring you into his home.
“Deep breath in,” he murmurs.
What?
“Deep breath in, I said. Do it, girl.”
For some bizarre reason, you do it - drawing in a deep, shaky breath and holding it.
“Now out.”
You exhale.
“Again - in,” you do, “out.”
You can't shake the feeling that you're in some absurd dream as you repeat the process with your abducter until your breathing returns to normal.
He retracts his hand from your face and with a weak voice you whimper, “Who are you?”
“Logan.” He grunts.
“What do you want?”
He gazes at you for a long moment. When he responds, you detect a tremble in that baritone voice: “I've been alone for so. Damn. Long. Then you came along, into my woods, into my head, and now I'm losing it.”
His words send chills racing down your spine. Had he been watching you?
“It's like this instinct. This animalistic urge, that makes me want to keep you here - where I can keep you safe, keep you with me-”
“You're a mutant,” you rasp. He nods. “My parents always told me to stay away from... your people.”
“They aren't my people. I'm alone.” You flinch at the sharp edge to his tone.
He raises himself from the floor, looming over you again. You cower under his shadow.
“Well,” he grunts, “not anymore, I suppose.”
He locks the door behind him.
-
You don't know how many days have passed since Logan first took you.
It was only the day after that fateful night that he unlocked your room, under strict order to not leave the house. His only other kindness was to get some clothes for you from your house. You hadn't given him the keys.
Baby is your only comfort, as he curls up beside you at night for warmth. Even still, he seems to have developed some sort of bond with your captor, and is unwilling to be the guard dog you'd have assumed he would be in a situation such as this.
You've taken to slinking about in the shadows, rarely directly coming in contact with Logan; instead, you observe him.
His mutant abilities are not limited to the claws; from what you've gathered, he has some sort of heightened sense of smell and hearing. You know it would be foolish to try and escape because he'd sniff the nerves on you in an instant.
He feeds you mostly meat, which you pick at with little appetite.
It's those minor interactions, when he hands you your meal, that you ponder over throughout the long, cold days and nights. Had he lingered for longer to watch you eat? Did his fingers graze yours when he passed you the plate?
It soon came apparent to you, that this ominous, claw-bearing creature was no more than a man in isolation.
In a largely anti-mutant society, it's push everyone away, or be shunned and hurt. In this world, he's abnormal. Dangerous. A monster.
And you want to crawl into his skin and find what he is really: man or beast?
-
His ears prick at the shuffle of your feet. No matter how often he hears you move about, you never fail to excite his paranoia.
But you never do run, or lash out, or panic. You just remain in the darkness, watching.
In truth, he regrets doing this to you. It was the primal part of his brain eating the rational, and now you were constantly in his proximity, the animal had calmed itself and the human had settled in. Still, he could not bring himself to set you free. Not until he'd figured out how to get himself back to how he'd used to be.
Click.
He froze.
The door. You were at the door.
He set his beer bottle down hard on the table, a warning. He was there. He'd know if you were escaping.
The smell of fresh night air leaks into his nostrils, and he stalks over to the foyer.
You're halfway out the door - staring at him.
For a heartbeat, you keep his furrowed gaze, heart rabbiting in your chest. Then you bolt.
-
You barely make it to the gate before rough hands slam you backwards into his chest.
You don't struggle. You just pant in his hold.
A long, terrible moment of silence passes that makes you doubt your confidence in emerging from this situation unharmed. When he finally speaks, his lips brush the shell of your ear.
“What. Was. That.”
You squeak, “I wanted to see if you'd go after me.”
You're flung over his shoulder and marched straight back to the house.
He dumps you on the tattered armchair by the fireplace, and leans over you - gripping each arm of the chair to cage you in. His eyes are as dark as you've ever seen them.
“You have your answer,” he growls.
“Logan I-”
“Now I want to find out mine.”
You press yourself back into the chair. “Answer to what?”
“Why did that turn you on?”
Your mouth runs dry and your cheeks are ablaze. You shake your head furiously, refusing to meet his eye. “I don't know what.. Uhm..”
One hand is no longer on the chair, instead it's on your cheek. Forcing you to look at him.
Wordlessly, he drops his hand... and shoves it down your pants instead. It's then that it hits you: that heightened sense of smell of his can detect arousal too.
A thick finger runs through your folds, gathering the slick sticking to your panties.
“Logan-”
“You are turned on.”
He sounds almost a little incredulous, as he pulls out his hand and studies how your arousal shines in the milky moonlight, coating his fingertips.
You make a little noise of embarrassment, and it turns his attention back to you. Wide-eyed, flushed, lips slightly parted. And a switch flips.
He grasps the back of your head to meet him halfway as he crushes his lips against yours. Bruising, but for some reason, addicting.
You moan slightly, opening your mouth to encourage his tongue and it makes his mind blur.
He tears away after a minute, and, operating as if possessed, rips your pants open.
You gasp, but have no time to reconsider: your panties are torn clean off too, and a finger is curling deep inside you.
Your wails prompt him to try another, his thumb circling your clit, the pads of his fingers pressing against the spot that makes your eyes roll. You can barely gasp his name, so overwhelmed and lost in pleasure.
It's not enough. He needs to taste you.
You almost scream when his mouth replaces his thumb, sucking desperately on your clit. He laps at you with such animalistic intent, the haze in your mind lets through one paralysing thought: how does he fuck?
The pressure builds in a way you've never experienced before - so quick and heavy, like a tidal wave, and when you cum he almost ruins his pants along with you. The sheen of sweat over your face, your heaving chest, that sweet white release trickling down his palm. More.
Your hand flies into his hair as his fingers begin to move again and his mouth is somehow faster and needier than before.
“L-Logan I can't-”
He groans gutterally as he pulls away for a second to spread your juices over your throbbing flesh, already swollen. When he dives in again, you just grip his hair for dear life.
The next orgasm has your thighs clamping tightly around his head, but he simply prys them apart again. You tug at his hair and he finally breaks away to kiss you hard.
You taste yourself on his tongue.
He doesn't let up until you're both in desperate need of air, and you take the opportunity to strip off your top and bra. His hands, shaking you realise, come up to cup your tits gently, his eyes greedily savouring the sight.
“Beautiful..perfect..let me fuck you.” He gazes in your eyes with such desperation, you lean forward to cup his face and kiss his nose.
“Anything, anything for you, Logan.”
-
You don't give a damn about that rug burning against your back. Not when he's so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your throat.
“Sweet girl,” he sucks into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Take me so well, does it hurt?”
“Mm-mm,” you hum, eyes welling with tears of overstimulation. “Just move. Fuck me, Logan-”
He lifts your knees, pressing the backs of your thighs to your chest, and slams into you over and over at an unrelenting pace. Your mouth hangs agape, crying for the pleasure. It's as if the beast in him has bled into your skin, making you want him closer, deeper, faster. You claw at his shoulders. He leans down to nip and nuzzle at your jaw and neck, but your lips only move to moan.
“I can feel you - so tight - cum for me, sweetheart,” he grunts out, “cum all over my cock.”
You do as he wishes with a scream of his name.
He watches the sticky mess where his dick meets your cunt grow with your latest release, and he wants even more.
You're too dumb to register how he hasn't cum yet, but is pulling out of you. You let him manhandle you with ease until you're on your front, cheek against the floor while Logan grips your hips to keep your ass up.
Like this, he can better watch it all drip out of you.
You let out a little whine, eyes fluttering shut as you're sure he just wants a final look. You jolt as you suddenly feel his tongue thrust into your hole and curl. “No more-”
You shiver at the obnoxious wet sounds of him licking up the mess between your thighs, pushing back against his face despite yourself. You breathe out a sigh of relief when he pulls away - then you feel the head of his cock notch against your entrance.
With the last of your deteriorating strength, you try your best to crawl away from his sloppy thrusts.
“I'm not done,” he growls, pulling you back onto his cock and pounding you harder. You give in, eyes rolling, back arching, front pressed to the floor once more.
“Give it to me.”
You can't.
“C'mon.”
He reaches round to rub your clit in mean circles.
“Let go.”
You cry, and clench so hard around him it feels as if your pussy is pulling him in.
You gush around him, and his hips stutter as he approaches his own release. You press back as you feel him try to slip out - “Inside me, Lo, fill m' up..”
With a shout, he cums deep inside you, only pulling out once completely milked dry. He groans at the sight of your twitching thighs, and the creamy mess leaking from your cunt. He pushes it back in before standing.
You're a sticky, panting, fucked-out thing when he gathers you in his arms, pressing his lips to your hairline.
“Can I keep you?” he grins down at you, the first time you've seen him smile. You beam and kiss his cheek.
“Keep me forever.”