#But still. Damn. Lights cigar

[ryuseitai]

i really regret dropping out of school

[starsunit]

001 . TAG DUMP

[shellshocklove]

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants. 

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he  ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use. 

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic. 

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel. 

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed. 

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap. 

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt. 

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation. 

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya." 

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks. 

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that? 

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you. 

You could be brave– Just say it! 

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure. 

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan? 

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home. 

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand. 

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason. 

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped. 

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt. 

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks. 

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form. 

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks. 

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless. 

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck. 

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder. 

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock. 

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand. 

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug. 

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."  

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing. 

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass. 

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity. 

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man. 

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away. 

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth. 

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly. 

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out. 

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub." 

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal. 

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to. 

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you. 

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built. 

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles. 

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.    

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum. 

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin. 

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans. 

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[tojigasm]

Thinking about Logan fully smoking in the middle of fucking you.

He's got you laid out amongst his bedsheets, face warm and thighs spread, one leg resting on his shoulder as he rolls his hips into you.

You're a complete mess beneath him, and you struggle to concieve how he still seems so composed after pulling what feels like the third orgasm from you in the span of an hour and a half. The dark tufts of his hair are still pointed upwards, and his skin silky in a sheen of sweat.

"Y'still with me?" The rough of his voice pulls you from the foggy headspace, vision blurring slightly as you refocus on him, letting out a choked whine when the girth of him stretches you in just the right way.

You give a weak nod, "mhm," you twist your hand into his silk sheets, stretching the fabric downwards.

"Good girl."

Logan smirks above you, turning his head he keeps his eyes on yours as he presses a gentle kiss to your ankle.

You damn near cum at the swift contrast between his brutal thrusts to the softness in his touch. The action almost feels merciful.

And in the same moment you bask in the soft of it, you can feel Logan reach for the nightstand.

He moves back to stand between your thighs again, holding a cigar he'd left on the ashtray. Using his free hand, he readjusts you by the plush of your hip, pulling you further down the bed until your ass cheeks rest on the very edge.

Hand still twisted in the sheets, you pull them down along with you.

Your eyes settle on him as he blows a pillow of cloudy smoke past his lips, thick brows furrowing as he takes another inhale before blowing another cloud from between his teeth.

For a moment, you're captivated at the sight. The amber light from your shared bedroom in the mansion glows around him in almost halo-like essence.

He looks so beautiful.

"Y'so pretty, Lo," you whisper, smile evident in your tone.

He smirks down at you, rivets of smoke trailing in the air. A thick brow raises in tease.

"Oh, yeah?"

You nod, giggling as you pull the sheet over your mouth.

"Hey, don't twist the sheets." He scolds, unwinding your hand from the wrinkled fabric and placing the cigar back on the ashtray before slipping your other thigh over his arm before threading his fingers with your own "Hold on t'daddy, fr'me, yeah?"

You keen at that, choking on a gasp when his cock strokes the gummy walls of your cunt in a way that has tears bubbling over your cheeks.

You're passed overstimulated, legs trembling in his hold as he sinks to the hilt before twisting his hips.

"Oh!" You squeal, instantly grabbing ahold of him.

"There we go." Logan kisses the curve of your jaw as he rolls his hips into you.

He places soft kisses to your temple and down your face to your neck before licking a stripe up from your collarbone to the curve of your ear, chuckling when a line of goosebumps rise in wake.

"Gonna cum, Lo" you sob through a shiver, turning to press your head into his forearm.

He nods along with you, "I know." He cocks his head some, leaning down some, "Give daddy a kiss."

On command, you're leaning into him with what little strength you have left to sloppily meet his lips as your gummy walls tighten around his girth.

The two of you moan into one another's mouths and leave messy trails of drool along your chins as he fills you.

Logan waits a moment before slipping out of you gently before lying down against the headboard, helping to guide you to lay your back against his chest.

"Y'okay, kid?" He asks, running his knuckles down the side of your arm softly.

You nod against him and he grunts. You can feel him reach for the nightstand again before you hear the puff of the cigar.

A cloud of smoke circles to the side of the room.

He nudges you.

"Words." Is all he says, somewhat muffled by the cigar held in his mouth.

"M'okay." You say, turning your head upwards to meet his eyes.

Logan takes the cigar from his mouth, holding it between the fingers of his left hand.

His right hand comes up to cup your jaw, gently running the pad of his thumb over the skin of your jaw to your chin before he's leaning down and meeting your lips in a kiss.

He tastes like tobacco and smells of leather.

"Gonna let me take care of you?" He asks softly, still stroking the skin of your jaw.

And you know how he means it.

You nod.

[mrshowlettsgarden]

Cherry Kisses - Logan Howlett: the one where he gets distracted from your ranting

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: fluff, make out session, god bless this hunk of a man

─➭ take a walk in the greenhouse (master list)

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Logan lets out a frustrated groan as he stands out on the balcony leading to the back of the mansion. “These damn shitass kids…,” he sighs aggressively as he pulls out a cigar and begins to light it.

He’s been teaching history to the students for years now and he still can’t get used to teaching the students. He doesn’t know how Charles, Storm, and you do it so easily - near effortlessly - and you have been teaching longer than him despite the fact he’s been living for almost 200 fucking years.

He lets out a puff from the cigar and blows it out to the air above him as he basks in the quietness of the outside. Everyone left for the evening since it’s a Friday night but Logan chooses peace and silence.

And peace and quiet is what it is now. But there’s one more thing he needs in his arms and it’s-

“What has Charles told you about smoking here, my love?”

Ah…the only woman in the damned world that has kept him sane is here. You’re always there when he needs you the most.

His wife…

Logan turned around to find you standing tall and all in your glory. You have your arms crossed over your chest with your hip popped out and a faux serious look on your face.

“Seriously, Lo. After 10 years, you still haven’t broken the habit. Even just for a couple of hours during the day,” you exaggerate with a laugh.

Logan has a soft smile on his face as he listens to you rant about his smoking habit as he continues to take puffs out of the cigar. He was supposed to break the addiction a long time ago but he stopped listening to you rant once his eyes fell to your glossy lips.

Wonder what flavor it is…

“You also still leave ashes along the railing and it leaves burn marks.”

You’re still ranting with no true seriousness behind it but it still doesn’t hurt to keep trying to talk him out of smoking. Charles has threatened Logan that he’ll turn him into a six year old girl for smoking while he was using Cerebro. As you were about to go in that particular rant your words were caught in your throat when you noticed him stalking towards you with a curious but dazed look on his face.

You huff, “Logan, are you even trying to listen to - mph!”

Asshole, cut you off with a kiss but who are you to break that kiss? What kind of loving wife would you be and not enjoy the kiss?

You feel one of his hands cup your jaw to keep you close with his free muscled arm wrapped around your waist. You moan into his mouth when he pulls you tighter in his embrace. Your hands clutch his gray flannel as you try to ground yourself but he makes it so hard to do so, especially when he nearly whimpers in your mouth.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, Logan is the first to pull away still holding you firm against his body. You're both softly panting into each other's mouths trying to catch your breath.

“Wha-what was that for?” you breathlessly giggle, “Are you trying to shut me up?”

“Cherry,” he mumbles a whisper against your lips, “Fuck - your lips taste like cherry, baby.”

“Oh…,” you mumble as he continues to barely touch your lips with his. You feel an ache between your legs and you want more from his teasing. “I-I got it a couple days ago… You like it?”

He answers you with a softer kiss followed by another one and another then one more.

“I love it, baby,” a kiss.

“Fuck, gimme more, yeah?”, another kiss.

“My pretty wife…”

And another kiss…

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[dorkszn]

COME AND GET THAT + logan howlett

SYNP — being home for the summer from school isn’t so bad. it isn’t so bad until your motorcycle stops working. and your dad tells you to call over the man that inspired you to get the bike in the first place and the closest one who could fix it, his best friend and your longtime crush, logan.

WARNINGS — masc reader, age gap ( no duh ), reader’s dad is kinda a dick, subbot reader, oral, petnames, logan’s a little mean, slight degradation, kitchen sex, hair pulling, eventual smut, porn with plot | 3.4K ( im sorry 😭 )

PART TWO ( coming soon )

Summertime. It’s such a wonderful time. You get out of school and can drive back to your hometown. You see your parents and siblings and get to flop onto the mattress of your old childhood bedroom.

But your favorite part? Getting to see your dad’s best friend, Logan. Who seems only to be getting hotter and hotter with each passing year. Only maybe you’re just getting more worked up and shy with every year that passes because each summer you can barely stand to look him in the eye or be alone in a room with him.

You’ve been home for about a week or two by this point, getting back into the comfort and schedule of your hometown life. Luckily but also somehow unfortunately, you have yet to see Logan since you returned. Hell, he probably doesn’t even know you’re home.

So imagine your surprise when you’re standing outside of your parent’s house with your dad, examining your sleek motorcycle that just wouldn’t start. You know how to do basic motorcycle care that of course, Logan taught you. He was the one who inspired and motivated you to get the damn bike anyways. So why were you surprised when your dad suggested calling him?

“Guess I’ll give Logan a call and see if he’s busy. He should know how to fix it,” your father says in a small sigh as he stands up straight.

“Wait, call Logan?” You repeat even though you know it’s dumb question and that you were just nervous to see him again since winter break.

“Yeah, Logan, you got a problem with that or something, squirt?” Your father responds slightly mockingly as he repeats your obviously odd question. You just grumble slightly under your breath.

“No, dad, just… go ahead and call em’,” you say in a sigh as the two of you stalk back towards the house. After that, it only takes half an hour before the inevitable and you see that familiar pickup pull into your driveway.

You reluctantly trail behind your dad like a clingy pup instead of a grown man to go greet Logan. You don’t miss the way he smirks with his signature cigar between his lips as he very slowly drags his eyes on your body.

“And when was I gonna find out my favorite college kid was home?” Logan asks gruffly, plucking the cigar from his lips with an outlet of smoke. His voice damn near sends shivers down your spine everytime you hear it.

You just opt for shrugging and giving him a casual smile. “Find out when you find out, I guess,” you say and of course, he lets out that little chuckle and snort that you love so much.

Logan puts his calloused, large hand out for you to greet him correctly only for him to grab your hand and pull you into him. You can’t help the small, very unmanly yelp that leaves you when he grabs you so suddenly. The smell of him hitting you so quick it damn near makes your mind spin. Cigars and ash and wood and leather and just him. Gosh, it almost drives you so crazy you barely notice the light headlock he put you in.

When you do finally notice, it definitely does not help the flare of heat in the pit of your stomach. You try to brush it off, tugging at his incredibly strong and veiny biceps with a small grin to pry him off of you. Finally, he releases you and you can’t help but take in a relieved breath.

“Still as much of a little shit as ever, kid,” Logan taunts, placing his cigar back between his lips. Lips that you wanted to feel on yours so bad. “You sure you ain’t getting smaller with each year?”

You roll your eyes for the second time that night. He knew you weren’t getting smaller. It just seemed like he was getting bigger even at his grown age. And damn, is he big. 6 feet 2 inches and 205 pounds of pure muscle. “Yeah, I’m sure, Logan,” you end up mumbling in response as you stuff your hands in your pockets.

Logan just chuckles again. “Yeah, okay,” he responds sarcastically. With another puff of smoke, he looks to your father then your bike. “So, what’s the problem, Bub?” He inquires.

You trail your father as he walks Logan over to your motorcycle. The same model he recommended years ago. You barely listen as your father explains the situation to his best friend, your eyes stuck to the man in the red flannel.

“Looks like you just need an oil change, kid. And your fuel filters clogged,” Logan says in a small grunt as he stands from his kneeling position next to your bike.

“Damn, squirt, you can’t tell when you need an oil change?” Your dad questions, pinching the bridge of his nose. You frown slightly and your brows furrow.

“I just didn’t notice, okay?” You grumble in reply.

Your father sighs before looking back at Logan. “Could ya fix it, Howlett?” Your father questions, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh yeah, could change the oil if the kid wants. The fuel filter, on the other hand, you’re gonna have to replace the part. I’m assuming you don’t just got one layin’ around here,” Logan explains and he dusts his palms off.

“Perfect. Time for the kid to learn to do something for himself,” your father says with a grin of mock-approval. Oh, how you wish your mother was here instead. Logan just lets out a small chuckle that seems just a little bit forced. “Well, I gotta head off to work. Help Logan out, will ya? Get him whatever he needs or asks for.” Your father sighs to you.

He’s going to leave? The two of you? Alone? Does he actually want you to pass away? “Yeah, dad, I got it,” you say to cover up the way your heart almost immediately started racing. Then it was only minutes later before you were watching your father pull out of your driveway and zip down the street, leaving just you and Logan.

Logan turns to you and damn you could almost feel the way he looked at you. You nervously pull your eyes away from the street and to Logan who offers you his usual smirk when you look at him. “Get me your old man’s box, will ya?” He requests.

“Yeah, sure,” you murmur before turning and walking back towards the house to get your dad’s toolbox. And are you being paranoid or is he definitely watching you walk away?

You eventually come back with your dad’s toolbox in hand. Logan turns to you when he hears your footsteps despite them being damn near silent. He’s always so astute and aware. It scares you and somehow turns you on at the same time.

“Atta boy,” Logan says as he takes the box from you and holds it like it weighs nothing more than a bottle of water. “Thanks, kid.”

Atta boy. Gosh, what would you give to hear him say that again. “Yeah, no problem,” you respond. You can’t help but watch him for a few minutes before turning and walking back towards the house. Your father would definitely force you to stay and watch Logan so you could “actually do something right.” But thankfully and also unfortunately, he isn’t there and Logan could care less.

And for the next 45 minutes, you spend your time inside trying to distract yourself from the man outside. The man you were home alone with. You leave the door ajar just in case he needs anything which of course he doesn’t. He’s just that good, right?

You lean against your kitchen counter, feeding your cat, James, a blonde cat who is somehow more accident prone than you are, blueberries. Your mind is practically running on autopilot out of boredom. But you’re acutely aware of the sound of the front door opening and shutting. As well as the heavy footsteps coming towards the kitchen.

Logan turns the corner, his flannel gone, leaving him in just a tanktop and jeans. A tanktop that practically put all of him on display. The muscles and veins in his arms, the firmness of his chest. Specifically that vein on his right biceps that runs all the way down to his forearm.

There’s a few oil marks staining his skin, on his neck and arms and chest. A little on his cheek. How the hell did he get that dirty? Hell, not like you’d know. You hardly touch the inside of that motorcycle, willingly.

His dog tags hanging perfectly in between his pecs. How you would love to trade places with those things right now. “S’all done, Bub,” Logan tells you as he steps further into the kitchen.

“Right, yeah, thanks,” you say, reluctantly stopping your ogling to grab him a water from the fridge. Logan flicks his hands as he finishes washing them and takes the water from you. He leans against the counter across from you.

“How’s college treatin’ ya?” He inquires, watching as you feed James another piece of fruit.

“It’s okay, nothing special. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice school but it’s not like it’s Ivy League or anything,” you answer in a small shrug as you pop a blueberry into your own mouth. Logan can’t help but watch your lips and throat as you do so. His eyes shamelessly trained on you.

“Well atleast you got somethin’ going for ya,” Logan murmurs, finally looking away as he folds his arms over his chest. “Got a boyfriend waiting there too?” He asks. You give him a look. He chuckles. “Or a girlfriend.” Logan adds.

You just roll your eyes which contrasts the smile on your face. “Answers no to both,” you answer, watching James pluck the blueberry from your fingers. And Logan feels a little too happy to see that little smile on your face again.

“Really?” Logan replies, raising a brow in response. “Those little college kids to stupid to see what’s in front of em’ or something?”

You look over to him and see his little eyebrow raise, a quiet snort leaving you. “I don’t know. I just don’t talk to people like that. Hard to be seen when you’re acting invisible, y’know?” You say nonchalantly.

“Gotta put yourself out there one day, Bub,” Logan sighs. “Can’t keep comin’ back to this place and just hoping for it.” You watch him as he speaks and you can’t help the way your eyes repeatedly drop down to the soot on his muscles. You gotta get those stains off before you go nuts.

“It’s more of a choice than anything,” you tell him as you turn and grab a clean rag from one of the lower cabinets. Logan’s sharp eyes follow you as you move around the kitchen. “People there just don’t really “impress” me.” You add as you wet the rag with warm water.

“Oh, boys there ain’t good enough for you, huh?” Logan questions teasingly, that grin returning to his face. You step in front of him and hold out the damp rag to him. Logan silently gestures to his skin in response.

You swallow and suddenly, your heart is beating a million beats a minute. Your eyes fall from his to his chest and neck as you slowly reach the rag to his skin. “Nah,” you finally answer lowly as you begin to gently scrub at his skin. “All the way in university and still ain’t mature enough.” You mutter, watching the oil stains fade away under the rag.

Logan’s eyes are low as he looks down at you, his eyes trained on your face and lips as you speak and wipe him down. “Oh right, not mature enough f’ya,” Logan murmurs. “Need an older guy to take care of you… don’t ya?”

Your hand pauses on his chest and your eyes move back up to his. A swirl of desire and need mixing in his dark eyes. His gaze alone almost makes you shutter. “Yeah… think I do,” I say in a slightly hoarse whisper.

Not knowing what else to do, you let out a barely there breath and raise the rag, going to swipe at some of the stains on his cheeks. Your heart almost stops in your chest when he grabs your wrist instead. His other hand comes up to grab your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

“And what would your old man think about that, huh?” Logan questions lowly, his breath fanning your lips. You part your lips to answer but your words get caught in Logan’s rough lips. Your whole body tenses up for a moment before immediately melting into him.

You let him hold you, you let him push you back into the other counter behind you. You let him slip his tongue into your mouth, the taste of his earlier cigar still lingering. But it only serves to make you weaker. You groan into his mouth as his large hand suddenly slips from your wrist to your crotch, squeezing you through your sweatpants.

“School got you all pent up, yeah?” Logan asks in a huff of a breath as he just barely pulls away from your lips. Once again, he steals your lips before you can answer. Palming you through your sweatpants while his tongue explores every inch of your mouth.

He’s not wrong. It’s been just you and your hand for months now. And somehow Logan just barely touching you through your sweats is better than any night of you fucking your fist.

You can’t help but whine into his mouth when he pulls away, his hand running over your hips and waist instead. But the feeling of him pressing himself against you in his jeans quickly silences your whines. His half-erect cock grinding against your as he rolls his hips. Logan pulls back in a low groan, a thin shiny string of saliva connecting your kiss-swollen lips.

“Been thinking ‘bout you since winter, Bub. Y’know that? Pretty ass been on my mind for fucking months,” Logan says to you in a heavy breath as he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip. You just look up at him, still in slight shock at it all but your mind falling prey to the pleasure and want.

“What? You wanna do something about that?” You question quietly, your voice not matching your smug and suggestive words.

Logan smirks down at you a bit. “Damn right,” he answers, his hand on your chin shifting to your hair as he grabs a fistful of it and tilts your head to the side. His hips rolling against your again as he sinks his teeth into neck. His name falling from your lips in a whimper.

Your hand subconsciously falls to his belt, weakly trying to still his hips against yours which of course doesn’t work. Logan pulls his teeth from your neck while simultaneously guiding your hand down from his belt to the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Feel that, pretty boy? Feel what you’re doing t’me?” Logan mutters against your bruising skin. And you do feel him. A lot of him. It made you lose your breath further while shooting sparks of further arousal to your gut. “Wanna help me out, Bub? Little favor for changin’ your oil?” He requests as he sucks at your flesh, hungrily and greedily.

You move almost immediately to your knees. Breath shaking as he backs up just a bit to look down at you. A devilish grin covering his face. “Well, aren’t you just an obedient little thing,” he comments as one of his hands finds his belt, the other still in your hair.

Your heart pounding in your ears as you watch his belt unbuckle, as he unbuttons his jeans and zips them down. Your mouth damn-near watering as he tugs down his pants and boxers just enough for his dick to spring free. And oh, your jaw is going to be aching for hours.

“Look at you, all cock-thirsty. Nobody been givin’ you any attention, huh?” Logan says as he pumps himself a few times, gently guiding your head to his already leaking tip. He doesn’t have to ask before you part your lips. Maybe it was a little pathetic how quickly you dropped for him. But you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You let him sit himself on your tongue and he just basks in the view. A bit of his pre dripping onto the pink muscle. That sight alone pushed him further, pushing his hips forward until he was almost buried in your throat to the hilt. “Damn, pretty boy, you done this before or something?” Logan groans before he’s moving.

His hand in your hair keeping your head still as he begins fucking your throat. You try to keep the tears from glossing up in your eyes as he hits the back of your throat but you can’t. He doesn’t mind.

“Fuck, how has nobody claimed this perfect throat yet? Taking me so fucking well,” Logan grunts, staring right down into your glossy eyes. You let out a choked whimper around him in reply, the vibrations of the sound going straight to Logan’s cock, making his eyes fall shut as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Right, can’t answer with your mouth full of dick, can you?”

Another muffled whimper which results in him tugging on your hair. “Guess your old man was wrong, huh?” Logan pants over the sound of his balls lewdly hitting your chin, a mix of his pre and your own drool slicking the skin. “You did learn to do somethin’ useful. Damn good cock-sucker.”

Your hands hold onto his thighs as he repeatedly stuffs your face to the hilt, his fat tip kissing the back of your throat. Your nails dig into his skin through his jeans only for his eyes to roll in response. A hoarse and gruff “oh fuck” slipping through his teeth. “Been doing this for those college boys? That how you brought your little grade back up?” Logan questions roughly as he looks down to you.

Such a pretty sight you are. Eyes watering, lashes glistening, mouth full, and your lips a wet mess of your fluids.

“Mmm,” your denial doesn’t leave as words, just muffled choked sounds. A small smirk grows on Logan’s face.

“No? Ain’t that a shocker. You’d— shit— you’d make some good fucking money. Sucking cock for cash, clearly doesn't take much to get you to anyways,” Logan says, almost taunting you with his words. Taunting how fast you got on your knees for him.

You can only respond by pressing your tongue flaccid against his cock, feeling his veins pulse over the muscle. Only for him to tug on your hair when you swirl your tongue over his tip. “Fine by me,” Logan says, his voice breaking into a breathy moan. “Pretty little throat is all mine.”

You feel your own hard-on twitch in your pants at that. The idea of being all his. Even if it’s just for the summers and winters. Logan doesn’t miss the way you take him in more greedily, the way you keep letting him glide across your tongue, the way your breathing just barely steadies when you finally find a rhythm.

“Yeah? You like that idea, Bub? Being all mine?” Logan says strained, the snap of his hips growing sloppy and stuttering. All you can do is let out a muffled groan around him, staring up at him with your big eyes as the tears finally slip over. They only worsen their streams as Logan pushes your head down, giving you hardly any room to breathe as his cock twitches and he cums down your throat.

He doesn’t let you go until you’re digging your nails into his thighs again and he finally lets go of your hair. You pull away and practically gasp for the breath you lost. Coughing and heaving and sniffling as dribbles of his release rolling down your chin, followed by your tears.

“You okay down there, Bub? Too much?” Logan asks as he chases his own breath.

“No, no, i—i'm okay,” you manage to get out as you wipe at the tears and your slick chin. Logan’s low eyes drop to the tent in your sweatpants between your legs. His eyes then pull back up to yours.

“What time does your old man get off?”

[logansdoll]

Heyyy it would be awesome if you wrote a third part for “37” where Charles gives Logan’s memories back and we go through flashbacks of some of his best memories, his wedding, the day his kids were born…something like that, it would be very heartwarming 🥰🥰🥰 or even maybe coming back from the past and seeing his kids again

sunflower

part three of "37"

CW: fluffy fluff, all the feels, suggestive, profanity, takes place after the events of Days Future Past, very bittersweet, your daughter's a lil menace, your son's a lil cutie pie, angst if you squint, i never know how to end these things, etc.

"Logan, the mind is a fickle thing," Charles sighed, resting his hands on his desk with a solemn look. "I can't possibly guarantee that this will work, much less in one session—" "I don't care how long it takes."

Logan's face drew tight with the statement, his patience visibly wearing thin.

He'd been listening to the same bullshit for twenty minutes...

"I don't care if I need a hundred different fuckin' sessions. I'm gettin' these memories back," he spelled out, leaning forward in his seat and roughly tapping his finger on the desk. "It doesn't make any damn sense. This body's been in this timeline for fifty-fuckin'-years and it doesn't remember shit."

"Because it is your consciousness that is the problem, Logan," Charles groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is what I've been trying to tell you."

Logan piped down for a moment, brows knitting together as he leaned back in his seat, taking an annoyed drag of his cigar.

"Your psyche is from a completely different timeline, and now resides in a completely different body. It's like asking to recall the memories of a random person walking down the street," the professor explained, again.

Sadly, he hung his head, greatly sorry for the misfortune of his friend.

"I wish there was something I could do, Logan. Truly. But I'm afraid it just can't be done."

But Logan didn't buy it.

Huffing a small plume of smoke out his nose, he glanced out the window, catching sight of you teaching a class on the lawn.

Using your powers, you grew a large sunflower out from the ground, the younger kids marveling at the sight as you began pointing out its anatomy, most of them enamored by the huge petals—which were bigger than their little six year-old frames.

And in a small pause in time, your eyes flitted up to meet his through the window, that heart-stopping smile finding its way onto your lips as you gave him a tiny wave.

It warmed him, experiencing your light for the first time in years without the threat of annihilation on the horizon.

Domesticity like this is something he'd craved all his life, and now that he had it in his grasp, he wasn't going to settle for anything less.

A stilling chill descended on his chest at the thought of your smile, and the countless others he'd missed.

Your tears of joy when he proposed.

Your frazzled excitement with the wedding planning.

Your radiance as you walked down the aisle.

He missed it all.

And he'd be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to try and get it back.

"Charles..." Logan started, stamping out his cigar in a nearby ashtray. "My whole life is standin' out there under that tree... and I can't remember a goddamn thing about her after 1973."

His tone turned cold, eyes sharp as he stared the professor down.

"I don't care if you have to rip my head in half... I'm gettin' those memories back."

The old man let out a sigh, accepting that going on like this would bring no other outcome.

He'd have to give the man what he wanted... consequences be damned.

'Let's hope he survives...'

"This will be violent," Charles stated off-rip, wheeling himself out from behind his desk. "I am essentially hammering your mind like a dam, making cracks in its defenses until it eventually gives way."

Logan nodded, watching as the man settled in front of him, raising his two fingers to his temple.

"Now... try not to move."

Logan shut his eyes, and in an instant, it felt as if his head was struck by a speeding train.

He let out a growl of pain as images began to flash behind his eyes, the next one always coming quicker than the last.

"Hon, which color do you think would go best with my complexion? Eggshell or Porcelain?" you asked, eagerly holding up two different swatches against your skin.

"You look beautiful in anything, baby," he stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Either one is fine."

"As sweet as that is... it doesn't help," you huffed, playfully attempting to scold him.

"Fine then. Eggshell," he answered, quickly.

You raised a brow, an amused smile playing at your lips as you leaned in closer, "Are you just saying that to get me to shut up?"

He let out a chuckle, resting his forehead against yours, "Never."

Yes...

"Can't wait 'til this damn reception is over," he growled in your ear, lips dragging down your neck as you both hid in a nearby hallway. "First time I've been alone with you since I do."

"Logan..." you gasped, tucking your lip between your teeth in an attempt to muffle yourself as he tightly grasped your hips. "Someone'll hear..."

"Then I guess you better keep quiet," he smirked against your skin, giving your collarbone a soft nip.

It's all coming back...

"Logan..." you started, nervously, hands held firmly behind your back. "I have something to tell you... and I'm open to talk about it if you're upset..."

His brows furrowed as he turned away from his dresser, looking toward you with an air of concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his protective instinct spiking at the sight of your fearful expression. "What happened?"

Unable to say it, you slowly held up your hand, revealing a positive pregnancy test.

His eyes widened like saucers, throat drying at the tiny piece of plastic.

"You're... pregnant?"

You nodded, silently, his reaction not soothing your anxiety one bit.

But, as if on cue, he moved toward you, striding across the room and pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

"I'm gonna be a father..." he muttered into your hair, the phrase not one he thought he'd ever hear. "I'm gonna be a father..."

Wait...

"Logan!" you cried, tears welling in your eyes as you glanced up at him, scared. "I can't...mmmph fuck!... I can't do it! Hurts too much!"

"C'mon, baby, keep pushin'. You're doin' so good," he cooed, swiping stray strands of hair out your face as the nurse on the other side of the bed helped cheer you on. "Just a little bit more. You're right there."

With a grunt, you squeezed his hand tight, letting out a growl of pain as you gave another push.

Pop!

Logan's eyes shot wide, the man nearly biting through his tongue as he glanced down at his hand.

You dislocated his finger.

Though it seemed to be worth it as that final push was what did it.

"It's a girl!" the doctor smiled, carefully holding up the newborn.

Looking upon her small, chubbed face, Logan felt a sense of protectiveness sink into his chest—one that he only felt when things came to you.

In that moment, and every moment after that, he knew he would lay his life down for her, no question.

And she wasn't even a minute old yet.

I have—

"James! Get back here!" a little girl squealed with laughter, bursting into the office after a little boy, who looked terrified.

Logan snapped out his head with a gasp, shooting up from his seat and unsheathing his claws out of muscle memory.

'James...'

Quickly, Logan retracted his claws as the boy ducked behind his leg, gripping tightly onto his jeans as the girl stormed over.

She looked just like you, save for a few small details, and had a small snaggle-tooth poking out on her right side, only adding to her adorableness.

Not to mention the bone claws she had protruding from her knuckles.

"No fair! You can't hide behind Dad every time you're scared!" she furrowed her brows, upset.

"Mommy told you about your claws, Laura..." James mumbled, voice barely above a whisper as he shyly peeked out from behind his human shield.

'Laura...'

The boy was Logan's mirror image, looking almost exactly like he did at that age..

Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree...

Charles could sense the pieces clicking in Logan's mind, and figured lending a hand would be best after what he'd been through.

"Logan, these are your—" "Laura Marie Howlett!" your voice cut in, the little girl flinching at the sound.

Quickly, she retracted her claws, whipping around with a guilty smile, which was met by your less-than-approving glare.

"What have I told you about chasing your brother inside? And what have I told you about using your claws to do it?" you scolded, walking into the office. "You two are interrupting your father and Professor Xavier."

Logan let out a soft sigh, taking the moment to finally look over his family.

Like a slow moving stream, things were coming back to him, the feeling like a fog clearing from the recesses of his mind.

Every birthday.

Every boo-boo.

Every first.

Slowly but surely, they were all returning.

Without warning, Logan dropped to his knees, pulling the two kids into a tight hug, fiercely fighting off the emotion swelling in his chest.

"Daddy?" James squeaked, concerned.

"Are you okay?" Laura asked, confused.

He nodded, silently, the sight making your heart both burst and ache.

After all this time, your husband was truly whole.

Fifty years of suffering and agony had finally come to an end.

taglist !!

@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce  @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate @nickf1 @pinkisokay @mercurysjoy

[gladiatorcunt]

- # ROMANS 8:7 !!

“because the mind of the flesh is hostile to god: it does not submit to god’s law, nor can it do so.”

cw: implied plus size & southern afab!reader, xmen 1 coded logan but also different, large age gap (reader early 20’s, logan…. not), implied mental health & abandoment issues, drug & alchohol mentions, consensual somno (not discussed but logan’d be down with whatever you wanted), dad/father figure bf behavior and talk (kiddo, controlling your sleep schedule, heavy daddy kink & calling him your old man, calls fucking you “feeding you” etc.), heavy werewolf/animals in general allusions & imagery (?), reader is lowkey unhinged, reader doing some solo a/b/o roleplay lol, kind of self objectification/degradation vibes due to underlying trauma, gentle dead dove like if the dove perched on a bitter old man’s dirt covered shoulder and wouldn’t leave, more of a moment in time

1k event. / please consider commissioning me!

Stubble against your lips is a damn fine way to wake up in the morning, you think with a dazed smile. The scent of the beard shampoo you have Logan use smells better than a whole poppy field ever could. There are lingering traces of cigar smoke hovering over his slightly chapped lips, but not as heavy anymore, he’s trying to quit relying on them so much. A gruff sentiment about wanting to make sure he has a better chance of sticking around to keep an eye on you, or something like that.

You were falling asleep on his sweaty abs when he said it like he was getting his teeth pulled out, but there’s merit in the fact that he could’ve cut himself off. It’s important to him to try to be better at verbalizing the feeling burning in his battered gut like a glass of whiskey on the rocks. You’d take him with open arms and open legs even if he was a worse man than the devil.

You reach down and lift his hefty hands to your still swollen lips and kiss his knuckles like you’re trying to suck his claws out of his skin and into your mouth. A painless operation, you’re used to the feeling of blades against your skin, housing them in your stomach would mean nothing if it meant you could take some of the hurt away from him. It feels like that’s your job sometimes, to jump through as many hoops as possible so that you bear the brunt of the weight Logan’s forced to deal with on a daily basis.

He stops that train of thought in its tracks when you express it, what kind of dad would he be if he let you get even a single scratch? Maybe there’s to be said for a rough and tough kind of guy getting to nurse a kitten back to health, to keep it tucked away in the crook of their muscular arm never to see the light of day without them.

You don’t offer to keep his claws sheathed safely in your pussy either, you’d lick your own blood off the ends when they eventually push through your mouth. A cock sleeve in a different outfit, daddy’s little helper. But then you see the way Logan’s face belies a sense of peace, his forehead wrinkles and the fine lines around his mouth aren’t nearly so pronounced because this is the rare moment in which he finds no reason to scowl. You know you’re worth more than a nyquil infused pussy to him, but this is where you find your use. This is how you feel content, gummy walls suckling on his fat tip because even when you’ve put your old man to bed you can’t get enough.

Logan thinks he’s just so awful, the big bad wolf slobbering on an innocent lamb’s cherry pie-sweet cunt, but you might be worse. You’d your feet and throw a fit if his nose even twitched catching the scent of someone else, you’d do far worse things than what he’s already done to keep this toe curlingly grumpy man snoring a crater into your silk pillows. You feel like a rabid chihuahua nipping at his heels to keep him inside and with you, where it’s warm and wet and there’s no death other than the little ones you experience over and over like a perverted groundhog day. He’s the only one you trust with you doing you prone bone, having faith that he’ll shield you from all the things in the world that aren’t Daddy and the cozy sticky life he provides for you.

Calloused fingers strangling your tits in the morning, your ass bent over his lap in the evening while he sits back in his recliner and soothes the sting. You’d been sick to your stomach before you met him, wandering up and down the road in New York because you insisted you could make this big move and do it all on your own. Then his denim blue pick up rumbled its way down the broken road and you’ve never looked back since.

Your heart was beating faster than a hummingbird when he rolled his eyes and pushed the passenger side door open with one hand, like you were lucky he didn’t drive off and leave you in the dirt. You had the stray thought of offering him a blow job or a tit fuck to make it worth his while, but he was squirming around to tug off his brown leather jacket and toss it at you before you could move a muscle.

Poor little kitty, last one in the box all alone in the cold. Someone wanted you though, and over time your hisses and scratches turned to cat-that-got-the-cream-AND-the-canary wails and voracious frisking.

He ‘tsks’ and bites his cheek on the days where the guilt creeps in, and you know he just can't accept that this is what you want. That you saw his maw open wide and dripping with blood-cum-tissue-bone-spittle and hopped right on the center of his dusty rose pink tongue like a good bunny.

In your daydreams the appendage is so long he can choke you with the tip of it, wrap it around you and get his unique slime and grime absorbed into the hollow of your throat. You wish he had a knot too, so he could plug you up and you’d have no choice but to take it and be so grateful that Daddy thought you were worthy of being bred and speared and kept.

God, you’d never wanted to have somebody’s baby so much. But you’re selfish too, so you don’t mind this time spent together, just the two of you. That’s a blessing in and of itself and you’ve learned not to question the rare good things in life that you’re allowed to have. The powers that be decided he’s yours and you’re his and you’ll tie your leash to his hand if that ensures he can never change his mind about taking a chance on you. If he can’t run like you tried to do when you realized he might actually love you back, that he wasn’t content to just be a dirty fantasy you had when you were alone on your trailer bed. That for the first time in your life, what you need needs you too, or wants to entertain you at the very least.

You don’t want to run anymore, and all of the credit goes to Logan recognizing that you were just a stray cat who needed someone that wouldn’t let them dart out the door at the first sign of discomfort. He forced you to be known so you could be loved and there’s no going back to a life without that, not for you. Not without being to hold Daddy’s hand when that same feeling of flight or flight knocks on your skull. Maybe you’re spiraling again because you feel empty, you said no to cockwarming the previous night because you didn’t want to be too needy. You think your pussy might’ve bitten his dick off to keep inside of it like a trophy if you followed your usual routine.

Now you’re realizing why you hardly ever say no to giving your pussy time to breathe. How can you feel whole if Daddy’s not sighing in relief when he slides home for the first time again? You remember that you're your own person like this and you hate it, you don’t belong to you, you belong to him.

So you bite your lip and slowly bring yourself up to straddle his torso, humping his abs for a second before reaching behind you and lining up your aching cunt with his already half hard prick. You get overwhelmed already, so excited and antsy and ready to greet Daddy at the door that you bounce without actually bringing your plush hips all the way down.

‘Want that knot, want it want it want it want it, fuck fuck FUCK!’

You cry when the bulbous and thick fucking tip eases into you followed by the rest of him, you can’t help it. You missed him so much, and you’re not only thinking about Logan when you say that. Trust Daddy to actually have a horse’s cock most men overcompensate for not having, long and girthy and an angry purplish-red and surrounded by a black bush and more than deserving of never being left alone for a single second.

He woke up as soon as you started grinding against him in your sleep, but he knows you’d get embarrassed if he let it slip now. Logan could open his brown eyes and say ‘I told you so, kiddo’ but he can do that after his hardening cock pushes into your cervix. A welcome home kiss for his fussy little thing, he doesn’t feel right until he cracks his eyelids halfway and peeks through to see your own roll back in otherworldly rapture.

“That’s it, right where it belongs, ain’t it doll?”

Yes, yes it is.

“Fuckin’ cum on it and then get y’r ass back to bed, y’r gonna get cranky if you stay up any later. Gotta keep you fed, get some cock in that belly, keep you fat.”

- 2024, do not copy/translate/train ai with my work

[cottoncandyswisherz]

working at the pyramid

this is long a fuck for no reason so its small font lol

softdom!chris x stripper!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex (double wrap w aluminum foil) p in v, oral, (male receiving) pole dancing

-

the club is dark. all lights are off and the only thing you can hear is jay, our dj, yelling into the mic. 

"okay fellas, its saturday, you know what that means. its time for our favorite girl to do her thangs. make some noise for our money maker, our heart breaker, MISS CLEOOOO!" 

and the crowd goes wild.

the music starts and i strut onto the stage, in character. 

the projector displays a burning sun behind me, the lights shines a dark orange. this is my time to shine. all these men are here watching me with hungry eyes and i'm about to feed them. 

laying with my back on the ground i wait for my cue. 

wake up to your girl for now lets call her cleopatra i watch you fix your hair then put your panties on in the mirror, cleopatra

i arch my back and pull at my hair. then your lipstick, cleopatra then your six-inch heels, catch her she's headed to the pyramid

i roll over onto my stomach and stretch my arms in front of me, kicking my feet slowly, making eye contact with some shmuck in to crowd before turning back on my back.

she's working at the pyramid tonight

the beat drops and it begins. 

grabbing the back of my heels i raise my hips in a kegel position and grind my hips slowly in the air.

then i raise my butt all the way in the air, holding myself up and bring my knees together and twirl them before straightening one and pointing my toes over my head. keeping my legs in that position i slowly bring them down

pimpin in my convos bubbles in my champagne let it be some jazz playin top floor hotel suite twisting my cigars floor model tv with the vcr

back on my stomach i slowly bring myself on all fours and dramatically throw my head back, allowing my hair to fall down my arched back. 

got rubies in my damn chain whip aint got no gas tank but it still got woodgrain

i get on my feet and bounce before standing all the way up

got your girl working for me hit the strip and my bills paid that keep my bills paid hit the strip and my bills paid keep a nigga bills paid

prancing to the pole, i lock eyes with a white boy. like everyone else, he's got a shit eating grin on his face. but unlike everyone else, he doesn't throw 1's on the stage. he throws a flurry of 20's. 

i grab the pole and saunter around it twice, then press my back against it and grind again. 

time to climb this bitch. 

she's working and the pyramid tonight

i turn around and step around the pole before swinging and wrapping my legs around it tilt my head back and now i'm spinning, as the pole rotates. i do my tricks and shit, giving them the show they want.

keeping my grip, the pole stops and throw my head all the way back, allowing myself to be upside down. only for a second though because i place my hands on the floor and flip into a split as the beat drops again. 

the men go insane, and i'm showered in bills. 

you showed up after work, i'm bathin your body touch you in places only i know you're wet and you're warm just like our bathwater can we make love before you go

i grind to the beat in various positions, before bringing myself back to pole, placing it between my heel and shoe so i can limp all the way to the top. 

once i'm there i hook one leg around the pole and drop my head. upside down once again. i spread my arms out and spin. 

shouting and money flying once again. 

the way you say my name makes me feel like i'm that nigga but i'm still unemployed you say it's big but you take it ride cowgirl

after a few seconds, i bring my body back up right and slide down. with my legs under me, i move my hips, so it looks like i'm riding

but your love ain't free no more baby but your love ain't free no more

then i fall back so i'm laying on my back, like before i started. 

she's working at the pyramid she's working at the pyramid tonight

and the lights shut off. 

just like that, i move off the stage and go to my dresser and drink some water. 

5 minutes go by and i've caught my breath. thomas, another employee comes in with my earnings from tonight. but i don't have time to count it, so i put the bag in my locker and go out to work the floor. 

a few of my regulars make their usual requests and soon i'm $150 richer. i walk over to the bar and ask for a lemonade and while i'm waiting a hand taps my shoulder. 

"i'm on break. " i mutter in an agitated tone, not bothering to turn around. 

"i'll pay double." 

and just like that, I GOT MOTION!

i turn around and see the white boy from earlier. 

with a seductive grin, i shake my head. "go find a seat on the floor and i'll come find you after my drink."

"the floor?" white boy turns around and looks at the room, full of idiots. "no, i want a private room." 

"those are 150 an hour..."

"where do i pay?"

is he for real...

"usually people who want them have a group."

"just me."

wow.

"you pay up front." he pulled his phone out.

"you guys take apple pay?"

i was flabbergasted. "uh... yeah i think so."

"great. you finish your drink and i'll come get you when everything is paid for."

-

20 minutes later i'm stepping into a private room. 

"you can play whatever music you want. i can dance to pretty much anything."

this is so fucking awkward by myself. usually there like 5 of us in here with an equal amount of guys. 

but he won't see me sweat. 

"anything?"

"yup."

he pulls his phone out, connecting to the bluetooth. 

"okay you better be telling the truth." he begins searching for a song. 

he plays the fucking macarena. 

"be so fucking for real." i fight back a smile. "i'm half naked and you want me to do the macarena?"

"hey you said you can dance to anything." he chuckles, putting his hands up. he has a small duffel bag next to him. i can just smell the money in it. 

fuck it. i think then begin the dance. 

money falls at my feet as i do the routine and laugh. 

soon the song is over and a new one starts. 

this one slower.

i start with a little floor routine that ends with me on my knees, so i can crawl over to him.

placing  my hands on his thighs, i lift myself up and turn around so my ass is right in his face and i dance, dropping and coming back up. 

i felt his hands grip my waist, and usually, clients aren't allowed to touch us, but this ones fine as a motherfucker so i'll allow it. 

he pulls me down so i'm sitting in his lap, my back to his chest. i move my hips on him and he turns my head to the side so i'm kinda looking at him. then his hand grabs my neck and his other one drops 20's. 

the bills fall down my body and land in my lap and it's the hottest thing i've ever encountered. 

with a smile, i turn around so i'm straddling him and grind some more. i feel his erection on my clit through his shorts and it makes my pussy flood. 

if i keep looking in his eyes i'm gonna cum. so i look at the wall to distract myself. but that doesn't work because he grips my jaw and forces me to look at him. 

"eyes on me mama."

fuck. 

now we're locked in. eyes trapped in each other. i can't escape. 

but i have to. 

so place his hands on my hips and lean back, so my back is arched. 

i thought this would help. 

it didn't. 

one of his hands spreads on my belly and reaches up my front, his large hand on my chest. 

i come back up and decide no physical contact was the solution. 

so i get up and begin another floor routine.

he stands up and walks over to me, looking in my eyes a-fucking-gain so i turn around and dance until his hand is on my hips again with his other one the back of my neck, bending me over. 

and now we're lowkey dry humping. 

shit. 

standing up right again, i turn around and take a step back. 

i can't fuck him. i'll lose my job. i'll lose my dignity. 

"we can't-"

the motion is swift when he tugs me towards him and my body collides with his. my hands automatically come up and land against his chest, and my eyes fall shut. 

my fingers spread out, trying to feel as much of him as i can. 

his lips brush against my ear. "tell me to stop, cleo. tell me to stop, and i will."

i pull my head back enough to look at him and think. 

i have two options. 

1. walk out and do my job like nothing happened with the worst case of blue ovaries i've ever had. 

or 

2. fuck this man and walk out and do my job like nothing happened having had what i hope will be the best orgasm i've ever had.

i don't know about you but option two seems like the obvious choice. 

"i don't want you to stop." 

his fingers grip me tighter.

"you want me to fuck you?" 

my breath hitches and i slowly nod my head. 

"my name's chris. say 'yes, chris.'"

my thighs clench as i feel my pussy flood again. "yes, chris."

a sound leaves his mouth, then its pressing against mine.

i melt into the kiss. his full lips slanting over mine, demanding them to open. 

i try to focus. i try to remember who i am and that i'm a badass who refuses to submit to a stranger. i try to focus, but there's a lightening storm going off inside my body and i can't hold onto a single bolt. 

my arms wrap around the back of his neck, anchoring him to me. 

chris' large hands move up my side, the heat of them seeping through my skin and putting my body on fire. keeping the tips of his fingers against my ribs, he spreads his grip out until his thumbs trace along the underside of my tits. 

i lean into the touch. the press of his body against mine is divine torture. but then he's gone. 

his hands leave my sides at the same time his mouth leave mine. 

my eyes blink open, but instead of finding his gaze on mine, i find his hooded eyes focused on my chest. 

with slow movements, chris reaches behind me and unclips the bra i'm wearing. it falls at my feet. 

chris tongue slides across his lower lips as he eyes my pierced nipples. he uses his thumbs to rub over each one, the buds tightening and i can no longer stay quiet. 

letting out a whimper of appreciation, i raise my arms and grip his white tee. 

"fuck." he groans the words as he palms my breasts, leaving my nipples exposed between his thumb and index finger. "fuck." he says again, dipping down and taking one small barbell into his mouth. 

"oh god.." i groan, my fingers leave his sides and dig into his hair.

this isn't the first time someone has played with the piercings but with him, its so much better.

he tugs and pulls at my other nipple and i'm so needy, i'm ready burst.

"chris." i pant. "please, chris."

letting my breast pop free, chris stands back to his full height. 

my hands reach for the string of his sweat shorts, undoing the knot and tugging them down. 

dark, tight briefs are all that stand between his cock and my hands and i tug those down too until his erection bobs free. 

of course it's perfect in every fucking way. 

my fingers wrap around his length, gliding up and down. chris' hand closes over mine and squeezes, forcing me to grip him tighter. 

freak ass. 

"take off your panties." he squeezes my hand once more before releasing his grip.

letting go of him, i shimmy out of my thong.

chris strokes himself while saying, "gimme a spin."

i smirk and slowly twirl around, making a show of it, moving my hips to the music that's still playing. 

"you're fucking perfect." then he's stepping to me, lifting me, and walking me to the bar in the corner of the room. the surface has bottles and glasses on it, so i'm half on the bar and afraid of sliding off in a heap of embarrassment. 

but then chris is using his hands to spread my thighs and when he steps between them, all thoughts other than him leave my body.

my hands grab ahold of the bottom of his shirt and pull until he chest is naked in front of me. 

at this point i'm beyond wet. i should be embarrassed considering the fact that he hasn't even touched my pussy yet, but the look on his face is pure hunger. 

he taps my thigh and lets out a command. "wider."

i press my thighs open further.

chris runs the tip of his dick up the length of my pussy. "please tell me you're on the pill."

red flags wave in my peripheral. i should stop this. i don't know him. there are worries beyond pregnancy. this man is a fucking stranger.

but instead of being smart, i nod. 

chris growls gripping the base of his cock lining it up with my more than ready entrance. the hand not on his dick runs up  my side, squeezing my breast, pinching my nipple then gripping the base of my neck. 

he presses his lips against mine while pressing into me. 

his tongue shoves into my mouth and i'm filled with him. 

all i can feel his him. 

all i can taste, all i can hear, all i can smell is chris. 

i was bracing for a quick thrust. but this... this is slow.

i arch. i writhe. i moan. 

with both hands on my ass now, chris pulls me forward, so i feel all of him. he picks up his speed. pulling out, slamming in. over and over. 

his hands are everywhere now, tugging on my piercings, gripping my ass, feeling all the skin he can. 

"chris!" i cry out, feeling my orgasm approaching. 

"that's it." he moans into my mouth.

and thumb presses on my clit and i jolt in surprise. 

"oh fuck-" my head falls back.

he circles my clit, faster and faster, pressing harder and harder. 

"eyes on me mama." he demands. my eyes flutter open and find his. "good girl." his fingers don't stop.

"i'm gonna cum."

"that's right ma. cum for me."

that was the last piece of the puzzle. 

i shatter around him, shaking and convulsing.

"yes, chris. fuck! thank you. oh my god thank you-"

i'm a mess. from one fucking orgasm. 

removing his hand from my clit, chris steps back and pulls out of me, my body arching towards his, trying to keep the contact. 

he lifts me off the bar and sets me down in front of him. my legs are like jelly so i'm relieved when i hear him say "on your knees, cleo."

that fucking name. he's just took me to mars so i guess he can know my government. "my names y/n."

a smile spreads across his face as he presses a kiss to my lips and slides his had to my jaw. "on your knees, y/n."

i comply, dropping down in front of him. he drags his thumb across my lips. "open up." my mouth opens wide and allowing him to guide his cock between my lips. 

i close my mouth around him, sucking his length and it's like all his self control flies away. 

he gathers my hair into a ponytail and presses in deeper. 

"i wanna fill you up." 

please.

he pulls back and thrusts deeper into me until i feel him in the back of my throat. 

"i wanna watch my cum dripping out of that pretty pussy." 

fuck.

"i wanna cum all over your piercings."

jesus fucking christ.

"but you gotta go back to work."

WHAT?

he pulls all the way out, letting me breathe.

"let me back in." he says 

i open my mouth and hes back, deep in my throat. "that's my good fucking girl." he groans out and throws his head back. 

i let out a moan at the praise and his whole body shakes. 

"fuuuuuuuck.." his grip on my hair tightens and he looks down at me. 

he picks up the speed of his thrusts and fucks my face with so much force i have to lean back and put my weight on my hands to stable myself. 

i feel him twitch in my mouth and he goes to pull back but i wrap my hand around the back of his thigh and move my lips to his tip, sucking. his eyes cross and his load shoots into my mouth.

chris pulls me up by the ponytail and brings my lips to his in a kiss. this one was softer, but just as passionate. 

pulling aways he says "you know i have to see you again right?" 

"i'd like that." i whisper. 

"good girl."

niyah speaks 2930 words dawg. sorry i've been MIA. me and my boyfriend broke up lol. but uhhh im backkkkk

taglist: @mattslolita @mattssluttygf @muwapsturniolo @chaossturns

[milliumizoomi]

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊

☆彡SUMMARY.; What better time to smoke with each other than at night. Armando thinks there’s a better way to do it too..

☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO x READER

☆彡TROPE.; ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

☆彡FORMAT.; DRABBLE

☆彡GENRE.; FLUFF + SEMI SMUT (mdni)

☆彡WARNINGS.; Mature Language, Mature Actions, usage of weed + usage of drugs.

☆彡NOTES.; in light of the information I just found out yesterday (apparently Jacob smokes🥹) I had to write something to ease my mind thats running a mile a minute,, I hope yall enjoyyyy😋💕.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED😙.

The space of your room was now becoming dizzying to you.

All the lights were off and the windows and curtains were closed. The current sore of light that was illuminating your room was the TV, that was playing lowly in the background. The scent of weed was swirling all around your room, making your body feel lighter than it actually was. “Mama.. Enciende esto para mí...”

You look down at the man under you, his eyes are low and red. He holding a cigar in his hand, and the other is gently rubbing up and down your back, down to your ass. You grab the lighter that was right beside the both of you on the bed and lean down to light it for him. He watches your movements.

He feels so good right now.

With you in on top of him, and him watching as you leaned your body over to light the cigar for him.

He was more focused on you than anything else, and his whole body felt like it was on fire and like he’s was being hosed down at the same time.

What the fuck was he even smoking right now.

Finally, after what felt like years, you managed to light the damn thing then plucked it from in between his lips, putting it to you’re and taking a deep inhale.

With you being on top of him, and also high out of your mind, you were giggling and shuffling a lot, and with his heightened feelings of pleasure right now, he felt every slide and shuffle you did on his lap,

“Maldita sea, mamá, no hagas eso.” He grabbed your waist steadying you.

You looked down at him and smiled, eyes red from the weed.

“Do what baby? I’m not doing anything..”

You grinded down on him deliberately this time while looking into his eyes, watching as he fluttered them closed then threw his head back, trying to hold back his groans.

You continued doing this until you got tired, and the man under you was breathing so heavy he sounded like he’d need an oxygen mask by the time he fell asleep.

“Shit mama you feel so good..”

You smiled at him for the compliment. “Thanks baby..” you said lowly.

He began to sit up, holding you on his lap in the same position and took the cigar from you and placing it between his lips. You looked up at him as he finally sat up and he looked at you wordlessly, taking a smooth swig of the cigar. He taps your cheek and you immediately understand what it is he wants and you lean closer to his face while opening your mouth.

He pulled you even closer by your neck and blew the smoke into your mouth, then kissed you afterwards. You held your breath, letting the smoke circulate inside your chest and when you broke apart from the kiss, you blew the smoke out and some hit him in his face.

He smiled lazily at you.

He spent the rest of the night having you grind down slowly on his dick while shotgunning you, overstimulating you to the point you can’t even tell which way is up and where is down, hell you couldn’t even tell if you were still wearing clothes.

“Head up mama..”

You slowly pulled your head up from its hanging position and when you did, Armando blew a hit puff of smoke into your face, which, in response, you let out a moan at.

He smiled lazily at you and said, “Don’t do that shit again or the next thing you’re gonna be high off my dick instead of this weed mama..”

[GLOSSARY]

“Mama.. Enciende esto para mí...” — “Mama.. Light this for me...”

“Maldita sea mamá, no hagas eso.” — “Damn it mama, don’t do that.”

ミ★

{TAGLIST} :: @armandosbabymama @ghettogirly @tinys0ftie @shurisgf @radioloom @butterflyybabe @dyttomori @nuggetnat888 || if you’d like to be added to the taglist just let me know in comments or dms🤗💕.

ミ★

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[gravesdept]

♡　＃　𓂃 Imagine you being vladimir makarovs right hand man — who he tolerates just a bit more than his other lapdogs, maybe he even lets you speak down to him, informs you on plans you have no business being in on, and lets you push his buttons.

everyone wonders whats just so special about the man whose always by makarovs side, he wonders so just as well as you both take hefty puffs off an old cigar that use to be stashed away in the back of his desk, its awfully hot in the room he thinks looking from the window back towards you who, well, is leaning just a couple inches astray from his face.

from this angle he cant see anything but the light at the end of the cigar, the room of his office fairly dark being only illuminated by light from the skyscrapers windows.

it takes a minute before you pass him back the almost dull blunt, it ends up sitting between his fingers for a bit as he trudges through his thoughts, “this situation is risky, boy, you know that righ’?” although he speaks clearly enough you cannot wrap your head around what he is implying

“not sure I understand.”

at that he puts the cig out on the desk resorting to just crossing his arms “this I mean, us, your not so subtle soldier.” he looks you dead in the eyes now, a look that youve seen men be killed for even witnessing.

its silent and almost peaceful in this small pocket of time “mm wasnt tryin’ to be subtle sir,, y’know pinning after you is no easy task.” you’d say jokingly if the man infront of you hadn’t killed many men whose ranks had rivaled yours in status, instead you stay quiet choosing to move all the bit closer to him in thought, hands resulting to rest in your jacket pockets.

“i could kill you, have you lit on fire for even thinkin such thoughts about me — yet you would just keep coming back, even offering to stand by my side like some kind of lacky in love.” he spits with just a hint of venomous tone “it repulses me even thinkin about it; hey, you fuckin’ in love with me solider?”

the scowl thats always reaching on his pretty face returns just once as he stands straight from leaning on the desk, hes still shorter than you and it only adds to his fuel.

“no m’not, hows that? was it satisfying enough for you?” a lie you half think about closing the distance between you two, but the metal that gets pressed up against your skull is enough assurance to halt the bare thought of movement.

his eyes search yours once more and before you know it your back is being pressed firmly against the desk.

maybe its the sensation from being high or just the adrenaline from this damn heat but you feel very obligated to wrap a hand around the hand thats holding up your ender, again its the post blunt high thats making you see things because his hand totally doesn’t falter when you touch it and it for sure doesn’t let you lower the gun either.

yeaaaa who laced the cigar because his facial expression isn’t in a scowl anymore its almost distraught watching you maneuver the gun to sit behind on the desk, his voice stoping you temporarily “not any further soldier, you’re messin w’ my fuckin head right now, and thats not what you want.”

the look you give him is deafening and its filled with something he cant source.

“what.. are you to decide what I want, are y’ afraid that i might break you?” you’re pushin it yet there it is again that same scowl just a bit deeper than before. its like your a fucking ticking bomb thats just wanting to explode “i'm jus’ waitin for your permission sir, to let me have you”

in another universe you might have been killed at the spot and brutally beaten until unrecognizable.

“do what you’ want, but you'd better make it damn good or i'll have to kill you.” he says backing up until his legs hit his office chair the sqeaking reminding the both of you where you just so happen to be at this hour.

but that is the last thing you’d have ever thought to hear from this oh so difficult man.

note ;; chat am I cookin even though this kind of out of charcter? ,, I keep blue balling cause I really cant write full fics but we getting there also requests will be opening soon, my messages are open right now if anyone wants to thirst tho.

[rosenclaws]

Hi!! I’d love to see you do the prompt “Don’t tell me you love me unless you mean it.” with Logan! Was thinking of the reader who’s so self loathing of her own powers opening up for the first time towards Logan 🥺

warnings: angst/fluff, Logan has interesting teaching methods lol

600 follower drabble masterlist

wc: 1.2k

a/n: So this also...turned into more than a drabble oops. I got carried away I can't help it asdflk;h. Anyways I totally got inspired by ATLA for some of the logan pep talk if u can tell lol.

The mansion was so lonely. It shouldn't be but it is. Especially for you. Brought here as a child you grew up here. You were excited, hopeful that maybe you could start a new life here. But then your powers went haywire.

Just when you thought things could be different your emotions got the better of you. Fire raged through the mansion and you couldn't stop it. The more you panicked the worst it got.

When the flames were put out all you could see was the destruction that ravaged the once spotless mansion. It was an accident. Charles knew it and so did everyone else but that didn't stop the whispers, the fear. You never wanted this.

You did all you could to suppress your powers for years. Leaving the school and never looking back. Years passed and you managed to live a quite life. You went to work and went home. It was a lonely life but you couldn't hurt anyone so it you learned to live it.

Then one day you got a letter from Charles. It was a matter of such importance that you had no choice but to return. It was weird being back.

It was in the dead of the night that you found yourself alone. Just as you remembered. This time wandering through the halls of the mansion. Your fingers traced the familiar paintings and furniture. A frown coming over your face as you trace the faint scorch marks that still remain.

"So those were you." A deep voice startles you.

You feel a light flame escape your fingertips as you shove you cross your arms and hide your hands away. There stands Logan with a cigar in his mouth. You breathe a sigh of relief as you lower your arms.

"Sorry, didn't meant to scare you." He holds out his cigar and you roll your eyes. He's been trying to get you to use your powers, to light his damn cigars because he's too lazy to reach into his own pocket.

"Come on, just a little flame." He says with a smirk.

"Can I help you Logan?" Though you're glaring he can see that small smile.

You and Logan were unlikely friends as you put it. The two of you understood each other. Understood the want to hide away. Don't get close and you won't get hurt. Even with that mantra somehow you were each others exception.

Maybe it was stupid but having Logan was nice. He was nice in his own weird way. Looked out for you, joked with you on the rare occasion. Plus he was easy on the eyes, but you don't let yourself go there. Love...it's just not meant for you. You don't do love and neither does Logan. Even if you want it, even if sometimes he finds his way into your dreams.

"Nope." He gestures for you to follow him so you do. Walking quietly through the halls until he leads you outside. A chill washes over you step outside.

"Just a little light for me sweetheart?" Okay the first time was charming but now it's getting annoying.

"Will you quit it." You snap. Logan raises an eyebrow and you sigh. Sitting down on a bench and looking down at your hands.

"You know I don't use my powers anymore."

"I know."

"So why do you keep asking?" He shrugs and sits down next to you.

"Because, I think you're being ridiculous."

"Excuse me?" You scoff. You clench your fists as you glare at Logan.

"So what you burned some wood big deal. That really all it takes for you to run?"

You're hurt and confused where the hell this is coming from. You thought he'd understand you but clearly you were wrong.

"You know what Logan fuck you." You hiss as you stand up.

Logan grabs your wrist before you can walk away and in a fit of anger you push him away. Flames coming out of your hand and hitting him square in the chest. You gasp as his flannel catches fire. Without thinking you press your hand and kill the flame.

"Logan I-"

"Stop." He grabs your wrist and points to an empty fire pit.

"Light it."

"Logan I can't."

"Yes you can sweetheart," He tilts your head towards him. Looking at you with a sparkle in his eye.

"Trust yourself." You take a deep breath and send a fireball into the pit, lighting it up.

Your hand tingles as you use your powers for the first time in a long time. You wait for the other shoe to drop. For the fire to rage past what it's meant to be but it never does. Slowly you hold your hand out focus, the fire slowly gets smaller until it's snuffed out. You stare at your hand in awe. Control. You had control.

"Fire is destruction." Logan interlaces your fingers with his. He's got this smile that you've never really seen before.

"But it's also life, it's beautiful. You're beautiful." You bite your lip as he squeezes your hand. There's a fear that you'll burn him without thinking but he heals. You can't hurt him.

"Why are you helping me?" Why does he care this much? He didn't have to do this, you're not a student and yet here he is. Pushing you past your worries.

"I..." Logan tries to find the words. You're right he doesn't do this but he did for you because, well because..."I love you sweetheart."

Your eyes cloud with tears as you take in his words. He doesn't mean it can he? I mean, it's does he understand what that means. What it means to love you.

“Don’t tell me you love me unless you mean it. Please." You don't think you could handle it. He's already got your heart and it won't take much to crush it.

"Are you doubting me? I'm over a hundred years old I know what love feels like." Logan brushes your lips with his thumb, he's not great with words but he knows what he feels. No one can tell him any different.

Your eyes flutter shut as he kisses you. He smells like cigar smoke and he tastes like honey. The kiss a little rough, you can tell he's trying to hold back. To be gentle which he's not always great at. You pout when he breaks the kiss, already wanting more.

"Later." He promises after noticing the look on your face.

You walk back through the mansion hand in hand. It's better at this hour, no prying eyes and whispers. For now it's just you and him. Though something does cross your mind as you reach your room.

"Did you...Were you trying to make me mad on purpose?" He smirks and pulls out another cigar from somewhere.

"It worked didn't it?" Unbelievable.

"You're an idiot Logan, what if I couldn't control it? What if I burned down the mansion, again?!" Logan rolls his eyes and kisses you again. Pushing you against the door. Your thoughts turn to mush as he kisses your neck.

"You aren't the monster you think you are." He whispers and you freeze. His words hitting you like a brick. Logan knows what it's like to be a monster, a weapon. He's the monster if anything. But you? You could never be. Not in his eyes.

Before he leaves he hands you his cigar. You shake your head and laugh. Holding out your hand you produce a small flame and he lights his cigar.

"Was all this just so I could give you a light?" You ask teasingly. Logan chuckles and presses another kiss to your cheek.

"Absolutely." As much as you want to invite him in your room, you decide to wait. Rushing anything with Logan is the last thing you want. You want the time to be together. A good fire needs to grow before it becomes a roar.

"Goodnight Logan."

"Goodnight sweetheart."

Your fingers slowly unlace as he walks away. You don't want him to go, fearing that this is just a one off night. There's no way you can have control so easily but then he looks back at you. He's got this look on his face that makes you feel like everything is going to be alright and for once you believe it.

[hai7ani]

Haitani Rindou is known to not be a very serious person.

There is nothing serious about him at all. He liaises with a bored look on his face, doesn't really attend executive meetings unless Mikey is there, and spends the rest of his days at his own club drowning in the girls, the music or the alcohol, and maybe letting off some steam by snatching away Sanzu's job.

But he is serious today. Angry, even.

The air is tense and it reeks of expensive European cologne when he steps one foot into the room. Briefcases filled with illegal substances welcomes his sight on the coffee table and tall stacks of cold, hard cash residing on his desk.

A man sits with one dirty shoe on his favourite British-imported sofa smoking a cigar, and Kokonoi Hajime on the opposite couch calm and collected.

There is also a girl crawling on all fours with a hot pink leash on her neck, tighter than a dog's collar.

Her skin glimmers under the dim lighting 一 with hints of blood that he could still recognise across her arms, but mostly with sweat. Her lips are pale, wobbly, and tears are pouring out of her sockets. Hurt and fear evident in her eyes.

She is you.

The dress that he got you 一 handpicked for you delicately 一 all ripped and torn and it barely clings onto your body anymore like it did all the time. You look like you're about to pass out anytime soon.

Haitani Rindou is filled with rage.

"Ah, Haitani! Just the man that I was looking for. Come, have a seat." The man invites with a huge menacing grin on his face, as he puts out the cigar on his expensive sofa.

It's my fucking office, you motherfucker.

Mario Ricci 一 he thinks it was, pauses counting the stacks of cash in his hands when Rindou does not move as he says. "Hmm?" He follows along his gaze which turns out to be stuck at you on the floor. His Italian accent is thick and heavy when he speaks, almost sounding like an ancient bard.

"I was passing through your halls and I saw this wonderful beauty standing right there, and I thought," he pauses, bending down slow to look at you.

"She'd be a perfect little mutt."

He tugs on the leash looped around his left hand, hard. His cologne fills up your nostrils from the distance and it is the only thing you can breathe in. More tears pool around your eyes as you cough 一 your throat is sore and the skin around it hurts. The buckle pushes hard against the side of your neck and he tugs another time.

"You wouldn't mind if I took this one home with me, yeah? You have plenty of sluts in your establishment already." There is a teasing glint in his eyes when he finally lets go, only to reach down and drag on your disheveled locks of hair.

He guides you like that 一 impatient and harsh 一 while you struggle with movement because you cannot look down at your hands, as you carefully crawl against the carpeted floor with your scalp red and painful.

You start sobbing again when he pulls away, and you lock eyes with the man that owns you, standing by the door.

There is fire in his eyes when he finally sees the picture that Mario painted for him. You're kneeling between his legs with two palms flat on the floor, catching your breath with uncontrollable drool dripping off your tongue.

Like a damn dog.

"God, she'd make a damn good slut. But I'm sure you already are during your time here, yeah, baby?" He taps on your cheek and swipes the drool away.

Your gaze is cloudy when you stare into Rindou's eyes. You're broken and battered. Your eyes no longer bright and shiny as when they used to admire him in the night, in his bed, when you'd draw your fingers along the lines and curves of his tattoos 一 they're filled with fear and you are so tired. You're shaking all around and you're so cold. You're a lot colder than what he's used to letting you feel. His fists tighten any more, deep in his pockets.

But he can still read you like an open book.

"This is a five million dollar deal." Kokonoi cuts in. "Can we be fucking serious? Just take the slut for free, Ricci. She's yours. We have more important things to talk about."

A quiet mewl escapes your throat when Mario grins, very satisfied with Kokonoi's words. You start to cry, begging, when he wraps a hand around your chin and bends down to give your cheek a wet kiss, disgustingly. You don't look away from Rindou the whole time.

Please don't give me away.

The sound of a gun clicking catches everyone's attention. You look him dead in the eye and he can hear you loud and clear.

Haitani Rindou isn't serious about a lot of things.

"Fucking let her go."

But he is serious about you.

"Or I'll put a bullet through your throat and it'll be no deal for all of us."

His own slut.

His favourite girl.

Sequel

[ashbub]

believe ✦છ

arcane: sevika x gn!reader

contents: cursing [2.5k unedited] @parkersgarage this is heavily inspired by the oneshot they wrote! check out their works <3

IN WHICH: sevika makes you believe

❝ im living on overdrive, all the time ❞

Sevika just had a way of pissing you off. 

Perhaps it was her bluntness, her casually dry sarcasm seeping onto the ends of her coiled lips every time she spoke. The way her soft gray eyes would flicker when she managed to briefly get your attention away from your hunched-up tinkering over your cluttered desk.

 Maybe it was the way her choppy dark locks softly tickled the ends of her bronzed skin that you were ever so tempted to run across with the back of your thumb during the long nights she was away, lingering with the comforting yet faint scent of cheap booze and swirls of cigar smoke.

 Or, more recently, it was the way she was bleeding all over your damn carpet.

"Sevika, what the actual fuck?-" 

You seethed out with a hiss, your bottom lip slightly curled as she roughly dropped the prosthetic metal arm on the edge of your busted-up desk with a faint clatter. Your crinkled-up eyes gingerly running over the messy collection of tangled-up wires and bent-up bolts that scattered across the wooden surface. 

You lightly pushed up the end of your thinly wired glasses up the bridge of your furrowed nose, dryly inspecting the damage with a soft click of your tongue before turning towards her harrowing presence. Her scarred bottom lip trickled with faint remnants of smeared dried blood, scattered bruises trickling across the edge of her face- her Roman nose looked slightly crooked, most likely getting it bashed in, fresh cuts adorning her rough skin as she smoothly leaned into your work desk with a jagged sigh coating her words. 

It was a bit different from her usual bar brawl look though- not the same slightly caught up with light night gambling and the sweet taste of a new win lingering on the edge of her mouth. 

She looked tired. 

"Just needs a quick fix, dollface." Sevika’s voice was rough, the smooth words sliding off her tongue like a gravelly whisper, the edge of her usual self-assurance still present despite the blood splattered on her calloused skin and the damage to her arm that was dragged on the surface of your desk. "Figured you could patch this up."

You glanced at the mess of wires and metal plating surface- The arm looked like it had been through hell and tossed over the Piltover bridge for shits & giggles—scratches and dents marred it's sleek finish, and a few of the smaller components dangled precariously from frayed connections. 

"A quick fix?" you repeated with a soft laugh lingering on your curled lips. You softly adjusted your thinly coiled glasses with a quick shove up the bridge of your nose, your eyes slightly crinkled up. "If that's all you needed, you could have done that your damn self-" 

Your dingy apartment barely had enough space to fit the mess you called a workspace. The flickering fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting an erratic, sickly yellow glow across the room. Blueprints sprawled chaotically across the floor, pinned haphazardly to the walls, or forgotten in piles atop the desk. Tools, screws, and scraps of metal littered every surface, and the acrid tang of solder and oil clung to the stale air. The window was perpetually cracked open, letting in the faint hum of Zaun’s underbelly.

You turned over to look at her from your desk, a slight tug at your bottom lip.

Instead, you lightly snatched up the battered prosthetic arm, its weight heavier than it looked. Holding it up under the soft hue of the light above you, you gingerly turned it over in your hands, inspecting the sheer extent of the damage. 

Her chapped lips pulled into something just shy of a smile, though it wasn’t quite smug— "Didn’t think my favorite little mechanic would mind getting their hands dirty," she murmured out, her voice low, with a subtle warmth that danced on the edge of teasing. It wasn’t the words, though, that got under your skin. It was the way her storm-gray eyes seemed to latch onto you as her fingertips carefully tapped the surface of your wooden desk with a slight hum.

It was the kind of teasing you heard faint whispers between the streets of The Undercity- murmurs calling you Sevika's “Pretty Little Tinkerer”

"Sevika," you bit out finally, your voice tight as your smooth fingertips ran across the surface of the arm with a soft sigh, "this isn’t a ‘quick fix.’ Half the circuits are fried, the frame is bent beyond repair, and these joints? They’re done for." You half haphazardly tossed the arm back onto the desk with a resounding thud, its impact shaking a glass jar of screws precariously close to the edge. 

Her expression didn’t waver. The faint bruises on her jaw caught the flickering light, but her eyes stayed locked on yours, calm and unhurried as though she were absorbing every inch of your irritation. There was no cockiness, just a quiet watchfulness that made your pulse flicker unevenly. 

"Relax," she said finally, her voice steady but soft in a way that only stoked the fire under your skin. "I know you’ll fix it. You always do."

You clenched your jaw with a slight click of your tongue, forcing your focus back on the scattered mess of your desk, your oiled-up fingers gingerly flexing in frustration before reaching for the tools scattered across the surface. 

"You’re impossible," you muttered with a light hiss, letting the tension in your voice bleed into the room as you sorted through the mess. The soldering iron hissed faintly as it heated up, mirroring the simmering heat in your chest.

Behind you, Sevika stayed silent, her gaze still heavy on your back. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was there—a quiet weight you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried to channel your irritation into fucking untangling the mess she’d handed you.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you tore your gaze from her, turning sharply toward the battered prosthetic arm on your desk. The clatter of tools filled the space as you hastily grabbed what you needed. Your voice was lower now, rough while smoothly turning one of the busted-up bolts quietly.

 "What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into, Sevika? Every time you come back home to me, you come back, you come back hurt." 

You adjusted your leather pants as you crouched to retrieve a roll of bandages from the corner. The thick material creaked softly with the movement, the belt cinched snugly at your waist holding an assortment of small tools and stray bolts you had yet to organize. 

“It's nothing.”

“Nothing isn't gonna scrub out the blood dripping on my carpet.”

Sevika had a way of filling the cramped space with her presence, and not just because of her size. Her towering figure seemed to soak up the weak light, making her seem even more imposing against the backdrop of your cluttered home. She leaned heavily against the edge of your desk, her metal arm a battered mess, the prosthetic sparking faintly as it collided with a pile of wrenches. Her usual attitude seemed dimmed, but her faint small smile was still there that she reserved for you was still there, tugging at her curled lips even as fresh bruises marred her skin.

"I have been dealt worse." Sevika’s gaze shifted away, the tension in her jaw easing as she turned toward your cluttered desk. Her gray eyes moved over the chaotic sprawl of blueprints pinned haphazardly to the wall, their edges curling from neglect. Some were smeared with faint fingerprints of grease, the lines of your meticulous designs almost hidden beneath layers of ink corrections and frustrated scribbles.

Her attention dropped lower, taking in the rows of jars crammed along the edge of the desk—each filled with bolts, screws, and mismatched metal scraps. The faint clinking of loose pieces echoed as her metal arm brushed against one, sending a lid rolling off onto the floor. She didn’t flinch, her focus already wandering to the tools scattered across the workbench: screwdrivers, wrenches, and soldering irons, all marked with the stains of your labor.

 "The whole situation has been growing dire, our attempts to control everything that has been brewing have been leading to chaos." 

Your wired glasses slipped down your nose as you stood, and you shoved them back into place with a grease-stained hand, leaving a faint smudge. 

"It doesn't have to be." You finally spoke.

 "What?" 

“I could be up there, with you, Sevika—helping you.” You set your wrench down with a decisive clink, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the room. Rising slightly from your chair, you pressed your palms flat against the surface of your desk, leaning forward as your tools and bolts rattled from the sudden motion. Your gaze softened, warm but resolute, as it locked onto hers.

“I know I’m not much of a fighter like you,” you continued with a slight rustle into your locks of hair for a moment, your voice steady despite the faint quaver of emotion before looking back at her with a soft laugh, “But if I could put together a few bolts—really show those topsiders—”

The words hung in the air as you held her gaze. The faint glow of the desk light highlighted the sheen of oil on the palm of your smooth hands and the subtle tension in your posture. 

Sevika’s eyes flicked down briefly to your hands, pressed firmly against the scarred wood of the desk, then back up to your face. Her expression shifted, just slightly—the smallest crease at her dark brow, a flicker of something unspoken behind her stormy gray eyes. She took a breath, her broad shoulders rising and falling, but she said nothing yet, her silence heavy in the space between you.

"And what? So you could get hurt? Get involved in the crossfire of all this shit?" Sevika’s voice cut through with a sharp laugh, though the subtle tremor in her tone betrayed something deeper. Her hand shifted to rest on the desk beside yours, her thick fingers brushing past scattered bolts and oil-stained papers as if grounding herself against the weight of her words. Her gaze bore into you, stormy gray with a soft flicker.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound raw and uneven as it slipped past your lips. "And what do you want then?" You pushed back from the desk, standing now, your movements sharp while waving your curled-up fingers through the air with a slight sigh. "For me to sit pretty down here and tinker away while others die? While there’s a big fat fucking chance you could die-?"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you turned away sharply to look at her, your soft hands gripping the edge of the desk until your knuckles stiffened. Tools roughly clattered from the sudden movement, and a lone wrench tumbled to the floor with a dull thud, but you didn’t flinch

She could die.

 Before you could stop yourself, your hand rose, trembling slightly.

Your fingertips brushed the edge of a fresh bruise on her cheek, her soothing skin warm beneath your lingering touch. The rough scrape felt raw underneath your soft graze, gingerly tracing the faded scars that still trickled across her face. Slowly, the back of your thumb quietly traced over the darkened patch of skin with a soft breath. Her face, always so sharp and proud, softened under your hand for a moment. The scar running down her cheek caught the faint yellow glow of the overhead light, stark against her bronzed complexion.

Her breath hitched, the tiniest intake of air, as her chin tilted slightly toward the warmth of your palm. For a fleeting second, her usual stoic mask faltered, replaced by a slight softness. Her long lashes, thick and dark, fluttered as she hesitated, her gray eyes flickering towards yours.

"I couldn't-" You whispered quietly, "I-I don’t know what I would do without you."

Sevika's jaw tightened, her plump lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she smoothly leaned into your quiet hand, the weight of her head pressing gently against your palm. Her fresh scars and cuts faintly press into the soothing touch of your warm fingertips.

Then, without a word, she turned her face slightly, and her pursed lips brushed softly against your palm for a brief moment. The kiss was warm and deliberate. Her chapped lips smoothly grazed your touch. Her crinkled-up eyes fluttering shut as her lips lingered across your soft skin, and you could feel her light breath ghosting over your fingertips, steady and grounding into your warmth.

 "I won't, [y/n]. Y'know that." 

"Do I?" you softly asked, your strained voice barely above a whisper, "What if you never come back to me one day, Sevy?"

Your darkened eyes traced her face quietly, lingering on every bruise and faded scar that was carved into her bronze skin. The fresh purpling on her cheekbone, the faded remnants of old battles across her jaw— The space between you warmly lingered with a faint breath.

Sevika’s dark brows furrowed, her expression hardening- Slowly, she reached out, her large, calloused hand enveloping yours. Her grip was firm, almost desperate, as her thick fingers curled tightly around yours, holding on as if you might slip away.

"Hell could try to drag me down into its fucking depths," she whispered into your fingertips as the warmth kissed your flushed skin, her soothing voice low but steady, "but nothing in Zaun—nothing—would keep me from coming back to you."

Her smooth thumb brushed against the back of your quivering hand, the roughness of her touch grounding you even as her words made your chest tighten. She quietly leaned closer to the edge of your fingers, her head dipping slightly, enough to have her choppy locks tickle your face. You could feel the heat of her skin, the tension in her clenched jaw, her gray eyes slightly flickering. 

"You have to believe that," she finally murmured, her grip on your hand firm.

"I—" The word faltered on your lips, and you looked down at your joined hands, her grip warm, grounding you in a way that both comforted and overwhelmed.

“Sevika-”

"Do you believe that [y/n]?" Sevika’s voice softened just enough to make the question linger in the space between you.

You took a shaky breath, forcing a small smile to your lips before pressing the edge of your mouth to the edge of her fingertips quietly.

 "I’ll try," you murmured quietly, your voice steadier this time.

Sevika let out a low chuckle at the remark, her warm thumb brushing over the back of your hand one last time in a smooth circle before releasing you. "Now, let’s get me cleaned up, huh? I’m pretty sure I look like shit."

"You definitely do," you quipped with a warm hum, already reaching for a clean rag that was tucked away in the wooden drawers of your desk. She raised an eyebrow at your quick response, but the ghost of a smile tugged at her chapped lips.

a/n: i just needed to write a bit for arcane holy moly- let me know if you guys wanna see more arcane stuff? i was thinking of writing for more characters so let me know in my inbox if you have a suggestion, im on a kick right now lol :')

[killergee]

Not that Bad

Hoshina x delinquent reader

Just a vice captain who's tired but also slightly charmed by the reader. A crack fic of a mischievous reader bantering with Hoshina.

Tagslist: @alwaysalilconfused

---------------------------------------------------

"Are you smoking?" A voice called out from above where you were seated on the ground.

Looking up, you saw Hoshina's head popping out of the window, his arms resting on the window sill. "No?"

"I can clearly see the cigarette in your mouth."

"Then why'd you ask, genius?" You chuckled as you pulled the bud out of your mouth to exhale. The sunlight was warm, the weather light and breezy, and the sky blue and cloudless—the perfect conditions for a cigarette and a nap. Too bad you were interrupted.

"God, do you want me to add more pages to your disciplinary folder." Hoshina heaved out a heavy sigh as he sinked into his arms, resting his head on them. With his head turned towards you, you could see him trying to stiffle a yawn. Maybe even he felt today was a lazy day. "It's already so thick."

Humming in acknowledgment, you nonetheless continued your smoke unperturbed. "Want a drag?" You asked with a small smirk.

Hoshina lets out a scoff to hide his amusement. "Put it out and give me 20 laps around this building."

"God damn," you huffed out, smothering your cigarette on the ground. "And here I was being all considerate and smoking somewhere with no people," you murmured as you got up and did a long and lazy stretch.

Hoshina smiled at your antics. "How kind of you, but you should've picked a better hiding spot."

"Duly noted."

Glancing over at him, you realized he had no intention of leaving his comfortable position on the window sill. Eyes closed and relaxed, he looked like a lazy cat basking in the sunlight.

"Aren't you gonna leaving?"

"I gotta make sure you do all 20. Now, pick up the pace." He peaked one eye open at you. "We wouldn't want to waste such a beautiful day."

---------------------------------------------------

Hoshina knew you were trouble the moment you joined his unit. As amusing as you were, he knew he wouldn't accept you if you couldn't take your job seriously. But that never ended up being a problem.

You were the grade A example of a delinquent, but never on the field. No, on the field, you listened to orders and worked flawlessly with everyone. You were a dependable, essential officer, and the force was lucky to have you.

The reason why they haven't kicked you out yet was because you were damn good at your job. The reason why they haven't promoted you? You were a terrible soldier in every other sense.

The day you lead a platoon of your own, hoshina will be rolling in his grave. He could already imagine you leading a platoon full of officers holding cigars in their mouths and firing guns aimeslessly and chaotically at the sky. The poor rookies that might fall into your care. He was shaking at the thought.

He really should try to reign in your rowdiness and train away your laziness.

"Fix your posture."

"Eh? Who are we trying to impress? The queen?"

"Can you stop slacking off?"

"Can you give me more breaks?"

"I told you to throw these damn cigarettes away."

"I did! I threw them away into my closet instead of the drawers you searched."

An impossible and laughable task, he fears.

--------------------------------------------------

"You're out past curfew." Hoshina started immediately, already waiting in the hallway as he watched you climb in through the window.

"What am I, a child?" You rebutted, but mentally you were scolding yourself for choosing the wrong window. Well, it probably didn't matter, anyways, he would've known. Stupid cameras and high-tech defense systems.

"No, you're an officer and a rookie at that. Back in my day, rookies respect-"

"Good God, 'back in my day,' don't act like you're not only a few years older. I'm also not a rookie, and you know that." You interuppted him, shutting the window.

"Then why are you still the same rank as the other rookies?"

"Hey, that's an uppermanagement issue. It's their own fault for not promoting me." You said cheekily with a smile.

Hoshina leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he looked at you with what he hoped was a scolding look. "Well, that's because you keep going off and doing things like this."

The laughter that responded made it difficult for him to keep up his dissaproving front. You leaned back against the window sill. "If there's a chance imma keel over and die on the field, then why shouldn't I live my life to the fullest?"

The truthfulness of your statement surprised him. He expected you to deflect like you always did. With how carefree and reckless you acted, he never expected you to be the type to think such heavy thoughts, let alone share them with him. It made him feel a bit somber.

"Hmmm... what were you doing?" Hoshina asked, finally letting himself give into your whims. Maybe it was because it was a long day, or maybe it was the calmness of the night. Whatever it was, he let his shoulders sag and his body relax a little. "Only midly curious."

"Went to a bar," you responded proudly as you looked overly content—downright smug— at your successful escapade.

Hoshina couldn't help but bark out a laugh in disbelief. "Should've known," he spoke almost too fondly with the shake of his head.

Grinning from ear to ear, you felt warm at his reaction. "Sorry, I lied, I was actually saving orphans from trees."

His incredulous laughter was like music to your ears. Who knew such a beautiful sound existed?

"You should've seen how hard those trees fought. I'm lucky to have made it out alive."

The way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. "Yeah, yeah, what a hero. You're under house arrest. No leaving the base past curfew or I'm gonna report you for real."

You groan overexaggeratedly at his statement, but you knew he was letting you off easy. Hell, could this even be considered a punishment when he's just asking you to follow curfew?

You wondered why. Why wasn't he making you do a billion push-ups or clean the latrines? Why wasn't he scolding you and writing you up? Why did his eyes look so soft?

You wanted to chase this high you were feeling around him.

"Finneee. But say," you spoke, feigning disinterest in his answer, "if you were to come with me, can I go out? You know, since it'd be a supervised outing and all..." You shrugged, experimenting with his new leniency. Though, with the way he was sighing exasperatedly, it seems like you will be doing some push-ups tonight.

"Maybe."

"Wait, what?" You didn't bother hiding your disbelief or your excitement. "Really?"

"Go to bed, officer," Hoshina said, turning and making his way to his own room.

"Wanna make sure I get into my bed properly?" You yelled at his retreating figure.

"Unbelievable."

[grimmweepers]

𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘: OCT 31ST

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bonten!sanzu x fem!reader | 𝐜𝐰: gunplay, gun kink, under the influence (alcohol), dubcon, semi-public, night club setting, dark jokes, reader wears a dress, light spanking (slaps your ass once), established relationship, calls you 'baby' & 'little girl', groping if you squint (from sanzu), erm something inanimate goes in your hole, can you guess what? :o) 1.8k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

AND ONE LAST TIME, READ THE WARNINGS!

The smell of cigar smoke and expensive cologne infested the room. How it traveled from the main part of the club to this secluded space was beyond you, but you couldn’t think too much about it. A heavy bass vibrated the mirrored walls, making it seem like everything around you pulsed with life, and the hum of music was still audible—but it was distant enough to reassure you there would be absolutely no lurkers nearby.

You sat on your boyfriend’s lap, legs spread wide over his suited thighs while the leather couch squeaked shyly underneath you. Smitten with stealing you away from the crowd, Sanzu’s hands rested firmly on your hips to keep you in place, but the real control was in his pistol. It glinted under the little light that the room provided and his eyes watched you intently as he traced the barrel along your throat, the cold metal biting into your skin. 

You felt the coercion behind it, inviting you like an innocent dare when in actuality it was downright rotten, and he licked his lips as he gave you a moment to reconsider.

In Bonten, it was always Sanzu who pulled the trigger so this wasn’t his first time at the rodeo—but having you at the receiving end was.

When he initially removed it from his pocket, you decided on a whim that you would act on your little fantasy, snatching the gun from his grasp and gifting it a playful kiss. But what you should have known was that everything you did, he could take even further.

“You’re not scared, are ya?” His smirk deepened when he pressed the barrel harder into your skin. “It’s loaded.”

“I’m not,” but you should have been. You blamed all the shots you threw back, the bitter taste of alcohol still melted into the buds of your tongue and it left your body burning for him instead of being afraid of the weapon in front of you. 

The corner of his scarred mouth quirked into a dark smile as he leaned closer, “Good.” He shifted the gun lower, dragging the barrel down your throat, between your breasts, until it rested against your lower abdomen. “Don’t want you dyin' in a shit mood if I accidentally fuck up…” he dramatically mimicked a small explosion with his hand, and poof was the sound he added right after so you knew he meant blowing out your guts.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as he slid his hand up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress higher. 

“Damn,” his fingers dipped between your legs, finding your panties already damp with arousal, “Why didn't you tell me you were into this sooner?”

You squirmed in his lap and felt his growing tent poking at you from underneath. “Just had to make sure you weren’t psychotic enough to shoot,” you shrugged.

“Yeah I got somethin’ to shoot in ya and it ain’t these bullets, babe,” he cackled but you dropped your weight on his lap even more to remind him he wasn’t going to “shoot” anything at all if he kept this up.

Sanzu resisted the urge to close his eyes at the feeling of your warmth pressed on his crotch. Flushed, soft and only a thin layer away from your pussy. It was too early for him to do some shit like rut into you because if it wasn't obvious to you already, it was he who had been thinking with his dick since the beginning of the night.

When his boys weren’t looking, he was all over you, pulling you to dark corners any chance he got just to grope you while he shoved his alcohol-laced tongue down your throat. As your own liquid courage came to fruition, you both ended up in this private room—and every pretty penny it cost him was entirely worth it.

Finally, Sanzu trailed the barrel lower and lower, brushing it over your panties and tickling your clit in a way that made your breath hitch. Your heart pounded in your chest and you couldn’t help but roll your hips towards it. With his eyes still locked on you, he watched closely for every reaction, finding satisfaction in every little twitch of pleasure as he dragged the gun back and forth across your clothed pussy.

“You like that, don’t ya?” he purred. 

You couldn't stop a defeated moan from slipping past your lips, “Yeah… I do.” Your voice was trembling, hardly above a whisper and there was no denying that you were getting wetter by the minute.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” he hissed, each word dripping with amusement. Sanzu shifted again, this time sliding the barrel underneath your panties, pressing it directly against your aching core.

“Oh—” was all you could say as your body jerked towards the blissful pressure. The contrast of its icy touch rubbing against your heat had you shuddering.

Your reaction made him involuntarily buck into you, clearly even more turned on by how desperate you were. So he guided the gun down your slit, the barrel grazing your entrance with slow strokes that left your stomach fluttering with anticipation. Sanzu was now rock hard, precum threatening to seep through his slacks as he watched you try to get off on his weapon.

“Dirty, little girl,” you heard the mockery in his voice and felt his free hand fall on your waist, controlling your movements as you rubbed yourself against the cool metal.

“Please…” You whimpered as your body went taut.

Sanzu chuckled, pressing the barrel harder against your entrance, slipping just the tip of it inside you. You cried out his name at the foreign sensation, “More, more, more…!” while you locked his thighs between your legs.

It was nothing compared to the girth of his cock but better that than nothing, right?

“Fuck yeah,” he groaned, brain almost short-circuiting at how lewd you were, “You want this gun in your pussy?”

Nodding, you carefully rocked your hips towards him and that was all he needed to start thrusting it. Slowly, like he was testing the waters.

You bit your bottom lip as it stretched you out, “Mhm! Feels… so fucking good—” which earned you an encouraging, “Uh huh? Is that right?” from your boyfriend. With the music blaring in the background, you both weren’t afraid to be loud so you didn't suppress the moans and mewls that slipped in tandem each time he urged you on.

But the thing with alcohol was that everything felt ten times better, ten times delicious, ten times tantalising, so you didn’t have the patience to take it slow—you were desperate to feel it pumping inside you even though it made you tremble on top of him.

You picked up your pace like you needed that thing and when you placed your hand on his shoulders to balance yourself, the look he flashed you was nothing shy of crazy—teeth glistening under the low light and jaw slacking as if seeing you like this was better than any drug he’d ever taken.

He allowed himself to look down to see where the pistol and your pussy connected, again and again, faster and harder, and—

“Fuckkkkk,” was all he could quietly say as another bead of precum stained the inside of his briefs.

“Come on, baby,” his hand snaked to your ass, giving it a hard spank as you chased your release. He couldn’t get enough of seeing you so feral, “Cum for me. Cum on it.”

If you weren’t so dumbstruck from his gun, you would have felt his cock twitching with you, wishing it was him you were bouncing on instead. He growled, “Fuck it, baby. Fuck it like it’s me.”

The combination of his words, his voice, his hands, and getting taken by a literal gun, had you whining uncontrollably. Each time you slid against the cold steel, it rattled and touched your sweet spot. You were dangerously close—and the worst part of it was that it wasn’t the threat of getting shot that you were close to, but the fact that you were close to cumming all over that very weapon.

You writhed above him, and he could've busted in his pants just from the friction of you. You didn't want to stop. Actually, you couldn't stop. Each time you rocked your hips, it took a breath out of you—out of him. And inevitably your orgasm tore through you as if it were the first time you felt an orgasm at all.

“Ah fuck!!!!" The coil in you finally snapped. "I’m— cummi—” You gasped and clung to him while it consumed you.

Your body convulsed as the rest of your panties became fully soaked with your essence and Sanzu moved his gun faster just to draw out the last of your shockwaves. Your walls clenched and squeezed until you went limp against him—pleasure quickly replaced with sensitivity.

Soon, Sanzu pulled the gun from between your legs, and with a wicked smirk on his face, he held it between you, showing the barrel slick with your juices like it was some prize.

At first, you were too dazed and out of breath to notice what he was trying to do, but his mouth parted slightly when you did.

“Kiss it,” he muttered, giving the weapon a subtle shake in his hand. Never the type to let you off the hook so easily, he brought it close to your lips and waited.

Yet, with a gleam in your eye that matched his own, you slowly leaned in and brushed your lips against the metal. The taste of your own cunt sent another rush through you, and you heard his sharp intake of breath at the sight.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re so damn sexy,” he said as you tipped the pistol into your mouth, softly moaning and sucking on the barrel as if it were an extension of him. Biting his lips, he groaned at your filthy little act and judging from that signature unhinged grin he was giving you, you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back any longer. 

When Sanzu pulled the gun from your mouth, he fought tooth and nail not to tear the dress off of you, after all, you had to wear something on the way home. So he tossed his weapon to the side, wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, and crashed his lips onto yours like a starved animal. 

He started to fiddle with his belt buckle while he muffled grunts and curses into your mouth, the bulge under his trousers painfully prominent. Something stirred within him and you could feel his breathing intensifying as you kissed back with equal fervor.

Between gasps of air, it almost sounded like he was begging when he impatiently unzipped his pants and said, “Ride me.”

“After all that, you can’t even say it nicely?” You returned that smirk he’d been wearing all night.

“Please, baby.”

As you lifted the hem of your dress to your waist, a secret smile formed the corner of your mouth. You missed the feeling of something actually stretching you out, so after seeing your boyfriend free his throbbing cock from its restraints, the way it glistened with precum and twitched excitedly—you knew the fun was only just beginning. 

a/n: made it through my first kinktober! if you’ve read any of my ktober posts, thank you! if this is your first, thank you and i hope you enjoyed! i’ve had this in my drafts since the 3rd of september, it killed me to wait this long!

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform