#Eyes Speak More Love Than the Mouth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 5 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 CHECKED THE RACK ?!

☆ sum. bóob obsessed jjk men who just can keep their hands off of you, their sweet sweet wife. toji, choso, gojo, geto, nanami.

warnings 𝜗𝜚 . fem! reader, wife reader, feral handsy men, bóob fondling, unprotected, cowgirl, dry humping, praise, dirty talk, lactátion fantasizes, brief face-fucking, bréeding mentions, implied multiple rounds, overstim, petnames.

☆ SATORU GOJO.

“god, really missed my girls,” satoru huffs, sucking in a single sharp breath as he buries his face right between your breasts.

you gasp, feeling him lick a single long stripe down the sloping valley of your chest before he roves his tongue to teasingly lap near your perked nipple. he takes a single whiff, and he’s enticed. satoru was always a clingy man. you had his cock stilled inside of your cunt the entire time you laid back against the cushioned mattress. despite it being so early in the morning, he couldn’t help but want more, want you.

pristine white tresses of hair rub up against your chest as he nuzzles further into you. “mhm, seems like they missed me too, mwah,” he kisses your left breast, feeling you cutely writhe. satoru’s still reclined back against the king-sized bed before he shoots you a sleazy grin. “tell me somethin’,” he whispers, and his hands suddenly grab onto your unsteady hips. you moan—feeling him start to leisurely rock you quicker into him. the bulbous curve of his shaft makes your legs merely collapse inward. “you touched yourself today, sweets? while i was work, hm?”

“n- no,” a soft whisper sprints out of your lips as you watch his hands tenderly guide your hips back and forth. you’re drenching his cock with your sweet syrupy sap, clamping down mercilessly within each sloppy thrust. so good, you bit down at the bottom of your lip before your tits start to bounce again. satoru glances straight toward them and he almost moans himself. the way they slap back against your chest. pap pap pap, he feels himself get harder the more he stares at your loud tits hitting against you, his cock sporadically and shamelessly twitching inside of you.

“no?” he repeats, and he noticed how your eyes dart away for a split second as you speak in a hushed voice. as his fat shaft continues to deeply barrel inside of your puffed cunt, he hums, cupping one of your springy soft breasts. “ ‘course ya did, you sent me those soapy pics of you in the bath on my break,” shit. you completely forgot, and you now start to whine as you’re just bouncing on his cock. your head fills up with nothing but clouded empty thoughts—not a single thought in your mind but the longing anticipation of satoru pumping you full of yet another thick load.

ruthlessly, the skin of your own starts to smack back onto your chest over and over as you thoroughly dig the centers of your knees into his thighs. “silly girl,” the white haired man playfully taps against your forehead, giving it a soft dumbing knock. ‘m making that my wallpaper by the way. fuckin’ sexy.”

as you’re whimpering the same repeated cacophonies of his name, you gasp, feeling his palm softly swat against your tits. “fuck, satoru!” you clench down on your jaw and your hips continue to sway. it was a tender delicate spank against your breasts, but he grunts once he feels your pussy squeeze against him the second he does it. you liked it. your body, he knew it—he knew every part of it, and he found it cute how you always responded to his lewd antics. “hngh, ‘m not gonna last, ‘s still sensitive, ‘toru.”

“you’re a kinky ‘lil thing, huh,” he lips curve into sly simper once he hears your cute hiss. you’re growing dumber and dumber the more your ass pounds against him and the brief sting makes him groan. his fat thick base sits right underneath you and you feel how full it is, so swollen. your mouth starts to salivate at the realization of just how deep he’s inside—merrily massaging your gummy clingy walls. satoru loved more than anything to give you a good filling after a long day of work. it was his treat to you, and he couldn’t resist when you were just so sweet. “ooh. like that?” he purrs, and you moan once he then gives your nipples a squeeze with two stubby fingers. fuck, your legs were shaking and he felt it—your body was a ticking time bomb. “yeah, yeah you do. pussy’s a sloppy dead giveaway, angel.”

“sato—ugh,” you moan, and he goes back to sucking on your tits. even whilst buried between your chest, he’s so pretty. satoru’s got the biggest cheekiest grin plastered on his lips as he’s got nothing but your boobs in his mouth. you’re still riding him but once his tongue slurps against your sensitive nipple - it’s over. your brain short circuits and your hands grab onto his hair hard. he’s drooling all down your chest and yet he doesn’t care about being messy. his tongue traces everywhere down your skin until he’s just tenderly sucking at any spot his lips can reach. “fuck, fuck, m- more please.”

“my wife’s got such a pretty body,” he groans, his lips ‘popping’ loudly once he removes your boob from his lips. glossy strands tear away from the slim cracks of his mouth before he rubs a thumb over your throbbing nipple. “y’know what though,” and his voice lowers. you gulp, still having his dick idle inside of your sopping cunt before he leans up close to your ear, pressing a hand down on your tummy. “you’d be an even prettier mommy. think ‘m ready ‘ta see that tummy round ‘n plump again, sweets.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURUO

“ah, ah babygirl. hold still, need ‘ta give the twins some extra lovin’ too,” a raspy voice whispers against the back of your ear.

you moan, slumping back against your husband’s chest. he still had his work clothes on and he’s just came back from home. it’s late evening, dusk preparing to set and yet—the first thing he made sure to do was to touch his pretty wife everywhere.

his bare scarred hands softly grab against both of your breasts, making them playfully bounce in his palms. “no bra too? such a good girl.”

“t- toji,” you whimper, almost forgetting that his cock was still buried deep inside of you. hes not even moving, you’re not even moving and yet you feel his thick heavy cock plummet through your goopy insides. he’s always been a clingy man, you knew that, and if it wasn’t your ass toji fushiguro was utterly obsessed with, it was your tits.

you were wearing nothing but a silky ivory colored nightgown. he peeped at how your perky nipples would rub and poke out against the showy soft fabric and he hums in sly amusement.

your hips were slow, painfully slow.

you were barely moving, but his cock was very much keeping your gummy insides occupied. his touch was fiery hot and you collapse back against his chest before feeling his lips kiss down your neck. “fuck, i still have to m- make dinner.”

“no need, hon,” he huskily snickers, and you let off another moan once he gives both of your breasts a firm squeeze. he’s obsessed, the rotund prints of his thumbs couldn’t resist to swipe and swerve all across your sensitive nipples just to feel you squirm and writhe on his cock.

oh, you could never stay still and it was his favorite thing about you. you cutely shiver from his touch, leaning into his grasp before hearing your own cunt squelch.

it’s screaming out a pretty sloshing ‘pop’ sound that echoes through the thin peeling dry walls and a wry smile compresses against toji’s lips. “already got my dinner right fuckin’ here,” and you moan once one of his hands creep down toward the curvature of your ass, giving it a soft spank. “ah, never said you could stop ridin’ me, pretty mama. work those hips more f’me. chop chop.”

“ngh, toji i’m gonna cu— oh!” you shriek, and as your jerking hips start to pick up again, slamming meaner and quicker against his lap, you gush right out. you end up cumming far earlier than you anticipated, all thanks to his rude blushing tip repeatedly kissing and mashing up against your most sweetest spots. you’ve never felt more dumb. you’re at a lost for words, stupidly dumbfounded. you’re moaning out inaudible whimpers as you hear your slick mess slosh down right between your pried open thighs. toji grunts, feeling your honeyed mess spray and cream all down his twitching lengthy shaft. his cock’s still plugged into your greedy pussy as your legs now grow limp. toji’s got his hands glued back on your tits and he playfully gives them a few bounces. “f- fuck.”

“did ya just cum from me playin’ with yer tits, baby?” he coos, a wolffish grin spreading against his lips.

so hot, your legs continue to spasm before squeezing shut, keeping his dick inside. you could barely even swallow without moaning out little whimpers of his name as your tongue’s just casually lolled out of your mouth.

“aw,” he tsks, giving your nipples that poke through your blouse a kittenish pinch. you’re weakly grinding against his lap whilst he’s whispering sweet nothings to you from behind. you’ve never felt more sensitive—and ripples surge all through your body as you ride out your orgasm, hearing toji’s breath get more rasp against the shell of your ear. “there there babygirl, ‘s okay. relax,” he whispers in a gruff tone as one of his hands slide down your body. you twitch from his callused fingers slithering down your chest. “such a messy cutie, should play with y’er tits more often if ya get like this, heh.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO.

“thought about you today at work,” nanami purrs, a husky baritone smoothing underneath his tone. your drooling wet pussy was so so closed to milking him yet again, and he’s just in awe at how you ride him good—bouncing on his fat cock with droopy half-open eyes. he’s exhausted, he’s been up and about his feet all day everyday, same old same old nine to five job but he was missing you. and now that he had you, he was clingy. nanami kento was clingy, so clingy to the point where you had to pry his hands off. he’s got you riding him in his creaking wooden rocking chair whilst he’s got a flustered grin curling against his slick glossed lips. “thought about you ‘n these pretty girls too.”

right as he said that though, he’s got two big hands squeezing against your tits, cupping them each in such a delicate manner. you gasp, continuing to rock back and forth against his halfway pulled down silk slacks before you moan. “fuck, ‘ken,” and his touch was so tender. his fingertips trace everywhere—every crevice and corner of your body. you still had your bra clasped on and he can’t help but openly gawk.

your wobbly hips continue to swivel all around him as your ass rigorously throws itself on his lap, smack smack smacking away. it feels sharp, your unpredictable movements that were once in sync with his grew more and more unsteady and it makes the aging rocking chair behave more and more rickety. it’s pathetically crying from the pounds of hefty weight crushing against it. “mhm,” you mewl through gritted teeth and your hands softly grab onto his wide wrists. a thumb of yours ghosts against the band of his rolex and he shoots you a needy grin. “kento, you never answered my question.”

“hm? oh,” there’s a playful glint in his eye, and you moan again once his head goes right between your springy tits. he’s showering every exposed area with a multitude of wet chaste kisses, making sure your skin knows who’s making it feel good - him. “oh, my day was fine sweetheart,” and a drawing hot breath gets stuck in the back of your throat, feeling his sly tongue slowly and playfully lap down the valley of your breasts. “mhm, so fine,” and his voice drops lower and lower. your hips start to slow down with seconds and he’s just toying with you. nanami’s hands now slither further down to toward your quavery hips. “my day’s even better now that i’m spendin’ it with my pretty wifey.”

and you let off a sweetened three second moan once he starts to latch his glistening lips against your swollen neglected nipples. shaggy blond strands of hair tickle against the upper part of your chest as he starts to suck, closing his eyes and allowing his mind to roam. “ah, i remember when milk used to come from here, my love,” he grunts, shifting between each tit — he’s tender, making sure to take his time whilst his hardened cock’s still hidden inside of your puffy cunt. nanami’s cupping each hand over your breasts before his gentle fawn eyes meet yours. the tip of his tongue swirls around your achy nipple before he groans right into your chest. “thinkin’ about that makes me wanna put another baby in you, sweetheart. f- fuck, all swollen ‘n plump. you’d like that?”

“y- yes,” you moan, and your hips start to frantically pick up again. the angered plump crownhead of nanami’s cock extends through each pivotal thrust and you feel it. the curving hook of his cock repeatedly thrashes up inside of you and you’ve never felt more full. he’s just so deep, you bite back a moan or two before your breathing starts to catch up with you. he’s tapping against a spongy texture and it makes your thighs squeeze together in sudden rapture. “want another baby, please. give me another..another baby,” your words start to chop as your hips become sloppy. your pussy’s got his entire cock slobbering down from the veiny sides with your sap and he grunts at the sloshing slickness.

“give you?” nanami softly rasps, and he raises a blond eyebrow at your needy demand. “oh, baby. that’s not how we ask. c’mon, be a big girl ‘n ask me the right way, sweet thing,” and he grazes a thumb over your pouting lip, kissing it gingerly. “talk to me nice, my love.”

as his cock roughly punctuates inside of you within each exaggerated thrust, you toss your arms over him, whimpering loudly. “please, please can i have another baby, ‘ken. breed me, make me full. want it so bad, want you.” and he leans in to kiss you. it’s passionate, his lips dance against yours whilst his tongue slides into your mouth, demanding access. you moan, feeling his solid weight continue to anchor into yours. slamming, he’s got your hips working to the bone and it makes him groan. nanami’s hand go back toward your tits and he gives them a nice good feel, smiling against your lips once he feels the full doughy mounds bounce and jolt in his hand.

“better be a g-good girl ‘n take it then,” he huffs, stammering over his own words. nanami leans in, going back to sucking against your tits. they slap and move move all against his face due to your rocky hips and a faint grin tugs on both sides of his lips. your hips grind further into him at full speed—full throttle and you moan once one of his hands gives your ass a squeeze which turns into a quick spank. “mhm, that’s it. ride me, honey. milk me, got so much ‘ta give you,” and your skin melts into him the faster you move. skin against skin and it smacks rough, ricocheting against both pounds of flesh and you whimper at the brief twinges of pleasure. each smack against flesh makes your ears ring and it’s only seconds before he’s cumming.

it’s a lot, a thick load of velvety ropes that deeply pours into your aching cunt. it’s so much to where it’s unapologetically dribbling down your thighs in creamy stringy clumps. it can’t fit inside of your cunt—he groans at the realization, cupping your right tit before going back to sucking against it whilst staring you straight in the eyes. “fuck, i- i need a minute,” and he’s gradually feeling his body succumb to defeat as his burly muscles tense underneath his business attire. with your tit still popped in his mouth, nanami shoots you a wry pussy drunk smile before lathering his tongue around your tender nipple. after a few seconds, he takes it out of his mouth before falling back. his and clench underneath his business shirt and he playfully smacks your ass, another hand dramatically fanning himself. “whew.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

“a- are you sure?” choso mumbles with a pout, and he’s panting heavily at the sight that’s right before him. you’re on your knees for him whilst your two hands cup under both of your tits. doing so—you show off your pretty nails he paid for about a week ago. you make direct eye contact with his leaking cock. his tip was a pearly pink, swollen with tears of pre-cum spewing from the sides. he’s got a hand wrapped around his length before he exhales. “i just—put it in between..?”

“mhm,” you softly coo, occasionally glancing at the black curly specks of hair that glue near his base. his happy trail, you stare at it for a while, watching his chiseled abs achingly flex before you puff out your bottom lip. “c’mon, baby. nice ‘n slow. ‘s okay. just pretend you’re fuckin’ me.”

an elongated breath gets caught in his throat at your lewd words. just pretend he’s fucking you. choso’s sable dark pupils dilate as he gives his throbbing cock a few single pumps. he’s slow, a thumb of his swipes against a pulsating vein that’s prodding on his skin before he slowly positions his dick between your plump tits. “f- fuck,” he murmurs, watching as two of your hands squeeze your breasts together. so soft, he watches you with cute widened eyes as his achy cock rests in between both of your mounds. choso’s so hard too, it’s almost painful at how much he’s throbbing but it feels too good to shy away. “baby, can you use your mouth too?”

“yeah, ‘cho,” you hum sweetly, and he hears the tease in your tone. it was probably a dumb question and he already felt a hot wave of embarrassment spray over his body. his breath continues to hitch as he sees you—gradually starting to bounce your breasts up and down with his twitching shaft caught between the slick valley. your dewy glossed eyes never leave his, and every few seconds you’d grab his shaft, using a hand to pull it up to your lips for a quick suck. choso whimpers, desperately craving for more. he’s never did such an activity like this before. a boob job, apparently humans call it that. he’s not a stranger when it comes to intimacy but this, he could get used to having his cock between your pretty tender tits. “mhm,” you purse your lips, briefly wrapping them around his sweltering hot tip. he’s close, you could tell he wasn’t gonna last long and the bouncing of his thigh gave it away.

“ugh, w- when you use your tongue, i—” he cuts off, a keen gasp ripping out from his vocal chords. you drag his leaky pulsating tip to smear around your nipples before popping it right back into your mouth. choso takes a mental image of this entire scenario, storing it in the back of his mind. but he just couldn’t take it anymore. “fuck it.”

you let off a sheepish giggle before it’s your turn to gasp once choso’s hand suddenly grabs the back of your head. you look up at him and he moans, pushing your head all the way down until his tip greets against the roof of your mouth. the edges of your nails pierce into his thighs as you’re now being face fucked, ruthlessly.

your head bobbles up and down continuously as your tits bounce in sync and you’re slobbering all down his cock. lustrous cobwebs of saliva start to string away from your lips and it’s so pretty. he’s trying to luxuriate in the feeling of your warm mouth keeping his cock warm.

so so good, he’s rolling his eyes in pleasure but that’s when you then feel his dick twitch inside your mouth and on your flat tongue once he spots you starting to drool. oh, and that was all it took for him to grow weak. glimmering sheeny strands of saliva cascade past your lips and further down the crack of your chest. it brings a brighter shine to your breasts and he’s never felt more turned on. “fuck, y- you’re so fuckin’ hot, baby,” he babbles, black arched brows contorting together in awe. choso’s tugging at your roots - pulling hard. you’re getting his entire dick wet with the help of your mouth—slurping inch after inch until his mushroom tip’s continuously kissing against the back of your throat. “ohfuckohfuckohfuck.”

as he’s blabbering out the same repeated cries, your eyes briefly widen once he’s shooting gooey ribbons of cum right into your mouth. the bittersweet taste never fails to make you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. choso’s dick resumes to weakly pump down your throat as his milky hot cum sprays on the center of your pink tongue. twirling your tongue around his tip whilst your hands still play with your pretty breasts, you meet his gaze once he’s shaking—releasing his rough grip against the back of your head. “shit, was i too mean? ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry baby-”

and his voice slowly trails off once you pull his cock out of your mouth, hearing the loud ‘pop’ sound from your lips before you lick the side of your mouth. “i’m okay, ‘cho,” you coo, feeling yourself throb a bit at choso being rough for a change—it was just the image of him shoving you down his cock, watching you play with your tits, gripping hard on your strands all while whining. “you liked that, baby?”

“a lot, actually,” he grows sheepish. but even after the fact, choso can’t help but smear his achy tip against your swollen lips, before softly smacking it against it against your rolled out tongue. you looked a mess - his mess. strands of saliva land on his tip once he brings it toward your lips, watching you give it s quick kiss. but as he glances at your twitching cum-glossed lips, he desperately to kiss you and snatch a taste for himself but he knew he had to wait. choso starts to pant, wrapping all five fingers around his veiny length before stuffing it back between your tits. “one more,” and he lets off a soft moan once you spit on his cock, slimy transclucent drool glissading down the valley of your chest and onto his rosy tip. “you’re so n- nasty, heh. do that again, princess.”

☆ SUGURU GETO

“stay still,” he whispers, and you glance down at geto who’s resting his chin right between your breasts.

they’re all bare and exposed, his favorite view. he’s missed you all day and he couldn’t wait to pounce on his pretty wife. “my, look at these. jus’ waiting for me,” and he cups both of them, giving them bother tender kisses. fat silky covers go over the both of you and just seconds ago, geto was pounding into you raw until your pussy was literally overflowing with velvety ropes of cum. “untouched, i presume?”

“y- yes, sugu,” you breathe, feeling a bit tender from his delicate touch. he grunts, shifting a bit under the plump covers. his cock rests flat against the dull grey sheets before he starts to rut against your leg. a hand of yours finds its way to run through his strands, digging near his tender scalp. “didn’t touch myself all day. waited for you.”

a small hum leaves from him before he brings his crooked lips up toward your right breast. groaning, geto leand in to suck against it—he’s feral, sloppy rutting hips slowly grind against your thigh that’s propped up underneath him as his tongue flicks up and around your nipple. “ah, sugu,” your eyes squeeze shut for a moment as your fingers intertwine with his thin raven locks. his eyes were closed and he was so into it, his tongue circles around your nipple before he slurps—popping sounds shrieking out from his slim reddened lips. “fuck, don’t stop. . please,” and your words only made him grunt more. he didn’t even realize he was humping all up against your leg but he didn’t care.

this place—buried right between your tits, absolute heaven to him. .

he’s so sloppy too, he’s got strands of slippery saliva dripping past his perfect parted lips as he’s snaking his head down the crack of your chest. “oops,” he whispers, dark hooded eyes observing the mess he’s creating. your breasts were all swollen, the centers of your mounds were so shiny all because of his saliva. your nipples were poorly tender and glistening with drool. “sorry, sweetie. couldn’t help myself. had ‘ta get a taste of my favorite girls,” and his words get a bit muffled once he stuffs his face back in between your tits. you giggle but it quickly turns into a sultry long moan once he starts to greedily suck against the other neglected breast. “mhm,” and he groans loudly, the tip of his cock brushing up against your thigh. geto’s wearing sweats but even still, you could feel it. his dick rubbing off against the grey fabric, ticking all against your leg. he’s brick hard and with your tits stuffed in his mouth, it only made him ten times worse.

“fuh— fuck,” he snarls, and his half on boxers continue to snag against your skin. geto’s brows come together before he ends up cumming - it’s so abrupt, his eyes roll back and you can almost hear a whimper leave from his throat. “goddamn,” he huffs, and as his chest heaves in and out, he stares up at you with the most feral expression. his mouth’s open and no words come out anymore for a while—just breathy hot pants and faint whimpers. geto couldn’t have felt anymore embarrassed. damp grey splotches soak and create a patch near the center of his boxers as his hips grow substantially weak. geto’s shuddering, and you pull him close as his head’s buried between your tits. “you drive me c- crazy, y’know,” he moans, and he’s still feeling the sharp after effects. his cock was now soft and flaccid, bulging inside of his cerulean blue boxers that hide underneath his sweats before he pouts on your chest. “got me h- humpin’ your leg ‘n moaning for you, fuck.”

“it’s okay, suguru,” you whisper, silvery fingers still kneading through his hair. his face softens at your reassurance. his eyes meet toward your lips before you give his forehead a kiss. “good boy.”

“s- shut up,” he scoffs, both sides of his cheeks angrily flushing the second those two horrid words slither out of your lips. the audacity, geto’s still laid on top of you as if he’s practically glued against your body. he’s so hot against your skin that both pounds of flesh practically melt against each other. but, geto can’t help but pout more against your chest as he looks up at you, his pride’s nowhere to be found as he’s now happily nuzzling his face into your tits. “say it again, sweetheart,” and he sounds annoyed but he’s actually pleading for more—not only did you make him insanely sensitive but you also made suguru geto whimper. “tch. call me that again. see what happens. f- fuck.”

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miihho · 1 month ago

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Can you please write the salesman next for the kind of guy?🙏🏻🙏🏻

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) nsfw

The Salesman

— HES THE KIND OF GUY who never expected to fall in love—his life was far too consumed by duties and endless responsibilities. Love wasn’t even a consideration, not until you appeared like a sudden burst of color in his monochrome world. At first, it was your skill that caught his attention, the way you effortlessly bested him in ddakji, round after round, slap after slap. Frustrated but undeniably impressed, he handed you a card, feigning indifference. But as you walked away, something unfamiliar stirred within him—a quiet ache, a sense of loss he couldn’t quite place.

He tried to push it aside, burying himself in his work, recruiting others, and maintaining the facade of control. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. Then, one day, he saw you again, sitting at your usual spot. You hadn’t joined the game, and strangely, he felt a wave of relief he couldn’t explain. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you, asking for just one more match. The words came out almost on their own, a fragile excuse to see you again, to hear your voice, or maybe just to keep you close for a little longer.

— He’s the kind of guy who’s spent years trapped in a monotonous cycle—lonely, unfulfilled, and carrying the weight of a life that feels directionless. Every day bleeds into the next, nothing to look forward to, nothing to hold onto. But then, somehow, he acquires you. You, with your rare kindness, your quiet care, and the sweetness that seems to radiate from your every action.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done to him, how you’ve unknowingly become the one bright spot in his otherwise dull world. He starts catching himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening without his permission. It’s the way you move, the way you speak, the way you bring life into spaces that once felt empty.

And then there are those moments—when you laugh, or when you smile at something simple—that makes his chest tighten in ways he didn’t think were possible anymore. He smiles back without realizing it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that feels foreign but good. You don’t just make his days better; you make him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth living for. (He's in love)

—He’s the kind of guy who would boldly approach you, his intentions clear but unspoken. He’d ask to get to know you better, his flirting subtle at first—smiles that linger a little too long, looks that make your heart race without explanation. At first, you might be taken aback, unsure of his advances, but when he offers you something you can’t refuse, like money, your resistance crumbles. You agreed, but something in the way he looks at you makes you forget about the deal. Slowly, you start enjoying your time together more than you care to admit.

—He’s also the kind of guy who wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, not for a second. If anyone dared to claim you as theirs, especially some trash asking you out, he’d make sure they paid. He’d go to any lengths to protect what’s his, with no hesitation, no mercy. If it came to it, he wouldn’t think twice about making them disappear, just so they’d know—he was the first one, and that meant something.

But it’s not just about possessiveness. He watches over you, guards you in ways you’ll never fully see, keeping a close eye without you ever knowing. He’s always there, even when you don’t realize it—protecting you from this world that’s full of danger, keeping the darkness at bay as best as he can. It’s his silent promise to you, even if you never ask for it. He doesn’t want to see you hurt, not ever.

— He's the kind of guy who would soil his hands with blood, not hesitating for a second, if it meant protecting you from anything that threatens your peace.

— He’s the kind of guy who will make you fall for him as deeply as he’s fallen for you. He adores your smaller build against his, the way your petite hands fit perfectly when cuffed by his larger ones—it drives him wild. The contrast, the way you seem so delicate in his grasp, makes him want to claim you entirely, to make you his in every way.

But he’s not the kind of man to stop at mere affection. No, he’s the type who thrives on control. He’ll manipulate you carefully, subtly, until the thought of leaving him feels impossible—terrifying even. He wants you to need him, crave him, think of him endlessly. He’s meticulous in the way he weaves himself into your thoughts, ensuring you wake up and fall asleep with only him in mind.

And when he flirts with you, watching as your cheeks turn that irresistible shade of red, your voice faltering under his gaze—it’s everything to him. You turn into a hot, blushing mess, and he loves it. It fuels his obsession, makes him fall even harder for you, because to him, you’re the epitome of perfection. Cute, vulnerable, and entirely his.

—He’s the kind of guy who takes his time with you, the tension between you building like a carefully orchestrated symphony. When the moment feels just right—your faces close, the air thick with anticipation—he starts leaning in, his eyes locked on yours, ready to steal a kiss.

But then it hits you, the realization of what’s happening, and your face flushes a deep red. You turn away in a rush, looking anywhere but at him, your heart racing like crazy. He pauses, letting the moment linger, before chuckling softly. That low, amused laugh of his sends a shiver down your spine, and when you finally sneak a glance at him, he’s grinning.

“Cute,” he murmurs, his tone playful but laced with something deeper. Yeah, he loves teasing you—loves watching you squirm and stutter, loves the way your reactions only make you more endearing to him. And he’ll do it all over again, just to see that flustered look on your face that he can’t get enough of.

—He’s also the kind of guy who knows exactly how to manipulate you, slow and calculated, planting seeds of dependence and trust without you fully realizing it. He knows your vulnerabilities, your habits, and where to find you when you’re at your lowest.

So, when he spots you crying at your usual secluded spot, alone and trembling, he makes his move. Sitting beside you, his presence feels warm, comforting—like he’s the only safe harbor in a storm. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, his voice soft and soothing as he whispers, “There, there, it’ll be alright. I’m here.”

As you cry into his chest, he murmurs gentle reassurances, “It’s alright, baby. Cry it all out.” His hand strokes your back, his touch deliberate and grounding, and he smiles. Not the kind of smile you can see—this one is hidden, smug, satisfied. His plan is working perfectly, and you’re falling deeper into his web. And oh, how he loves it—watching you lean into him, needing him, trusting him like he’s your savior. That’s exactly where he wants you.

— He’s the kind of guy who thrives on control, especially in moments of intimacy. The kind who, with practiced ease, unclips your bra with just one hand, never breaking the intensity of your kiss. And when he pulls back, his lips hovering just above yours, he’ll smirk and whisper in that low, teasing voice, “I’m not done with you yet.”

When you bury your face into his neck, trying to stifle your moans out of shyness, he doesn’t miss a beat. The scent of his cologne and aftershave lingers, intoxicating you further, as he lets out a deep chuckle, amused at your attempt to hide.

And when he’s got you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy, he makes sure you’re not holding back. He loves to hear you scream, loves the way his name falls from your lips like a prayer. Even when a phone call interrupts, he doesn’t stop. Oh no, he sees it as a challenge, a chance to tease you further. He’ll move slower, deeper, just to hear your breath hitch as you struggle to keep your composure.

If you try to stay professional, biting your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape, he’ll smirk, his pace relentless. “Go on,” he’ll purr, his voice dripping with mischief. “Try to keep quiet, baby. Let’s see how long you last.” And with that, he’ll have you unraveling, barely able to focus, completely at his mercy.

— He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just tease you with words—he lets his actions speak louder. Even in public, fully clothed, he’ll find a way to make you lose your composure. He steps in close, his large hands resting on your waist, pulling you just enough that his hips press against yours.

That’s when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, pressing firmly into you. His voice drops, low and dripping with desire, as he leans into your ear and whispers, “Feel that, baby? That’s what you do to me. You’ve got me all worked up, and I don't think I can wait any much longer."

The heat of his breath against your ear sends a shiver through you, and his bulge pressing into you makes it impossible to think straight. His grip tightens slightly, and the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he loves driving you wild, even when you’re supposed to be keeping things composed.

— He's the kind of guy who leaves his mark on you, a silent declaration that you're his and his alone

— He's the kind of guy who would pin you against the wall, bite your lip, and pull your hair—taking control in a way that leaves you breathles.

—He’s the kind of guy who’ll leave you completely undone, your body trembling as you take every inch of his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks while you beg for mercy. But he doesn’t stop—he thrives on the way you break beneath him, his voice dripping with a wicked mix of praise and degradation.

“You're being such an obedient little cum slut,” his hand tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Taking me so well like a fucking whore, like you were made for my cock. My perfect little bitch.” he said, his tone low and velvety, sending shivers down your spine as he continued to fuck his cock in and out of you. Your walls clenching hard around his massive cock as he fills you up with his fat load, still pounding into your hole not letting even a single drop of his release go to waste. (He has a breeding kink)

And if that's not enough. His thick, veiny cock would plunge relentlessly into your dripping folds, the sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh filling the air. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, his heavy balls smacking against your ass as he ravages your insides with unbridled lust while you're in a mating press. He is determined to make you the mother of his child, so he will pound your fertile womb over and over again until it's full of his cum. If his cum is seeping out of your pussy, he would pump it back with his fingers inside while he also plays with your swollen clit making you overstimulated as you beg him to stop. (he just fucking loves you crying and begging for him and only him. )

— Hes the kind of guy who craves more than just conception; he yearns to enslave your senses, to make your body crave the feeling of being utterly filled by him. He wants ypu to beg for his cock, to plead for the intense pleasure-pain of being stuffed to overflowing, regardless of your reproductive cycle.

The very thought of you, round and ripe with his seed, brings him unparalleled satisfaction. He delights in the idea of your addiction to his cum, to the exquisite bliss of having your cunt packed to capacity with his thick, hot essence. For him, there is no greater joy than knowing you're forever changed, forever his, your body and soul irreversibly marked by his possession.

#x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #gong yoo #gong yoo x reader #salesman x reader #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #the salesman x reader #squid game #female reader

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 7 months ago

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Simon Riley is a sucker for eye contact. Being as his eyes are the only part of his face that he allows to be visible to others, eye contact is incredibly important to him.

But with you, he reads you best when he can see your eyes. He loves to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling.

Having an argument with him? You best bet he’s holding your gaze, regardless of what you’re arguing about. If you look away? This man will simply not speak, not utter a single word until you look back at him.

He’ll hold your gaze the entire time he’s fucking you. He’ll force you to keep your eyes open as he pounds into you, wanting to see every bit of pleasure played out in them.

Going down on you? You better hold his gaze. He’ll rip his mouth away so fast and refuse to continue if you let your eyes flutter closed. One of his favorite things in the universe is watching your eyes as come undone.

Going down on him? This man’s fist will be so tightly wound in your hair, pulling your head back ever so slightly so he can see your tear filled eyes, so pretty just for him.

One of his favorite things is when he comes home from deployment, the two of you have a ritual where you will lay in bed together, facing one another as you catch each other up on what you’ve missed. He’ll hold your gaze the entire time, his hand lacing through your hair softly as he hangs onto every word you say.

Simon Riley may not be a man of many words, but with you he’s learned that eyes are windows to the soul. And he’s more than happy to bare his to you.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley

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unintentionalseductress · 6 months ago

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Telling The LADS Men to Ditch The Condom

Them reacting to you saying you want them to fuck you raw. Warnings : MDNI, sex, oral, handjob, and general smut These banners are mine, please do not reuse them.

Zayne, as a doctor, preached safe sex. He appreciates the responsibility and nothing is more attractive to him than a woman who is aware of her birth control options and doesn’t mind communicating openly with him about these decisions. After all, having sex was such an intimate act for him that he wouldn’t even think about it until you’d been dating for at least a month. He likes the exclusivity and the closeness of sex, and that includes being held accountable for the choices both of you made in the bedroom. So when you tell him to lose the condom, he blinks, making sure he hasn’t misheard you.

“You…want to do it without a condom?”

His head is between your thighs, kissing and nibbling the soft flesh as he edges his way towards the moist and sensitive folds, and he raises up on his elbows to ensure his ears aren’t being obstructed by your legs.

You nod slowly, blushing as his dark eyes fixated on yours, the flecks of amber in them lightening at the idea. His pupils dilate at your affirmation, and he hoists himself up a little higher, resting on your belly, gently stroking your flanks. “You’re sure about this? There’s no pressure you know.”

“I know. But I feel like we’ve been together long enough to allow ourselves to go one step further. And I’m on the pill. We can monitor the situation later if you want to but honestly Zayne, I think any step I take with you isn’t going to be something I regret.” You say the words candidly, reaching down to stroke his black, silky, locks of hair, heart skipping a beat as he plays with the squish of your belly, nuzzling his face into the softness. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

His eyes flutter closed for a second, the ebony eyelashes resting like fans on his cheekbones before he sighs, the little puff of air sending a shiver across your middle. He crawls up towards your face, capturing your mouth in a tender kiss, tongue sliding across the slit of your lips before entering inside. You cup his face and deepen the kiss, heat gathering in your body. Zayne pulls away only to come to your ear, hot breath tickling you as he speaks.

“I don’t think I’ll regret this either.” He licks the shell of your ear, making you twitch. “But remember, if you change your mind, I’ll stop. No questions asked.”

His words are so sincere and spoken with love, adding fuel to the fire. Zayne, patient and considerate, is looking at you with those sharp eyes as if you’re his last meal on earth. He kisses his way down, pausing briefly to shower some attention over your perked nipples, giving them soft licks and kisses that make you mewl and whine with need. Once he’s back at his original spot between your legs, your arousal has increased a hundredfold, your sex soft and swollen, leaking fluid as he parts your folds.

His tongue darts out, tasting you, licking slow lines from cunt to clit, before slurping the swollen pearl into his mouth, suctioning it with his lips. His middle finger flirts with your entrance, teasing it until it starts sucking in his fingertip, drawing a moan from you as he strokes it along your upper wall.

Zayne knew his anatomy and he never wasted a second in touching you exactly in the spot that made you feel like you were turning into a pile of goo. Never in a hurry, always taking his time, coaxing orgasms from you like a hobby, the breath tearing from your throat, your core spasming from the pleasurable waves that radiate throughout your body. Zayne nudges you through the final vestiges of your orgasm before stroking himself, readying his hardened cock.

He’s done this before but what gets to him as he aligns his tip with your hot entrance is how heightened the sensation is, the absence of latex allowing him to profoundly feel every muscle contract and fully experience how wet and welcoming your body truly was. He grits his teeth, his balls throbbing, desire surging through his veins, almost snapping his self-control.

He inches in slowly, splitting you apart, marveling at how you stretch to fit him, the little noises that leave your throat music to his ears. Once fully sheathed, he looks at you, hair tousled and splayed across the pillow, a flush across your face. He thrusts with care, drawing a moan of longing from you and softly rolls his hips, adjusting himself at an angle he knew you liked.

Every movement brushed his mushroomhead against your gspot, soft sighs filling the air, his lips descending onto yours, his thumb working your clit, gradually bringing up your pleasure to another peak.

“You feel so good darling,” he pants, his thrusts becoming steadily faster, his willpower fading away to primal need. “Taking me so well,” he whispers, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss.

Your body is reeling from the stimulation and with Zayne’s gentle ministrations on your clit you cum with a cry, his hips stuttering as he feels the orgasmic spasms of your core around his cock. He tries to hold on, but it’s too much, his head growing sensitive as your second orgasm sucks him in deeper into your warmth, his balls tightening up and the coil in his belly compressed to a limit until it snaps, and with a grunt, he spills himself into your body.

Afterwards, he holds you tenderly, gently easing out, and cleaning up your messy slit with a warm washcloth, playing with your hair until the both of you fall asleep.

This is a man who’s been taught condoms are the best way to avoid complications. It’s a golden rule that he will not have unprotected sex for both health reasons and to avoid making the person he’s with uncomfortable. You don’t have condoms? He’s running to the pharmacy to get some. He takes these things seriously and understands that it’s simply gentlemanly to be the one to buy condoms. Xavier wants to feel like he can be relied on in situations like this and that you should never feel awkward asking him to make a condom run or any kind of run.

He’s reaching for the box to roll one onto himself when you hold his wrist. Curiously, he looks at you, a sight to behold, a heavenly sight laying on his bed, lips plump and swollen from his kisses, body glistening with sweat from your recent orgasm.

“Ditch the condom Xav,” you murmur, tracing his arm with your fingers, causing goosebumps to bloom on his skin, his usually slow heartbeat picking up a few paces.

“Are you sure angel?” He lays down gathering you in his arms, his erection tickling your belly as he breathes in the perfume of your hair.

“Positive.” You stroke his cheek reassuringly, feeling like you could drown in the depths of his blue eyes, unable to control the little giggle that leaves your throat as he blushes at your confirmation.

“Xavier.” You grasp his chin, forcing him to look at you. “I’ve never been more sure. I know I can trust you, rely on you. And right now, I can’t think of anything I want more than to feel you inside me, no barriers.”

He’s shy, his smile so awkward and his face so pink. This was new to him, and the fact that you’re asking so sweetly is pulling at his heartstrings. After hesitating for another moment he places the condom back on the nightstand.

“All right angel. Since you're sure. But tell me if you feel uncomfortable at all ok?” Xavier rubs his thumbs over your cheekbones in circles, a sweet and tender gesture, carefully laying over you, his chest coming into contact with yours as he tips your face up for a kiss, his hands slipping under you and clasping your shoulder blades to bring your body as close to his as he could.

While his tongue explored your mouth, he raises slightly on his knees and effortlessly finds your moist entrance with his tip savoring each tiny inch that envelopes his cock with aching warmth. He's unable to control the sigh that escapes his lips, lost in your mouth as he feels the wet muscles contract around him, pulling him in. The feeling is inexplicable, the intimacy of skin on skin making him feel heady and light, heart racing in his chest.

His brilliant blue eyes begin to darken at the edges, turning into a darker shade of midnight as he bottoms out, little noises of contentment resounding in your throat as you feel the hot velvet column of his cock fill you, feel the way it pulses as he occupies your pussy.

“Xav… You feel amazing,” you gasp as you pull away from his mouth, his hips coming to lay flush against yours as he thrusts into you, stroking your inner walls and teasing all the right spots inside you. He's hot and flushed, watching your face as it contorts in pleasure, his blush settling across his cheeks and nose like adorable pink freckles. You smile hazily as him and his head dips down to suckle as nipple, his tongue caressing the little bud, turning your moans into sighs of longing.

When his thumb starts to circle your clit you almost cry out from the pleasure of it all, every sensitive spot being hit at the same time with aching perfection. His breath mingles with yours, sweat forming on both your bodies as you rock against each other, creating delicious friction, matching the other rhythm for rhythm, strike against long stroke.

The edges of your vision blur as your climax grows nearer and Xavier’s jaw grows tight, a moan escaping his lips as he tries to hang on, determined not to climaxes before you. His thumb picks up its pace and with a shaky gasp, your orgasm hits, the sweetness of it making you sob as it grips you, feeling your core spasm, and with a final push of triumph, he allows himself to succumb to his own desires, cock twitching and spasming along with your pussy as he cums, coating your walls with his seed.

Tired, he collapses on top of you as gracefully as he can, your hands and soothingly rubbing over his back, kissing his hair, murmuring praise to him as he floats down from his high.

“Angel…you're so wonderful. The best.” his head is on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as he tries to grasp into reality. You can't help but laugh lightly. Xavier always gets pussy drunk and now without the condom it appeared to accelerate to an entirely fucked out state.

His eyes gleam like sapphires as his breathing returns to normal. “Well how am I supposed to be the guy making the condom run now after knowing what it feels like without one?”

You roll your eyes affectionately at him and flick his forehead.

Rafayel isn't unfamiliar with sex and intimate relationships but he doesn't often engage in them. He's quite shy and doesn't tell you what he's thinking. With patience and a little experimentation, Rafayel slowly came out of his shell and learned to feel comfortable enough with you to express his desires and wants. However, he's nervous about how you'll react to him admitting he's been wondering how it would be without a condom so he clams up.

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are half lidded, whining as he rests between your legs, his back against your chest as you pump his erection with aching perfection.

“Feeling good baby?” You coo at him as he writhes under yourself ministrations at your mercy.

“Yeah… So close… Don't stop… “ he pants, hips desperately thrusting up to meet your strokes, feeling his thigh muscles quiver and his abs growing tighter with each passing second.

“Talk to me Raffy… how good am I making you feel?”

“So good…” His eyes, a lovely shade of lavender gray are starting to turn into smoke as his impending climax builds and rises. His cheeks are flushed and there's sweat on his forehead and chest from the exertion, the gentle crescendo of pleasure building to a steady peak.

He gazes up at you in a haze, those adorably plump lips parted as he gasps for air.

“You're so pretty when you pout you know?” you ask teasingly and as predicted his brow furrows, displeased at your amusement.

“Don't… say things like… that!” the color in his cheeks rises and your own control slips slightly as you lean down to give an admonishing nibble on his lower lip. The extra stimulation is enough to push him over the edge and with a groan he pulses, his cock warm and needy in your palm, spilling his cum into your hand.

Your clean hand plays with his pretty hair as you continue to pump him with care ensuring he rides out every drop of his orgasm, a few more more spurts of viscous fluid leaking from his tip before stopping.

Rafayel relaxes on your lap as you reach over to grab a tissue and wipe off your hand. His eyes linger on your messy hand, sticky with his arousal and he feels his cock twitch despite having just cum.

“I wonder what it would look like slipping out of your pussy instead of your hand,” he says in a quiet pondering voice that has you pausing, a wicked grin forming on your face.

“Raffy… Did you just say you wanted to fuck me without a condom?” You emphasize the word ‘fuck’ on purpose because of how flustered he gets when he hears it and sure enough, he pouts, a noise of embarrassment escaping his lips, rolling onto his side to hide his face.

You quickly discard the used tissue and lay down to face him, pulling his struggling hands away from his face which looks like a setting sun now, adorably flushed, eyes bright and averted.

“Raffy tell me what you want.” You reassuringly pull closer to him, nuzzling his warm neck.

His cheek rests on the top of your head and with a sigh he admits with a hint of bashfulness, “I fantasize about it sometimes. But we don't have to,” he adds quickly.

Your laughter is muffled by his neck as you lean back to look at him. “I think we've been together long enough to discuss doing it raw.” You look at him imploringly.

“Cmon baby. We can ditch the condom today. I kinda want to know what it feels like too.”

His smokey lavender roam over your face, still carrying hints of hesitation in them. “You're sure? You're not just doing this because I want to right?”

“Oh Raffy. There's never been a day where you've made me feel forced to do anything. I'm very sure.” You cup his face between both your hands and gaze at him lovingly.

He laughs awkwardly, smiling shyly and you feel his erection press against your thigh as the both of you draw in for a kiss, Rafayel pulls your knee over his hip, stroking your moist folds with his cock. You whine in pleasure as he holds his cockhead up to your clit and you slide along his length, both of you sighing passionately at the intimate touch. His engorged tip cups the base of your clit so perfectly and you feel your core clench in anticipation.

Rafayel drags his length between your folds one more time before sliding down to your needy hole, groaning as your wet heat circles his tip. You push down on him, feeling the heat of his member, enjoying the way he fills you so wonderfully, his head sitting snug against your gspot.

The thrusts were shallow in this position but it allows you to snuggle into his chest, look deeply into his eyes and kiss him at leisure, each stroke hitting that sweet spot inside you with aching precision. He toys with your clit , pinching and rolling it for your pleasure.

He's amazed at how good you feel, how tight you are around his length, how wet you really are. The condom almost dulled this sensation and it feels like he's woken from a dream and experiencing reality for the first time.

Your orgasm hits sharply, making you cry out and cling to him the combined fondling of your clit and gspot too much for handle. As it starts to settle down you moan in his ear.

“Baby… Give it to me. I want to know what your cum slipping out of my pussy feels like too. Please… Cum for me… Like how I came for you…”

Your voice is whiny and pleading and Rafayel's hips stutter as he reaches his peak, letting out noises of his pleasure into your ear as he cums, and you feel his hot seed fill your eager pussy. As the both of you catch your breath, kissing each other in the afterglow, everything feels right.

Rafayel's erection softens and as it happens you feel the unmistakable feeling of your combined cum sliding out of your pussy, pooling at the crevice of your thigh.

“That's so hot,” you murmur and from Rafayel's expression he's thinking the same thing. He gathers a little bit of your mixed fluids on his finger, fascinatedly tasting it, his eyes intoxicated at the flavor.

“See what happens when you tell me what you want?” you strokes his arm. He nods then gets close to your ear.

“I don't think I want to use a condom ever again.”

Sylus is that guy who loves going in raw but only if he's sure you're into him. And despite the talk of him being the ruthless leader of Onychinus, he's a true gentleman and would never bring the topic of having unprotected sex unless you initiate it. He prides himself on being someone you look to for security amidst the chaos in the N109 zone.

His fingers are knuckle deep into your pussy, wet squelching noises filling the air as his long fingers expertly tease that bundle of nerves inside you while his thumb rubs circles on your clit drawing out a moan of longing from you, your walls clenching around his thick fingers.

“That's it good girl… Give it to me,” his deep voice rumbles in approval as you writhe desperately on his fingers feeling your body tense in anticipation at what was to come.

His lips hover over your collarbone nibbling leisurely and you roll your hips, moaning as your climax washes over you, pussy spasming from the gratification.

He licks his fingers clean, savoring the tang of your arousal before pulling you in for a deep kiss, pulling you snugly against his chest, and pressing kisses to your hair. You taste the musky flavor of your orgasm, transferred from his tongue to yours.

Your hands are already busy with his cock, tickling his thighs and cupping his balls drawing a chuckle from him.

“Easy kitten. We have all night.” His tongue slips between your lips again and gives you a sloppy kiss, a noise of delight leaving you as you stroke the hot velvet of his cock.

“Sylus?” you stroke him in a steady rhythm that has him humming, the noise sounding like a cat purring, his abs contracting in response to your touch.

“Yes doll?” he licks and nibbles down the side of your neck making you shiver. His crimson eyes fixate on you as you hesitate to speak.

“What is it? You know I'll do anything for you right?” He grasps your chin firmly and makes eye contact, feeling flattered when you blush, your nipples perked from your recent orgasm, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, looking divine.

“I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“Um… How would you feel if… we didn't… Useprotection?” the last few words are said in a rush, and your cheeks grow hot as you make your request. It's not normal for you to feel so shy, after all Sylus was incredibly open to experimentation and exploring kinks with you. But there was something so personal about asking this of him, letting a part of him sit within you so intimately and the vulnerability made you feel exposed.

Sylus rises a contemplative eyebrow, his lips curling into an indulgent smile as he sees how flustered you're getting.

“The kitten has gotten bold,” he says approvingly. “You wish to have all of me? Feel my cock in all it's exposed glory inside your wet little cunt?”

The crudeness of his words sends a rush of arousal straight into your already dripping core. Heat fills your cheeks and you slap his shoulder.

“Don't say it like that!”

“isn't it the truth though?” Sylus rolls you on top of him as he lays back against the pillows, enjoying the view of your soft body. “Don't you want to feel every inch of my veiny cock fill you, rub your sensitive walls and fuck you senseless? All the while your tight little pussy keeps getting wetter for me and you can't do anything except helplessly moan and let me stuff you with my seed?”

His ruby eyes glitter sinfully as he watches you squirm under his gaze. How cute. His fingers idly stroke your sides, your hands full of his cock but momentarily frozen from his teasing.

“Don't feel like you have to stop on account of me sweetie,” he prompts, then can't stop himself from laughing as you hasten to continue with your strokes. “You fluster so easily.”

“Anyone would if spoken to that way!”

“Oh no sweetie. I doubt anyone else would have such an adorable reaction. Why can't you just admit that you want me in you, no barriers, just raw and primal like animals?”

Your nails scratch over his abs, feeling them quiver. “If you don't want to just say so.”

“Don't be that way.” His red eyes narrow, hands tightening around your waist. “You know I want to.” His large hands cup your breasts and squeeze.

“Then why do you keep laughing like it's funny?” you whine as he twists your nipples, and grind his upper thigh.

Sylus's eyes soften slightly before he leans up to kiss a nipple and pull it softly with his lips. “Mhm… Sy…” your nails scratch his scalp as you cradle his head.

He lets go and blows a puff of air over the hardened peak, causing it to perk up more before circling it with his thumb. “I adore you doll. It’s not that I find it funny. I'm very flattered that you want me that way. But if I let my desire for you consume me, you may find yourself pushed to a limit.”

He traces a finger from between your breasts down to your navel. “You may find me… being rough. More than you're used to. Because kitten…” he leans up with you balanced on his body and with a soft tickle of hot breath on your ear that has you jerking slightly in surprise, he says in a feral whisper, “the thought of burying myself in your cunt with no condom on, feeling how you clench and get turned on for me makes me want to eat you alive.”

Blood rushes to your face and Sylus watches with satisfaction. He caresses your cheek. “Ride me kitten.”

His eyes darken as you glance at him under lowered lashes. You crawl over his body on your hands and knees hovering your slick core over his hard length. He sucks in a breath as you lower your hips, teasingly brushing his tip against your wet hole, the sensation of so inviting it takes all his willpower not to slam into you mercilessly. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he was on top, wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking. Putting you in control was the wise choice here.

“Fuck kitten,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips. “You feel so good. So wet for me.”

Sylus's cock stretches you deliciously as you take him in, feeling his veins and heat pulsate achingly inside you. You whine as you fit him in, you whine each time because he's just so big, and it takes a while to adjust and take him. It never fails to make him smirk but today he's watching intently wondering how he's supposed to last with your pussy gripping him like a glove and enveloping him with your needy heat.

When you finally bottom out, both of you take a collective breath and feeling so full, feeling how he fits inside you. Resting your palms on his chest you start to move, lifting your body up feeling him stroke your inner walls and start to ride him.

You start slow, setting a pace that has him groaning, holding your hips so tightly it hurt but you continue, angling your body until you feel his engorged head brush your gspot. His teeth are gritted as he slips a finger between your legs and finds your hardened clit, stroking it to match your movements.

The texture of his cock has you moaning, his gentle movements on your clit pushing you closer to him edge. Sylus lets out a hiss of air, trying not to disturb your pace but his will is being ripped to shreds.

You were so warm. So tight and wet. And claiming you without a condom in his opinion only solidified further that you were his. Marked, claimed, and rightfully his in the most biblical sense.

Your pace picks up as you ride him, needing more friction pathetic noises leaving your throat as you chase your orgasm. Your thighs quiver and burn from the effort but you're so close that you push through the pain, gasping as Sylus firmly presses into the little bud.

“You're so cute like this, struggling on my cock. Let go for me sweetie… Make a mess all over me.”

His words are a sinful request mingling with the sounds of slapping skin and lewd noises of need. With a loud breath of desire, you cum all over him, eyes squeezing shut at the pleasurable spasms that rock your body.

It's too much for Sylus to handle, and taking advantage of your momentary lack of movements, he thrusts upwards into you, fucking you through your orgasm desperate to cum with you.

The absence of the condom aids him and with a loud bark he feels his balls tightening and his orgasm hits him like a train, holding you tightly as pleasure flows through him, his seed filling into your needy pussy.

Fuck he was addicted. He rolls you onto the bed and holds you close to him.

“You're going to be the death of me kitten.”

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webism · 5 months ago

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pornstar!nanami who has a signature style to his videos—all of which are solo content consisting of him, manspreading in front of the camera in an awfully expensive suit. as his hands trace the muscles of his thighs, the seams of his trousers, the outline of his hardened cock.

pornstar!nanami who always takes his time getting to the good stuff, his voice silken as he speaks to those watching him. praise falls from his lips, which are always just out of view—the man doesn't dare show his face. something about professionalism and all.

pornstar!nanami whose videos usually end with him cumming into his closed fist, or into a toy if he's feeling so inclined. as a long time viewer of him, you've come to learn a few things about how he orgasms—he always bucks his hips up, chasing that instinct to breed. he always moans like he's in heat just before his climax, but because he's not great with breathing through his orgasms he chokes up just as he falls over the edge—it's a pretty sound.

pornstar!nanami who sometimes gets messy with it—he's such an organised and ritualistic man in his day-to-day that he sometimes just wants to let loose. sometimes, he'll only pull his cock out of his pants through the fly, and let the world watch as his precum dribbles all over those pressed pants of his. oh and does he go feral knowing that he's dirtying something so expensive with the receipts of his lust. who will stroke himself to completion just to watch his cum stain the fabric he's worked so hard to afford—there's no explaining that away to a drycleaner.

pornstar!nanami who likes to imagine it's a pretty thing riding his thigh that wrecks his trousers. wonders how many of his viewers touch themselves to his videos, hoping the could take him for all he's worth as well.

pornstar!nanami who, after a particularly messy session one day, gets an email after uploading his video. it's not even been ten minutes, which was the length of his video, so he assumes whoever has emailed him came particularly fast to that one.

pornstar!nanami who was more than right in his assumption. because as his eyes rake over the email sent by an adoring fan, he sees about a million different typos that indicate nothing other than messy fingers and a fucked-dumb typist. in your barely legible email, you explain that Mr. Nanamis videos are tagged 'near-you', and you'd happily offer your services as the next sex toy he uses to fuck-and-film in exchange for an orgasm or three.

and oh is pornstar!nanami intrigued. because his life is a busy one, he's a businessman when the sun is up time is precious and human connection is a scheduling conflict—his videos aren't solo out of preference, poor nanami, the pornstar, is a virgin.

pornstar!nanami who, after a few weeks of back and forth and some genuine conversation, ends up with his camera flashing red as you sit naked on his lap. and oh are you happy with the sight of him, blonde and sculpted to perfection underneath those lovely suits of his. Your ass is on display to anyone watching, upper half out of shot as your teeth clash with his.

pornstar!nanami who can't help the sounds he makes when you grind against his clothed cock. your slick, your pooling lust, it smears over the fabric of his pants and leaves a gloss behind in turn. he's ravenous, holding onto your hips and grinding you down against him in all the right ways. who moans into your mouth, already a little pussydrunk and he's barely had a taste of you.

pornstar!nanami who hopes he isn't unseemly in the way he manhandles you to sit properly on his lap. he knows you're as desperate as he is, what with the way you slip your hands down to undo his belt and pull his cock free. your fingers wrapped around his length is enough of a narcotic to cum on the spot, though he steadies his reeling mind and holds out.

pornstar!nanami who offers to fuck you on his fingers first, to use his tongue to warm you up and get you ready for his, frankly overbearing, size. but you're insistent, eager, and lowering yourself onto his aching cock with a kiss to his lips and a sharp inhale shared between you.

pornstar!nanami who thanks whatever god may be out there for letting him film a glimpse of heaven.

pornstar!nanami who can barely keep himself together as you ride him like he's the toy at hand. he's sure he's never been this vocal for his viewers, moaning alone is a feat that is hot at best and hauntingly awkward at worst—this, though—he's never been so mindless. and you love it. all the videos you've watched where his voice is smooth and confident and he's the picture of put-together. having such a man, a gentleman like nanami, absolutely melting with each clench of your dripping pussy around his length? it's an aphrodisiac in itself.

and when you catch onto the fact that pornstar!nanami is about to cum—the bucking of his hips, those drawling moans, the hitch of his breath—you kiss him stupid, and then speak against his pretty swollen lips. 'breathe'

and oh does pornstar!nanami breathe. a desperate droning moan escapes his breath, right into your mouth as he empties himself inside of you like he's trying to give you his last name.

pornstar!nanami who can't help himself. flipping you over and onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as he continues to fuck into you. he's going to pull as many orgasms out of you as he can—it doesn't even register in his mind that, due to the new angle of your bodies, he's just let the world see his face, and the pretty pussy drunk blush that paints it pink.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami smut #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #kento nanami x you #jjk nanami

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slvttyplum · 15 days ago

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being roomies with a guy wasn’t what you had in mind, but what could you do when he was the only one offering the deal you wanted?

a bright smile on his face as he folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the marble counter, his eyes trailing your body.

“of course i can do that for you; don’t worry about paying a deposit; i got you.”

and with that, you were eight months deep into rooming with suguru, only catching each other for a couple of minutes every other day.

“what’s up? you hungry?” his hair tied in a messy bun with his shirt off and his pajama pants hanging low.

ugh… put some clothes on.

offering you dinner every time you came into the kitchen, his eyes dropping to your ass when you passed through to get to the pantry.

he didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t stop looking at you every time he got the chance; you were his type to a T.

suguru thought that was all it was ever going to be, just looking at you and exchanging a few words before you left the apartment or went into your room.

until he heard something, something he was never meant to hear.

when you did your “activities,” you made sure to be respectful; sometimes it even felt weird to do it when someone else was in the house, but you had needs. keeping it quiet, not risking a peep slipping through.

this time you got a little bit too carried away, but you just couldn’t stop. one hand working in between your thighs, your fingers pumping in and out of you at a good steady rhythm, while the other rubbed over your body, and suguru was there to hear it all.

suguru slowly walked to your bedroom door, leaning against the wall by it with his arms folded, red smeared all over his face as his heart raced, the sound pounding in his ears.

the walls were thin, the only downside of this place, but suguru found himself smiling at the fact he could hear you.

trying to imagine what position you were in, if you were using your fingers or a toy, the lewd faces you were doing, if you were building a sweat at this point, questions flying through his head.

he felt like a creep listening in just a few feet away, which he totally was, but your voice was keeping him there.

suguru loves your voice; it sent tingles down his spine every time you would speak, even if it was just a single "no, thank you." when asking you if you wanted dinner.

it was so soothing, so soothing, in fact, that he would purposely prolong the small talk just to hear your voice bounce off the walls of the apartment, his mouth salivating while he listened to you.

keep going, please.

your moans weren’t loud, but they could be heard; they were very distinct, but he could still make out your sweet voice, and that turned him on more than it should have.

unfolding his arms and grabbing for your door handle, if he had to listen to your moans for another minute, he was going to combust; he was going to go fucking insane.

sliding his hand off the handle and putting a knuckle to the door, calling your name as he knocked lightly, loud enough for you to hear.

“… i cooked; did you want anything?”

his eyes slowly looking over to the kitchen that was lightly lit, closing his eyes trying to come up with another excuse, while you quickly scattered, licking your fingers and throwing on the shorts beside your bed.

fast walking to your door and opening it, a bright smile on your face, trying to act normal.

"im fine, suguru; i already ate." your eyes sliding from his beautiful face to his body, once again shirtless with pajama pants hanging low, showing his v-line, but something else caught your eye.

suguru mirrored you, sliding his eyes over your figure and your disheveled look, feeling his dick growing more, his cheeks flushing as he slowly puts his hand over his bulge, making eye contact with you.

a lump was caught in his throat, his chest rising and falling so fast like he just came back from a run.

he needed you, or he was going to go fucking insane.

"do you want to fuck?"

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lilium-dragomir · 1 year ago

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#Manga #Shounen ai #Me wa Kuchi Hodo ni Koi to Iu #Eyes Speak More Love Than the Mouth #Shuuhei Fujino #Soutarou Tsukada #hagi

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partiallysame · 9 days ago

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Ghost Gets No Bitches pt. 3

Word Count: 2300

Content warnings: smut, Sub!simon, unprotected sex, P in V, this got a lil freak nasty

(ahhhh this is my first smut im big nervous)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5

Simon followed you up the stairs to your apartment, palms sweating, pants tight. The second the lock clicked and the door swung open you grabbed Simon by the belt pulling him inside, immediately leaning up against the now closed door he had to put his hands out to stop from crashing into you. Caged between his arms you tugged his shirt bringing his lips to yours. Your hands began to roam all over his defined chest while one of his gripped your hip pulling you into him. “Couch” you mumbled between kisses, barely pulling away enough to speak the word. Feet fumbling, both refusing to separate enough to look where you were going. Once the back of his calves touched the couch you pushed his chest forcing him down onto the couch, taking a moment to look at the way his pupils were dilated, chest heaving and arms reaching to bring you back to him. Lifting one leg on either side of his lap, you straddled him, lips finding their way to his neck. Leaving a wet trail of bites and kisses on his neck you began to tug at the hem of his shirt, prompting him to take it off. The moan that left your lips at his exposed torso made his grip on your thighs tighten. Simon had never been ogled like this. You were looking at him like he was a full course meal that you were going to eat and lick the plate clean. Your lips found his again, body beginning to grind onto his. His large hands pulled your dress up enough to expose your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh helping you grind onto him. The friction of his jeans on your clothed crotch had you letting little mewls in his ear. His hands began to tug a little more at your dress until you pulled away from him.

“Use your words.” Your lips were puffy and the way you were looking at him, Simon didn’t think any coherent thoughts could come out.

“Off.” You cocked your head to the side slightly, not moving to follow his request.

“What was that?” Your voice dripping with innocence but he knew it was anything but.

“Take this off.” You just raised your eyebrows at him. “Fuck take this off, please.” The last word came out more of a breath than an actual sound.

“Good boy.” You pulled the dress over your head exposing the matching lingerie set you had been wearing. Fuck you were wearing this all night? Simon took a deep breath, groaning at the sight in front of him. You started to remove yourself from him but his hands slid from your thighs to your hips keeping you in place. “Just taking this to the bed, thats all.” you reassured him.

“Tell me where, love?” His grip tightened as he stood with you still attached to him, legs wrapping around his thick torso. This time his lips found your neck trailing their way across the vein there until he found a spot that made your breathing pick up. As he neared your room, your hand found its way into his hair. A hard tug at the roots of his blonde hair pulled his mouth from you and the whimper that he let out was a noise he didn’t know he could make. You moved his head to the side to give space to bite down on his neck, sucking and leaving a deep purple mark. Fuck his legs were gonna give out if you kept doing that. He walked the two of you further in until he could set you down on the bed. Leaning back onto your hands, you looked at him with hooded eyes. Simon never thought he’d get into heaven but here he was, staring at your almost naked body, sitting waiting patiently for him. “Off” your foot trailed up his thigh before putting the smallest amount of pressure on the outline of his cock over his jeans.

“Yes Ma’am.” The words left his lips before he knew what he was saying but the phrase went straight to your core. His pants fell to the floor and you licked your lips, staring shamelessly at his fucking huge cock pressed against his stomach.

“You know Simon,” You slid from the bed to drop to your knees in front of him, “You’ve been so good today. Do you think you deserve a reward?” Hands sliding up and down his thick thighs, feeling the way they would tighten and flex under your touch. He started to nod but stopped himself. Words Simon.

“Yes Please.” Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t remember the last time he used the word ‘please’ but here he was whimpering it for the second time. His breath was shaking as you got closer to him. Simon’s cock twitched, your breath fanned over it, but you hadn’t touched him yet. Lowering yourself so your face was centimeters away from the base of his cock, teasing him with your warm breath, lips so close to doing what he needed you to. His hands were in fists, trying so hard to keep composed, to let you tease him, to not put his hand onto your head and pull you closer. Looking up and locking eyes with him, your tongue traced a long line from the base of his cock to the tip, eliciting a long moan from him. Hands gripping the base, adjusting the angle, you took him into your mouth fully, without warning. You hummed, tasting the salty precum, the vibrations making his legs shake. His hand found its way to your hair so gently, scared to make the wrong move. Your mouth worked up and down his length, tongue pressing into the prominent vein on the underside of his cock and swirling around the tip. It only took a few seconds for his grip on your hair to tighten. He felt like a fucking teenager, about to cum this fast.

“wait not yet” He tried to pull himself from you but you pulled the back of his thighs, cock hitting the back of your throat, you swallowed around him and he was a goner. A broken moan left him as he shot his load down your throat. Slowly removing him from your mouth, you stood up and pulled him down into a kiss, making him taste himself from your lips. You spun the two of you, hands pressing onto his chest pushing him down onto the bed.

“I’m not done with you yet, Lieutenant.” His cock twitched hearing you use his rank. Pressing into his chest until he laid flat, your legs wrapping around to straddle him again. Your hand found his jaw, gripping and moving his head slightly so your lips could brush against his ear, “the first one was your reward. But you’re going to beg for the next one.” Lowering your hips enough, Simon could feel your soaked panties slide across his already hard cock. His hands tried to slide their way up your thighs, but you gripped his wrists, pressing them above his head. “No touching without permission, Lieutenant.” He nodded and kept his hands above his head, gripping the pillow when you let go of him. You pressed your lips onto his and Simon tried to lean into you as much as possible, loving the feeling of your control over him. He let out a disappointed whine when you pulled your body from his, clothed pussy no longer dragging against his cock. A wet trail of kisses were left from his neck down to his chest, tongue swirling over his nipple, his hips bucked up involuntarily at the sensation. Your hand found his jaw again, grip tighter than the last time, “Behave.”

“M’sorry fuck please.” His accent thick as he began to whine.

“Please what Simon?” You started the trail of kisses again, moving down his stomach getting so close to his cock again.

“Please can I touch you?” His knuckles had turned white from the death grip he had on the pillow. Your lips were now hovering over the tip of his cock, teasingly you blew air over his slit and his hands shot down to you. Before they could reach you, you made a “tsk” noise and his hands found the sheets next to his thighs. You hadn’t given him permission yet. Fuck he can do this, he can be good for you.

“Good boy.” You smirked as you moved further from his cock, nails dragging lightly up and down his muscular thighs, watching as this giant man twitched under you. Removing yourself from the bed just long enough to slide your panties down your thighs, Simon couldn’t look anywhere but at your glistening core. Straddling him again, you leaned back against his thighs, giving him the perfect view of your body and your dripping pussy.

“Please let me touch you, please.” His hands lifted slightly trying so hard to behave for you.

“No.” He wanted to let out a groan but the sound stopped in his throat when he watched you trail your own hand down your stomach and further down until your fingers spread your folds open, coating themselves in your slick. “Open.” It was an order and Simon oh so happily obeyed, opening his mouth as you leaned forward, pushing your wet fingers into his mouth so he could taste you. His tongue wrapped around your fingers and you bit your lip at the sight in front of you. Removing your fingers from his mouth, you slid your pussy across his painfully hard cock. How wet you were and the pressure on him had his head spinning and pleads pouring from his mouth.

“Fuck please, need to touch you.” His eyes had started to get glossy from all the teasing.

“Go ahead Simon. Touch.” Large hands immediately found your tits, palming at them for a moment before one hand slid down to find your clit, rubbing soft circles. The moan you let out almost broke whatever resolve he had left. Lifting your body just enough, you reached down to grab his cock and line it up with your slit. You lowered yourself slightly, the tip of his cock pressing ever so slightly into you, but stopping there. “Do you want it?” Simon’s eyes were pulled from where you two were connecting to your eyes, head nodding fast. “Then beg for it.” You pulled your body up until his cock was no longer touching you and Simon had never felt more desperate in his life.

“Fuck please. Need it. Need you Please lovie. I just… please” Hearing his gruff voice whine and beg for you made you lower yourself again but just enough to how you were, his tip barely in you. “Please please please let me make you feel good. Please use me.” Tears were threatening to spill at the feeling of your walls gripping him but knowing you could pull away at any moment.

“You’re so good for me Simon.” You slowly slid down until he was fully sheathed in you. Your hands placed heavy on his chest, nails digging in as you tried to adjust to his massive size, eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. Beginning to bounce at an agonizingly slow pace, his hands found your ass, wanting to urge you to speed up but knowing he’d be in trouble if he did. Fuck you’re so tight around him. Whimpers had been falling from his mouth the second you slid down on him. Bottoming out, your pussy clenched around him and he bucked his hips. Fuck he didn’t mean to. He was scared you were going to pull off of him but instead you let out a pornographic moan at the action, his cock hitting that spongy spot in you.

“Again.” You said trying to keep control but fuck did he feel good, you were losing your grip on reality too. He thrust again and again, your hands planted firmly on his chest holding on for dear life. “Make me cum Simon.” Fuck you didn’t have to tell him twice. He brought one hand to your clit again rubbing messy circles as you bounced up and down on his cock. He could feel you tightening, he could tell you were so close. Fuck he was trying to keep his own release at bay. A few more thrusts from him and you were falling over the edge. He didn’t think you could get any tighter but the feeling of you cumming on his cock was nothing less than pure bliss. His thrusts started to get sloppy and you could tell he was getting close. One of your hands slid from his chest to his throat, hand gripping his neck with just enough pressure to capture his attention. “I told you, you’re gonna have to beg for this one.” You slid off of him slightly, once again only keeping his tip inside of your velvet walls, backing up your statement. Not letting him get too close without following your orders.

“Please fuck please I’ve been so good. Been a good boy.” His cock could feel you tighten around him, clearly liking the way he was begging. “Let me be your good boy. Fill you up. Please, please please.” The ‘please’s continued as you sunk back down onto him. Leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“Fill me up then.” Moving back to look at his fucked out face, Simon pulled you into a messy kiss, needing to feel your lips on his, a few final thrusts he emptied his load in you with the most pathetic sounding moan of his life.

He could never tell the 141 about this.

Tag list: @zoexme @booboobear-12 @pileofmoss77 @monnikashui018 @jovialwerewolfarcade

#pressing post and jumping out a window im stressed #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #smut #cod smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut #Ghost gets no bitches #sub!ghost #sub!simon #fic #task force 141 #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader

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willyoubemycherryy · 26 days ago

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“Who’s your new friend?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: Your dad’s dark stranger is the one for you. Too bad about his cruel streak….

Contains: sit down chicas this is a LONG one, plot but gratuitous p+rn, dads!friend au, rough sex, edging, pussy spanking, he’s mean :( , choking, drugging, everything IS consensual bc I’m tired of everyone writing him as a domestic terrorlzing rapist, he’s still psychotic and unhinged tho, just not psychosexual because psychotic traits don’t always translate to sexual violence, your dad is sweet but trusting and naive, squirting, pussyspanking unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy, wrap your gummy) begging, degradation, praise, cursing, reader is a bit of a bitch, light dom/sub dynamics, his cock is stuuuupid fat bc I said so and have eyeballs, ur 22 in this period and he’ll spit in your mouth in the next installment of this series :)

A/N: Yeah, he got me y’all😔 Gong Yoo sexy, fine, tall, handsome ass got me😞I’ve been tripping out for 17 days straight over this man sooo…

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

You knew your dad often had strange friends but this one takes the cake.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow at the tall man your father was currently introducing you to. Standing over 6 feet in a pitch black suit he was extremely easy on the eyes with full lips, perfectly styled hair, relaxed posture and not a wrinkle in sight paired with the darkest almond eyes you’d ever seen. You rove your eyes over him once more before looking back up to find him staring back at you…

Yes, he was perfectly lovely but was it too soon to assume something about him was..off?

You feel your face warm at how strong his gaze is but you stare back defiantly, mentally cursing your too trusting dad.

“…and since we chat almost everyday during our commute to work- would you guess that we’re both in sales and marketing?- I thought it’d be great to invite him over and talk more in a more comfortable setting!” Your dad says excitedly, smiling as he tells you all about his new friend. The man smiles alongside him, cheeks faintly dimpling and despite your distrust, you can’t take your eyes off of him as you feel your heart beat harder in its cage.

“I was going to call to tell you I was bringing company but you know I forget to use that thing.” ‘That thing’ being a modern phone to a man who was awful with tech. You scoff but nod to let him know you don’t mind (completely) and because you already know how your father is and he continues,

“Oh right! Speaking of forgetting, I don’t remember if I ever mentioned my daughter even though I know I probably did-“, you listen to your dad introduce you and the man smiles even wider as he steps forward, offering his hand to yours in a shake.

“How pleasant to meet you.” Holy shit. His voice is a lot deeper than you expected and you absentmindedly place your hand into his waiting one. The way it completely encases your hand due to its sheer size makes your heart stop before it melts down to a warm pool in your lower stomach, settling in your core like hot tea as you breathe out a shaky exhale. His hand is also rougher than you thought it’d be for a simple businessman as it squeezes yours and a quick flash image of that same hand around your throat has you snatching your hand back as you shoot him a tight smile.

“Right. Back at ya. Um, how old are you again?”

“Ah. Isn’t that improper to ask new people?”

“I’m just curious to how you maintain a career as developed as my dads because you seem so young.”

Oh. You’re quick witted; that makes things a potential hassle for him.

“Well, I’m much older than you. I’m certainly older than your father.”

“Ha! Are you also the Emperor of China-”, You’re cut off as your dad says your name in the way he does when you’re being rude but you ignore it, glaring at the man.

“Be polite! He’s older so you should speak respectfully”, you barely hide the roll of your eyes but your fathers new friend catches it and you swear you hear a huff of amusement from him, the low sound makes you shiver as you turn on your heel to go back upstairs, your dads scolding calling after you.

“Aish! Spoiled! Brat! You were so much cuter when you were younger!”

“Whatever!”

“Bellybutton lint!”

“Old man!”

“Oh yeah?! You won’t be 22 forever!”

The only response he gets back is the sound of your bedroom door slamming while you’re all too aware of the eyes on your back when you’d left. Your dad sighs as he runs a hand down his face. The salesman simply stands quietly, grinning as always as he observes your little spat. Something about it caught his attention though.

“She’s young.” And your father agrees, insisting that’s part of the reason for your behavior, you apparently were “much nicer” and he nods in understanding.

“College age is tricky. I met her mom around her age and things are so much more different than they were back in our day so I try not to be too hard on her but sometimes she’s so-!” He tilts his head as he waits for your dad to find the word.

“Difficult!”

Ah. How cute. A little attitude problem.

That honestly doesn’t surprise him because most pretty little things almost always had one- you were no exception. Though, you yourself were a pleasant surprise. He’d maintained a friendly relationship with your father on a mere whim, finding him to be…nice unlike most he considered nuisances, so when the man invited him over one day he accepted and as he trailed through the door behind him, taking in the warm tones of your house when he spotted you. Standing near the island by the kitchen in shorts so tiny the wide waistband made them look like a mini skirt, the words ‘PINK’ on the back and a snug white tee shirt, the blue of your bra peeking through, you walk towards them smelling of fabric softener and cold vanilla. Your hair was down as you stared at him like you were both scared and wanting with big eyes full of suspicion. The gloss of your lips shining back at him as your lips curl during your inspection of him, lightly arched brow raising as you gave him a thorough once over, eyes flicking back up to his when you were done. You were absolutely delicious to look at. Short, smart mouthed, pretty and prissy.

He didn’t mind the rude way you spoke to him- no- because your eyes tell. You were weary but interested; cynical in all the ways your father wasn’t but that was perfectly fine.

His smile slowly shifted into a smirk as he followed your father to the living room, humming whenever he would speak, but his thoughts were preoccupied.

Thinking of smooth legs on a cute face he’d love to see wet with tears as he spanked your smart ass raw.

•

When you went upstairs the first thing you did was grab your headphones and tune out.

What the fuck was your dad thinking??

You huff as you flop on your bed, scrolling through your favorite apps while you tried to slow your thoughts.

Everything is fine.

Your dad always has the most unconventional friends and acquaintances so this was probably just that and you were freaking out more than usual because he was unfathomably attractive. That’s it. You just needed to get a grip. But fuck would you love to ride him through the weekend if only he didn’t have such a concerning aura…and wasn’t pals with your dad of-course.

About 2 hours later when you go downstairs to get food and bring it back to your room-answering curtly when your dad asks if you want to join him and the hot stare of the suited man you’re trying to pretend isn’t there.

“Hard no. Do I look like a nurse? You two senior citizens can play amongst yourselves.”

You sigh when you get back up to your room, FaceTiming your friends as you eat, talking about whatever and whoever before you remember you need to organize some of your class notes and say goodbye before you hang up.

It takes less time than you thought it would so when you’re done, you go about your night routine. Teeth, skincare, oversized cotton shirt, lights off as you put on a movie you’ve seen a million times. It’s harder for you to fall asleep when you can still hear his deep voice through the walls talking and laughing with your dad, shaking your core as you toss and turn- physically fighting the feeling- until you fall asleep.

Another few hours later, you wake with a start. Something’s not right.

You can still hear the tv downstairs but no voices. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and as you turn your head towards your door- pulling the covers off your legs, the sight of a tall dark figure rips a blood curdling scream from your throat. In that same second the figure steps closer, the light from your tv illuminates him and your heart races as you stare back wide eyed at your dads suited stranger friend. You’re still gasping and reeling as he sits down on your soft bedding, watching with rapt eyes at you trying to calm down from the near heart-attack he almost gave you.

“W-what..what the fuck?!” He smiles as you get up to yell in his face, gesturing wildly.

“Why the hell are you in my-“, you cut yourself off as another realization dawns on you completely and he can’t help the compulsion he feels towards you.

“How long have you been in my room- wait where’s my dad?!” If you knew who he was and what he did for a living, you’d be much more agreeable…or maybe not and that’s what fascinated him about you. You were so unusual. Wanting to steer clear of him instead of on, even though he’d piqued your curiosity, you didn’t blindly follow like every other nuisance did; instead he was the inconvenience and the way you let him know via sharp words and distrusting looks was something he hadn’t gotten in a while. The way you brushed him and your hard working dad off with no more than a pretty glare while probably never having actually worked for anything in your life made him itch to correct you. Make you say sorry- break you back into the sweet girl he knew you could be.

“I swear to god- WHERE IS MY DAD-!“, before you can raise your voice anymore, turning to go find him yourself, he’s pulling you back by your wrist, covering your mouth with his other hand as he hooks his chin over your shoulder cooing at you to calm down - listen to him a bit.

“Shh. Your father is alright, had too much to drink so he’s passed out downstairs but safe nonetheless.” You feel your body relax against your will at his words but you still bite his palm for scaring the hell out of you. The pain that blooms up his wrist from his hand makes him hiss against your ear and you wish it didn’t sound so good before it trails off into a light chuckle.

“I’m going to move my hand. You won’t scream. Understand?” You roll your eyes but nod anyway and a few seconds later his hand is lowered but he keeps you sitting up against him.

“Look- if you’re some kind of extortionist or blackmailer, my dad only works for clean honest compan-“,

“I’m none of those things.” Huh. You’re even more confused but the silence that follows he doesn’t break instead he waits for you, enjoying your discomfort as you shift against him.

“Then what the fuck do you want? Nothing better to do in your ancient age on a Tuesday night besides creep around?” Your mouth would be the death of you and this might very well be the moment as you mouth off to a complete stranger who could be (and actually is) very dangerous but bravado was all you had. You’d seen and heard more than enough to know that an older man in a suit visiting a young girl he didn’t know in the dead of night never ended well.

“I want to chat for a bit.” You tilt your head a bit in confusion but he takes your silence as the go ahead, making your heart pound when he shuffles even closer causing you to feel his firm pecs through his expensive smelling dress shirt; the heady combination makes your pulse race as you fight yourself on whatever it is exactly that you’re feeling but shouldn’t be.

“When your father mentioned you, you sounded like such a nice girl…”, the low way he speaks resembles a purr, words vibrating his chest, thick arms holding you tight to him as his warm breaths coast across your chest and neck.

“Imagine my surprise when I meet you and you’re nothing more than an ungrateful little princess with a pretty face but very nasty attitude.” You feel your face warm in shame at the blatant way he calls you out, immediately defensive as you shoot back,

“What’s it to you? If you want to see some obedient thing then get a boarder collie-!” Enough of that. His hand claps down over your throat, squeezing not enough to hurt but enough to make you shut up as your heart rate spikes, nerves going haywire at the sudden cut of oxygen. You get dizzy quick. Blood rushing through your ears like a current of cotton, hand flying up on instinct to pull at his muscled forearm but it doesn’t budge and you whine- biting your lip as your heart beats liquid fire through your body. You were so fucked up, clamping your thighs shut as if that will stop you from getting wet but it’s hard to pay attention to that with a tight hand around your neck and mean lips against your ear.

“Didn’t your father tell you to respect your elders?” He tuts out and you nod desperately, willing to swallow your snideness if it meant getting air. He loosens his grip enough for you and you gasp so hard you nearly choke, the sound turning him on more than it should; he grabs your chin so you face him with teary eyes and he nearly groans at how weak you look. The sedatives he slipped in your dad’s drink would last for a while so for now it was just you and him.

“Answer me.”

“You first-“, you’re quick to shut your mouth as a smirk grows on his face. A fast learner.

“Smart. But”, he pauses to put you on edge before continuing, “because I quite enjoy your father and his company, I don’t like the thought of him being troubled by anything.” His words are sweet but they also fill you with dread because you know how much you intentionally butt heads with your father. Mouthing off at him just to amuse yourself sometimes. You never meant to stress him but messing with him a little was how you showed your affection.

“That includes you as well.” He rasps against your neck, nipping the sensitive skin there with more teeth than tongue and you choke on a moan, breathing hard.

“Okay. Got it. I need to be nicer-”,

“No, you need a firm hand.” Oh fuck. You bite your lip at that, watching through bleary eyes as he rubs his other hand down your chest, brushing your hard nipples through your shirt as he feels up your soft curves. The hand around your throat tightens when he feels you might move but when you don’t he doesn’t loosen it- instead he rewards you with wet, scalding kisses behind that spot under your ear, suckling down until he reaches your collarbones. Your eyes water from all the sensations as you try to rationalize what’s going on before you lose yourself to how good you feel.

The hand caressing over your body doesn’t stop, threatening to burn you alive with the heat it ignites in you. To make matters worse, you can’t even breathe deeply enough to calm down with the hold he has on your neck and you’re reminded of how pathetically wet you are whenever you move your legs as you’re completely naked underneath your shirt. So much is happening but it’s not enough. Fleetingly scarce touches is all you’re being given but you need more. You shouldn’t want this, want him- or anything having to do with him- but you do and that thought scares you more than any potential repercussions.

He watches you with an unreadable expression as you shift constantly, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your tits, flicking and twisting the stiff nubs cruelly between his fingers. Laving his tongue over each bruise he’s left on your neck before choking you harder, making the veins on the back of his hand show and your mouth drops open, hoarse broken moans falling as your hips twitch upwards. This was how he liked you. Melting into him so obediently…

“You’re going to be a good girl now?” He asks like it’s a question but the even in hazy state you’re falling into, you know it’s an order. He loosens his grip again so you can answer, voice hoarse,

“..y-yeah.” The softened tone you use when you respond makes him hard beyond belief and he bites your shoulder with a satisfied groan and you swear your cunt has a pulse. The familiar burning ache is so blinding that you listen immediately when he tells you-

“Open your legs.”

He almost didn’t hear your sharp intake of breath. He barely noticed the way your hips snapped up to hump his hand… he was preoccupied with just how wet you were. Your arousal coats his fingers as he slides them between your sopping lips making you keen through shuddering breaths as you try to control yourself. A few hard circles to your clit shatters that control as you cry out, needy sobs falling from your gloss smeared lips while you beg prettily for him.

“Please! I-! I’ll-anything! Just-!” His hand collar tightens again as he slides two fingers knuckle deep in your spasming hole, immediately curling them towards him, grinding them against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you and the fire that’s been steadily burning inside you almost makes you black out from how quick it threatens to consume you. You’ve never felt more out of your mind, your cunt so soaking wet it’s audible. White-searing pleasure shoots electricity through every nerve and you’re screaming. Between the fuzz in your head from oxygen loss or the brutal way he’s fucking you with his fingers- the one thing you do know is that if you cum now, you’ll faint.

“Waittt- mm-! S-stopp!!” It’s the struggle of a lifetime to get the words out but you do and when you do, surprisingly- he listens. Taking his fingers out as the strings of your slick drip from them and you cry at the loss, the ache still there but you could at least breathe. You feel a nip at your ear and you only then notice the way you’ve rested your weight completely against him.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with arousal from how wonderfully you responded to him. So wet he could taste it in the air as you trembled and cried against him. The water in your eyes spilling down over as they rolled back into your skull. Your face was the perfect erotic expression of tormented bliss as he made you earn air and fight off an orgasm so strong it would’ve put you in a vegetative state.

The sound of your weak sniffles make his cock ache as he lays back on your bed, maneuvering your hips over his as he opens his pants, taking his length out he moans at the pressure relief. Swiping his fat head through your messy folds but not inside.

“Well? I need you to answer me. Or do I need to get it out of you myself?” You shake your head, lifting your arms when he moves your shirt up off you and now you’re completely naked while he’s still clothed. As much as his stare intimidated you, his attentions felt even better, moaning at the dirty kisses his cock gave your hole.

“Was gonna cum…but you didn’t say I could yet”, you reach up to use his arm as leverage while you wiggle your hips and your submission drives him mad with how much he wants to ruin you.

“Aw. That’s cute…but if you came before I let you, what then? Are you smart enough to tell me?” He asks sweetly but the condescending undertone makes you feel dumb as heat blooms in your chest and you will away the fuzz that’s making it hard to think so you can give him a proper answer. One that would please him. The fact that you even wanted to please him was something you’d have to get back to.

“I’d be in trouble?” You say it like a question and less of an answer and he finds your uncertainty so cute as he laughs indulgently at you.

“Close. It’s because you’re my good girl. And my girl only does as she’s told, yeah?” The same trickling tingle at the base of your skull is back again as you mindlessly repeat after him.

“Yeah.” He hums, lining himself up with your drooling pussy, sliding in with one thrust. Gritting his teeth with a heavy groan while you choke on a sob.

“Fuckin’ tight-!” Deep grunting in your ear overwhelming you in the best way and you lose it from how full you are. You could’ve guessed by his height and frame that he’d be packing but it felt fatter than you would have ever been able to accurately guess, pressing effortlessly against every spot that made you see stars.

You were everlastingly grateful your dad was knocked out because the sounds coming from you and your room were beyond incriminating. Even though he wasn’t moving, every-time you did, you could feel the deliciously heavy pressure against your slick walls. Shivers wracking up your body as wheezing fucked out moans left your mouth and you grind down in messy circles until the hand on your throat stops you.

“Look at you. Desperate n’ wet begging to cum. You’d do anything I tell you, huh? Just like a dog.”

A disgustingly pathetic warble is his reply but he wants more from you, choking you hard as he pinches your sensitive nipples.

“Uhhn! Yes!” The sheer desperation in your shaky voice gives him a sick head-rush.

“Open your legs for me.”

You obey before he even finishes his sentence. Thighs falling apart, cooled air over your center makes you moan wetly as you wait patiently. So patiently that the first heavy slap against your pussy winds you by the time the pain registers. As soon as the sting settles, warmth pools in its place, sensitivity heightened as you wail. The stricken sound makes his cock throb inside you.

“Wha-!”, another slap cracks down on your swollen lips, hitting your clit spot on and again and you try in vain to wriggle away.

“You still need to prove to me that you’re sorry for your behavior earlier.” He says, voice casual but no less mocking and you cry. Tears running down your cheeks as your body struggles to adjust and obey. Before you can shout out however many strings of apologies it’ll take for him to let you cum, he strikes your center again, hissing in pleasure at your screams. He feels it. That somehow you’re even wetter, dripping down his balls and smearing your slick all over the front of his slacks. He has half a mind to make you clean it up when he’s done with with you as he spanks your cunt again, biting your ear hard until it reddens.

“If you cum before I tell you, I promise I’ll make this the longest night of your life”, he groans darkly in your ear. You’re blessed that you can still hear him through the bass of your heart’s beat and the loud, wet connect every time his hand comes down. You were so close. The sharp sting and the pained pleasure of swelling warmth his heavy hand left behind was too much and your poor clit couldn’t take much more. Gasping through your tears, you scramble to find the right words.

“‘Lease- please! Ah-m’sorry!” Your raspy voice breaks halfway through when lifts you only to slam you back down on his fat length, flicking your sensitive nub when he meanly asks you,

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again, little girl.” You night just be in for a long night after all.

You could barely breathe from how hard he was choking you, swollen pussy enflamed from countless spanks, and your center was stuffed to the brim as he was so big that he didn’t even have to try to hit your spots. You scratch and wrestle with his hand until he loosens it, gasping and whining, you pray you don’t come from the instant relief it gives you. The rush settling over you like a fuzzy blanket. He shifts below you and you hurry to get the words out before he makes you come without his say-so.

“I’m- I’m sorry! So sorry! Please Sir, can I-!”

Sir. You called him sir.

It’s less of you apologizing but more of you submitting to him, acknowledging him by title that he held superiority over you that pleases him enough to let you cum. Cutting off your sweet begging with more mean, heavy slaps to your wet pussy, basking in your delighted wails as he fucks up into you.

His hand tightens around your throat and this time, you welcome the suffocating pleasure. Scratchy cries escape when they can but you’re so far on the road to ecstasy that you don’t even care how you look or sound, chest heaving as your eyes water. Your cunt feels like it’s on fire but you beg him in every way you can to keep going even though you can’t take it and he does, groaning against your ear as he rubs messily at your throbbing clit.

“So good, baby- you can cum. Make your little mess before I make you beg some more-”, he does not have to tell you twice as everything you’ve been holding, releases and you do make a mess.

Mouth dropped open as you sob and for the next couple minutes hot unending pleasure is all you know as the stinging slaps get faster, ending with harsh circles on your bud after each one and your hole gets even tighter before you go limp- liquid jetting out of you. He fucks you through it with a tight grip on your windpipe, using you like a snug fleshlight until he’s coming harder than he has in a while at the state he’s put you in. He waits until he catches his breath to slide out of you- who’s deadweight as he lifts you off him.

Rolling off the bed, the silence makes him look over at you only to see that you’re out cold. His eyebrows raise as he huffs out an amused laugh, fixing his pants before brushing his hand over your pretty face. He might have overdone it he thinks as he sees your face return to it’s normal, less flushed hue. Leaning down, on impulse he presses a kiss to your cheek, his gentlest touch of the night before getting up and covering your worn naked body with one of the many blankets on your bed.

“You’re a treat in more ways than you know.”

As he stands, before he opens your door to leave, he pulls a card out of his pocket and leaves it on your nightstand then heads back downstairs to get his shoes and jacket. Turning off the tv where your dad sleeps easily and quietly slipping out the door, smiling the entire way. Now he has even more fun.

You.

•

When you wake up the next morning, you turn with a pleasant ache and stinging between your legs as you stretch, sighing with a blissful smile until you remember why you ache and who caused it.

Pushing yourself up, you stop when you see a card on your stand, rolling to the edge of your bed, you swipe it off and raise it to your face. It’s a picture of lollipop, a simple circle on a stick but the words below it make your chest warm and you don’t even bother pretending to yourself that you aren’t interested in seeing him again.

“Next time I’ll make you even sweeter.”

In part 2…

#squid game #squid game x reader #the salesman #the recruiter #the salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #gong yoo #gong yoo x reader #squid game smut #the salesman smut #salesman x reader

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nochepsicodelica · 2 months ago

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NSFW

"Don't forget how badly you said you wanted this when it gets to be too much, 'kay, mama?"

A warning that you paid no mind to and instead giggled at, because Toji kissed your knuckles and your forehead when he finished binding your wrists together. You thought he wouldn't be too hard on you, and even if he was, you have a trick up your sleeve. You know that if you beg hard enough with shimmering eyes, he becomes a little more lenient. He eases up on you and gentleness starts to seep into his actions.

Well, that didn't work. Not this time. This time, he wanted to give you everything you asked for and more.

"Fuck..." Toji groans. "Look at that, ma." He displays his cum soaked, glistening fingers and shows you an update on the juices that have made their way down his wrist. "Come on, open your eyes and look," he says, patting your thigh.

Your bottom lip quivers and your eyes flutter open, your dim, weary gaze darting to the face of the man inflicting all these varying sensations your body is feeling.

"Not at my mug. Look at my hand and my forearm," Toji instructs, trying hard not to smirk at how utterly debauched you look. You look like you're going to cry, again. "Messy girl, you did that."

You mumble something quiet and unintelligible, and like a shark, Toji devours your pathetic attempt to speak. "Louder. I know you can be louder, or do you need some encouragement?" He asks, ghosting the knuckle of his index finger along your slit, resulting in your body full on jolting.

"Sorry!" You cry out, loud enough to have Toji laughing at your frantic repetition. "I said-- said i'm sorry," you stutter out, your voice unsteady.

You're ruined, yet somehow, this is a sight that has Toji's heart racing, like he's falling in love with you for the millionth time. It puts him through a conflict. It makes him want to be nice to you, it also makes him want to add on to your ruin, but more than anything, it sadistically makes him want to see you cry, again.

"Don't be sorry. This is what you wanted, right?" Toji groans, quietly, as he lies back down on his stomach, eyes focusing on your glistening cunt, again. "Wanted me to make you cry from the intensity of it all? Said you could handle being overstimulated, didn't you, ma?" His thumb drags up your slit, slow enough to have your inner thighs trembling as he makes his way up towards your overly sensitive clit. "Stay there," he commands, when you squirm the slightest bit away from him. He goes again, this time, dragging the pads of his index and middle fingers through your slicked folds.

"T-Toji," you whimper, your abdomen clenching and quivering with every one of his touches. "Toji, I--" you gasp, feeling the warmth of his tongue dragging through your folds and when you feel his fingers grazing your entrance, you can't help but whimper in anticipation for what's to come.

"Why are you shaking?" Toji asks, looking up at you, condescendingly. You can't scramble quickly enough to respond, before he's feeding his fingers into your drooling cunt. "Wanna cum?" He asks, taking in the sight of your returning tears with a menacing smirk. You don't know what to say, because on one hand, you get another orgasm, but on the other hand, you know you are going to be pushed past pleasure. "Yeahhh, you do. Look at that pretty face. Gonna make you cum so hard," he purrs, curling his fingers inside of you.

You don't know if you'll make it out of this one. You feel like you're being launched into heaven every time he makes you cum with his fingers and his mouth, but it's an immediate, full speed plummet to hell when he keeps going—keeps rubbing your clit while you spasm and practically choke on your breaths.

"Right there?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in the sounds of your moans. They're higher in pitch, quicker, and constantly interrupted by your sharp gasps. "Oh fuck," he growls. "That's it, huh?"

"I-I'm--" you whimper, "--fuck, fuck." Your chest heaves, your back slightly arching off the bed. "Toji," you call, frenzied by the overwhelming sensations. "I'm gonna die..." you blurt. "G-Gonna die," you cry out, tears spilling down the corners of your eyes and treading down your cheeks.

Toji watches, amusedly, as you struggle to figure out what to do while he keeps building you up. The mobility of your hands is limited due to your wrists being bound together, but your palms are dented by your nails to all hell. You barely have control of your legs, because even though they aren't restrained, Toji handles them however he needs to in order to give you what you asked for without you trying to stop him.

"You're fine. You can take it," he says, over the lewd, squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you. "Last one, and you're giving me ten seconds."

"N-No!"

"Yes," he insists. "It's the last one, gotta make it a-"

It's unexpected, the wet mess you make all over Toji's hand, your thighs, and the sheets. You feel like your whole body is buzzing and your toes are curled so tightly that your feet are starting to hurt from the strain.

The countdown starts the second you start squirming and pressing your hips into the mattress. Toji's arms are hooked around your thighs, holding them open and still so he can use his mouth on you for all ten of those seconds and make a mess out of your overstimulated cunt. His lips are latched around your clit, one of his fingers pumping in and out of you, while you shake and pathetically sob from the borderline painful amount of stimulation. The skin of your palms must be broken by now from how hard you've been digging into them.

"Toj--" you barely manage, before your chest is heaving and racking out another sob.

The ten seconds are up, and Toji immediately eases off of you, releasing your visibly trembling legs so that you can move as you please. He crawls up the bed and sits beside you, quickly undoing the binding of your wrists and tossing the strip away.

"I know... I know, doll," Toji coos, wiping at your tear streaked cheeks. He doesn't instantly scoop you up into his arms, because you not wanting to be touched is definitely a possibility. He just sits there, by your side, and attempts to verbally soothe you while you work to compose yourself. "Just breathe, mama. It's all done. You're gonna be okay."

Once your breathing is more calm and you're not so rattled, he works his way up to touching you, starting with your shaky hands and the crescent shapes that litter your palms. He carefully runs his thumbs over the little marks, monitoring your reaction to make sure he isn't hurting you. He brings your hands up to his lips and kisses your knuckles, moving along each of your fingers and ending where his focus is needed most—your palms.

"You good, ma?" Toji asks, lying down on his side, facing you. He's still not pulling you into his arms, but one of his legs is pressed against yours, just to have some sort of physical contact with you.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you say, offering a soft smile. "It was just..." you hum, thinking.

"Intense?" Toji cuts in, to which you nod. "But I didn't hurt you too bad? You're alright?"

"Yes, baby," you assure. "I would've used my safe word if it was too much for me to handle. We touched on that before we started this, remember?" Your hand goes to cup his cheek, but he intercepts it by grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand up to his lips, again.

"Don't be scared to use that word, ma. Don't ever push your boundaries for me, alright? I don't give a fuck if i'm about to bust. If you're not feeling it, we're gonna stop, okay? The last thing I wanna do is to traumatize you."

"Jesus fuck, you're so sexy," you murmur, curling up into him. Your hand splays over his abdomen and rubs slowly, a simple gesture that makes his cock start throbbing and twitching in his sweats, the longer you do it. "Yes, Toji. I won't ever hesitate," you assure, your words promised, physically, through a kiss. The feeling of your lips against his, only further fuels his arousal. You can feel the way he impatiently kisses you back, like he's trying to inhale you. The way he grips your hip and pulls you so that your body is pressed against him, further communicates his need for more of you.

"I'll be so gentle with you, doll," he mumbles, into your neck, pressing kisses to it, afterwards. "Please? Let me treat you right, this time."

You giggle as he continues murmuring quiet little pleas into your neck, through kisses.

"I wanted you to do it, baby, but alright, treat me your way. The right way."

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venomnyx · 6 months ago

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HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!

You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.

You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.

It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.

But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.

Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.

The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.

You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.

Stryker worse.

A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.

He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”

“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”

“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.

You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.

He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.

You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.

“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.

“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”

He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”

What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?

You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”

“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”

“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”

You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.

“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”

Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.

“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”

You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.

Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.

Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”

You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.

A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.

“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”

You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”

“Then suit up.”

Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.

Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.

So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.

But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.

You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.

“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.

Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”

You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.

When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.

“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”

You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.

You could stay here forever, you think.

Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.

He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.

You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.

“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.

You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.

Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.

All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.

You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.

“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”

As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.

But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.

“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.

“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.

“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”

“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.

“Technically he’s not dead—”

You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”

“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”

“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”

You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.

“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”

“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”

“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”

Even yourself?

“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”

You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”

“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”

And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.

“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”

You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”

“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”

The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.

Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.

Him, on the other hand…

“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.

You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”

You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.

You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.

“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”

You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”

Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.

“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”

Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.

“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”

You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.

In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.

“Waited long enough for this.”

He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.

“Logan…”

“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”

You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.

Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.

Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.

She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.

“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”

Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”

“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”

She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”

Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.

But you know how that story ends.

You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”

She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”

“You motherf—”

You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.

You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.

Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.

Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.

Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him

You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.

“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.

Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.

The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.

But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.

“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”

He grimaces.

“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”

He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”

He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”

“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”

A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.

You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.

Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.

You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.

“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.

You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.

“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.

“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”

“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”

“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”

“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.

The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.

You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.

You should have meditated more.

The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.

A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.

“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”

You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.

“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.

Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.

“Quit your squirmin’.”

“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”

Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.

You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.

“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”

Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”

“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.

You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.

At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.

“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”

“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”

“No, no, no— before that.”

You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.

“If… they can fix your world?”

He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”

Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?

Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.

“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”

Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”

“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.

“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”

“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”

He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.

“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”

You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.

“That all you got?”

“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”

His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.

“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”

Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”

The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”

Your eyes widen with recognition.

“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”

Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.

Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.

But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.

The result of a painful reunion.

The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”

You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.

Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”

Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”

He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”

Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”

He then turns to address Logan directly.

“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”

He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.

“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.

You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.

As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.

For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.

The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.

“Are you—” she says your name.

You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”

“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.

“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”

“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”

You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.

After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I gotta leave, baby.”

“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”

“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”

“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.

“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.

“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”

You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.

“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.

A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”

“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”

His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”

His hand runs up and down your back.

“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.

“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”

He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”

“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”

“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”

“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”

He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.

You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.

And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.

“Since when did you start smoking?”

You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”

He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.

“Right.”

You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.

“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.

Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”

“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.

You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.

“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”

His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”

You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”

He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”

“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.

You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.

Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.

“Did you love him?”

Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?

“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”

He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.

“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.

“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”

He hums resignedly.

Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”

He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.

“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”

You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”

You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.

“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”

His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.

“Were you—?”

“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”

The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”

“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”

“You never liked hurting people.”

“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”

He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.

“You know, your accents thicker.”

He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.

“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.

God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.

You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”

“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.

“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”

He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”

“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”

“Keep that to yourself.”

You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.

“Nope.”

A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.

It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.

“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.

“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”

“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”

He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.

“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”

You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.

You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.

Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”

But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.

Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.

You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.

One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.

His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.

It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.

“Wade!”

You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.

You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.

You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.

“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”

He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”

Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.

A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.

“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”

You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.

“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.

“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.

“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”

Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”

That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.

A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.

You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.

You know, though. Of course, you know.

You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.

The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.

You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.

You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.

The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.

You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.

Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.

You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.

Logan.

When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.

Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.

“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”

“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.

You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”

Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.

Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.

The red string knots.

When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.

“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”

He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.

Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.

You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.

You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”

When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.

You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”

Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.

“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.

He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”

You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.

He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”

His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”

He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.

You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”

He ticks an eyebrow.

You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.

“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.

“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.

He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.

“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”

Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.

You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”

The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.

He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.

You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.

When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.

“Legs up.”

You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.

He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.

You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?

He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.

Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.

You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”

You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.

He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.

You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.

You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.

“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.

You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”

“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”

When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.

Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.

“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.

You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.

His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.

There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.

You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.

His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.

You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.

“I can take it.”

The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.

You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.

“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”

“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”

His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”

You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”

He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.

You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.

Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.

You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.

“Did you—”

“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”

You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.

You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.

It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”

The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”

You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.

You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.

Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #x reader #deadpool and wolverine #honda odyssey #logan x reader

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