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sceletaflores · 2 months ago

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SINK IN ME WITH YOUR DOG TEETH!

ೃ⁀➷ pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ wc: 7.0k

ೃ⁀➷ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, feral nasty unhinged logan yes god, logan only slightly losing his humanity but like it’s a lot less sad than it sounds, maybe some toxic relationship dynamics but who cares it’s porn, predator/prey dynamics, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, HEAVY scent kink (like don’t make me say it…but beware of some very subtle armpit stuff), pain kink, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, blood, so much come and come talk, creampie, squirting, this is just gross, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ nat's note: hi…hi y’all…so here’s the winner of the poll and i need everyone to just hear me out for a second! walk with me! this is probably the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, like omg those tags. this upsetting depravity was inspired by this post by @stupidfuckingwindow and this post by @monimccoythings which both altered the chemical balances of my brain so fiercely i blacked out for a while and when i came to this was in front of me. merry christmas and happy holidays! take this not at all christmas themed fic as my present to you my precious angels. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

you notice a strange shift in logan...

There’s something off with Logan.

The changes were subtle, but you’ve been with him long enough now to pick up on them. And while he's always had a raw, untamed edge to him, a sort of wildness simmering just beneath the surface, this feels different.

It started with the way he would go quiet for longer than usual, like his mind was too far away for you to reach—lost to somewhere distant.

Logan has always been quiet, but this was a different kind of silence. Conversations that used to flow with ease now hang in the air, unfinished. All of his responses reduced to nothing but low grunts and clipped words.

And he was more territorial over you, so much more.

His hand has started to linger at the small of your back or the curve of your waist for a lot longer when you’re in public, his strong grip firm enough to remind you—and anyone nearby—that you’re his.

He would fume at even the slightest hint of someone else's interest in you, a low warning growl escaping his throat to anyone who spared you a second glance.

It wasn’t just the physical closeness, though. It was also in the way Logan has started to watch you—his sharp gaze a never ending constant. An all imposing, heavily looming shadow.

There were even times late at night when you thought he was asleep, that you’d find him staring at you in the dark.

Not the usual, protective gaze he’d have when he thought you were vulnerable, but something deeper, more intense. His breathing would be slow, measured, but there was this energy, this tension that hummed between the two of you.

The nights he did manage to sleep, he’d hold you close to him, his grip iron-tight, his face buried in your hair. If you tried to shift away, even for a second, he’d stir, his arms pulling you back with a quiet, possessive growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

There were bite marks on your neck when you'd wake up, small enough to pass off as nothing—at least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself, but each one felt like a brand. They were deeper, more deliberate.

Then there was the scent—his scent.

You swear it’s gotten stronger, more potent. It clings to you like a second skin, lingering in your clothes, your sheets, even your hair. An intoxicating blend of leather and pine and musk that makes your head spin.

Each time you left the house without him, he’d pin you to the mattress and rub himself all over you before begrudgingly let you walk out the door. His hands or his face running along the delicate skin of your neck, of your stomach, of your wrists.

Everywhere.

He was claiming you in ways—new ways—that left you both exhilarated and confused.

There were other things too, smaller but no less odd things that were starting to add up.

More and more of your clothes have slowly started to go missing over the past few weeks. Each morning when you open any of your dresser drawers, it seems like there are less and less filling them.

Shirts, shorts, socks, bras, panties. All things you’ve found shoved under his side of the mattress or tucked under his pillow. The most memorable hiding place was the front pocket of his leather jacket, your favorite pair of panties haphazardly stuffed inside.

You haven’t said anything about it yet, unsure if you should be concerned or amused.

It isn’t like he’s truly hurting anyone.

He’s just acting…strange.

A part of you can’t help but be drawn to it—the new intensity, the new rawness. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way he clings to you, like you're his anchor in a world constantly shifting beneath his feet.

You’ve seen Logan at his worst—bloody, broken, and lost. But this? It’s never been like this before.

Whatever it is, it has its claws in him deep, and by extension, you.

You just got home from a run, barely walking through the door and kicking your shoes off when a call of your name rings out from the bedroom.

Logan’s tone stops you in your tracks—low and rough, like gravel crunching underfoot.

Your reaction is nearly instant, breath hitching in your chest, heart skipping a beat as a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature outside starts to pulse through you steadily.

It’s like you’ve become reprogrammed to respond to him this way, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up as his deep, familiar voice rolls over the sweaty expanse of your skin.

You drop your bag at your feet and slowly make your way to the bedroom, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple as you push the door open.

All the curtains are closed, the only light in the room a yellow glow that shines from your bedside lamp.

Logan is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, but there’s nothing casual about his posture.

His gaze is locked on you, dark and intense, tracking every step you take, like a lion stalking a gazelle as it drinks from a watering hole.

“Didn’t tell me where you were going.” His eyes gleam as the lamp’s rays reflect off of them, his pupils dilated so he can see you better in the darkness that shrouds your room.

You swallow hard, trying to be as nonchalant as you can as your feet carry you to your dresser. “I went for a run,” you reply, your voice a little too steady, a little too casual.

You tug open the top drawer, rifling around for a clean shirt with a little more focus than necessary to distract yourself from the way his eyes burn a hole into your back.

“You didn’t tell me,” Logan repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t know where my girl is.”

There’s a sharp edge to his words, but it’s not anger—it’s something far more primal.

The energy in the room crackles like a storm about to break, and you feel it in your bones, in the way your skin prickles under his gaze.

"I was only gone for an hour," you say, your voice measured, careful. "You were still asleep when I left, I didn’t want to wake you."

You chance a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

Logan hasn’t moved an inch from his perch on the edge of the bed, but the sheer force of his presence keeps you rooted in place, heart hammering in your chest.

“Hmm, that’s real sweet, baby,” he drawls, sitting up straighter now, leaning forward.

The motion makes him seem larger somehow, shoulders broad and imposing in the dim light. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and the way his gaze rakes over you feels like a physical touch, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Your fingers still in the drawer, fabric slipping from your grasp as your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, caught in the snare of his sharp, predatory focus.

You turn slowly, arms falling to hang limply at your sides. "I wasn't gone long."

Logan tilts his head, a low, amused sound rumbling in his chest as he rises to his feet with a fluid, deliberate ease that makes your stomach flip.

“Didn’t feel that way to me, darlin’.” His voice is a deep, gravelly purr. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Felt like forever.”

His eyes never leave yours as he crosses the room, the green completely swallowed by the dark black of his pupils as they seep into the color like oil spilling out over the surface of a lake.

You’ve never seen him like this before, so hungry.

"Logan," you say slowly, back pressed tightly against your dresser. "You're really starting to freak me out."

Logan hums idly, head cocked to the side as he watches you. "I can hear your heartbeat."

His tone is calmer now, but there’s still a dangerous edge to it, like a knife pressed just lightly enough against the skin not to break it.

Your pulse races, heat simmering in your stomach despite the slight edge of fear clawing its way through your chest.

He stops in front of you, so close that his scent invades your senses strong enough to make your knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath you.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of baby,” he mutters quietly, thick arms coming up to cage you against the dresser.

Your hold on the wood tightens, your knuckles turning white with the strength of your grip.

It’s almost chemical, the way you can feel your body start to give in to him. The thought fills you with as much arousal as it does unease, a heady combination that churns in your stomach.

You muster up enough will to breathlessly nod in agreement, a quiet submission.

Logan’s lips quirk into the faintest smirk, his heavy gaze dipping to the curve of your neck, lingering on the rapid flutter of your pulse. “That’s my good girl.”

Any words you might say get caught in your throat as you stare up at Logan, wide eyed and steadily leaking wetness into the gusset of your panties.

His nostrils flare, and a knowing sound rumbles from somewhere dark and low in his chest as his eyes flutter shut on a deep inhale.

Your thighs clench together instinctively, the overwhelming need to be filled wracking through your body like thunder.

When Logan opens his eyes again, there’s no trace of anything but pure animal need. The muscles in his jaw working furiously under his skin in time with the strain of his forearms still caging you in place.

“Yeah…” he trails off slowly, tone both condescending and soothing all at once. “I know you’re not all that scared, honey.”

He leans in, tearing a small whimper from your throat at the way his beard scrapes against your cheek as he crowds you.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, hot and enticing as they brush against your skin when he speaks again. “I can smell how fuckin’ wet you are.”

Logan’s words send a sharp jolt through you, a broken moan falling from your parted lips as your cheeks heat up so fiercely it’s as if you’ve been slapped.

Your body moves without thinking, pressing up into his hard, unyielding frame like you can’t help it—and maybe you can’t.

“L–Logan…” Your voice trembles, a weak thing that dissolves in your throat as he noses along the skin of your neck.

His hands come down to rest on your waist, palms rough and possessive and warm and a perfect fit where they lay over your curves, anchoring you in place.

“Shhh.” His lips trail down your jaw, leaving wet kisses in their wake. “You don’t gotta say a thing, princess. I know what you need.”

Logan’s hands slip lower, cupping the backs of your thighs with ease before hoisting you onto the dresser like you weigh nothing. The sharp edge of the wood digs into your legs, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about the discomfort.

Your hands go to his shoulders without much of a second thought, nails digging into corded muscle as you try to keep your balance.

Logan’s hands stay on your thighs, his grip strong enough for you to feel the power behind them without hurting you.

He noses along your sweaty skin like a hot-tempered hound, desperately inhaling greedy lungfuls of your scent wherever he can get it.

Behind your ear, in the crook of your neck, along your collarbone, the exposed swell of your breasts, dangerously close to your underarm.

He groans against your shoulder, a full body shiver jolting his frame. “Smell so fuckin’ good darlin’, drives me goddamn crazy.”

You can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a response. His mouth finally finds yours, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

Logan's tongue slides against yours, a messy, desperate kiss that has you moaning into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

It’s filthy, fueled by nothing but raw need and desperation. Spit drips from your chin to trail down the length of your throat until it gathers in the valley of your breasts. Whether it’s his or yours, it doesn’t matter.

It’s a perfect mix of the both of you, lewd and messy in the way it claims your skin.

Logan breaks the kiss with a low moan, his chest heaving the same as yours as you both inhale harsh lungfuls of air.

His lips are red and raw, swollen in a way that your own must mirror. A string of saliva keeps you connected, drooping thinner and thinner in the space between you until it breaks under the weight of gravity.

Logan doesn’t give you long to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw and latch onto the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth scraping against skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark.

Your head falls back against the wall as his mouth moves lower, dragging the strap of your sports bra down with his teeth.

The way he’s acting—like a man crazed, like he needs you more than he needs air—has you dizzy with need. But there's a part of you that’s still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, to hold onto something familiar in the chaos.

It’s only then that you realize this may be a bad idea.

Whatever this is, is clearly an accumulation of all the things you’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks.

Maybe indulging Logan will only make things worse, like giving in to him when he’s in such a state could be the tipping point to a much deeper and all consuming issue buried somewhere inside of him.

It can’t possibly be healthy for him to act like this, and it can’t be healthy for you to bask in it as much as you are.

“W–wait.” Your thighs slip shut, hands coming up to push at Logan’s shoulders weakly.

There’s no real force behind your ministrations and you keep your neck bared to him all the while, but he stops anyway, rearing back with a displeased noise.

His face hovers inches from yours, and for a moment, you swear he looks almost pained—his brows furrowing, jaw tightening as though reigning himself in is a Herculean effort.

His hands remain on your thighs, trembling slightly as he keeps himself rooted in place, clearly fighting every instinct roaring through him to just take what he wants.

“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the restraint in his expression. His thumbs stroke idly against your skin, his touch soothing even as his words drip with pure, feral confidence. “I can smell the way your pussy’s achin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re shakin’ for me.”

You are—your whole body feels like it’s on the verge of unraveling under his touch, your resolve crumbling faster than you’d like to admit.

Everything you were going to say gets clogged in your brain on the way out, leaving you silent as you hold his gaze.

You don’t even have the capability to feel embarrassed at the way you blanch, lost in the way his scent attacks your senses, in the rough drag of his palms over your bare thighs, in the way your lips still tingle from his kiss.

Logan sighs, long and all suffering as his hands come to rest on both of your shut knees. The impatient raise of his brow paired with the dissatisfied curl of his lips is enough to shake you to the core.

“Now, you gonna show it to me?” His fingers drum along your knee, his patience thinning. “Or am I gonna have to make you.”

And it may sound like one, but you know it’s not a question.

It’s a choice.

Your mind races, hands clenching and unclenching on Logan’s shoulders as you weigh your options. His own hands squeeze your knees, just hard enough to let you feel it in your bones.

You spread your legs.

Logan doesn’t waste a second, dropping to his knees in front of you with a satisfied rumble and a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them even wider. Wide enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way.

Your head dips, chin falling to your chest as you watch the way Logan takes up the space between your legs. Your shorts are soaked, fabric so drenched that it’s melded to the shape of your cunt, your puffy folds on display for his greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his voice cracking like a whip in the quiet room. His hands find your waistband, and the dull sound of fabric ripping rings out.

The sturdy cotton tears like tissue paper in his hands, the scraps of your shorts falling carelessly to the floor, leaving you in nothing but the light blue panties you slipped on before your run.

The way he gazes at the space between your thighs is feral, unrestrained, like he’s a man starving for his next meal—and you’re it.

“Look at that…” Logan mutters, almost to himself as he runs his knuckle along the wet cotton of your panties. His touch is featherlight, barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough.

Your breath hitches, a sharp intake of air at the teasing touch, and your hips instinctively cant forward, silently begging for more.

Logan's eyes flick up to yours, a dark smirk curling his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and how much you're already falling apart.

“Eager fuckin’ thing,” he drawls, voice rough with arousal. He leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over your soaked panties, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You want me to give your pussy some kisses, baby?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words never make it out. Logan’s lips press against the damp fabric, placing a kiss right over where your covered clit throbs with need.

Your head falls back to rest on the wall behind you, a shocked moan bursting from your lips.

“Logan.” His name is pulled from your mouth like a plea, but he doesn’t let up, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath the soaked barrier of your underwear.

“Hmm?” He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. “Thought you wanted me to stop?”

The taunt is maddening, the rasp of his voice and the teasing flicks of his tongue combining to unravel you piece by piece.

You shake your head furiously, thighs trembling where they rest on his broad shoulders. “N-no—don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Logan chuckles darkly, his hands sliding up your thighs to hook his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties.

“That’s more like it,” he taunts. With a single, sharp tug, the ruined fabric joins the scraps of your shorts on the floor.

Logan groans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your juices and flushed with arousal. His mouth waters, his tongue running along the sharp points of his canines in anticipation.

You’re already so ready for him.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” he growls, leaning in to drag his nose along the slick seam of your folds. The deep inhale he takes is obscene, sending a ripple of anticipation through your entire body. “Know that you taste even better.”

Logan licks a broad stripe through your folds, groaning like the taste of you is enough to satisfy him completely. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread and utterly at his mercy as he begins to work in earnest.

He alternates between laving the tip of his tongue over your clit and dipping down to fuck into you, his beard scraping along the skin of your thighs in a way that’s almost too much. Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a soft thud as your vision blurs.

“God, Logan.” You squirm on the vanity, but he holds you steady, growling low and deep into your core like your moaning only spurs him on.

“That’s it,” he mutters between licks, his words unmistakably smug. “Make those pretty little sounds for me, baby.”

Logan circles your clit with the flat of his tongue, alternating between firm, deliberate strokes and light, teasing flicks that leave you gasping for air.

You cry out, fingers tangling in his thick, unruly hair as he repeats the motions, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head.

Every time your hips buck against him, he growls, the vibrations of it sinking into your skin and amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Stay still,” he orders, his voice muffled against your dripping core but no less commanding. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place with an unrelenting grip. “You’re not in charge, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your whole body trembling as you fight the urge to grind against his face. But it’s impossible to stay still when he’s licking into you like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with an intensity that has your vision going hazy.

“I know, you're just so damn needy, aren’t you, baby?” He drawls , pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “You love this, hmm? Lettin’ me take care of you?”

You can only nod, words failing you as his fingers replace his mouth, sliding through your spit soaked cunt.

“You’re so goddamn pretty down here.” Logan mutters, almost to himself, spreading your puffy, abused folds obscenely wide.

He teases your entrance, fingertips dipping into your warm heat only to retract a second later. You whine, high and embarrassing as your hips twitch with want.

Logan watches your face closely, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he finally sinks one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head lolling back he adds a second finger, stretching you in a way that has your toes curling. He pumps them slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Logan murmurs, his thumb brushes over your clit, drawing tight circles that make your thighs tremble. “So tight and wet for me. You’re makin’ me crazy, darlin’.”

Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, as he picks up the pace, his fingers plunging into you with a rhythm that has your skin burning hotter and hotter.

Logan’s mouth returns to you with renewed fervor, tongue and lips working in perfect tandem as he drags you closer to the edge.

He shakes his head back and forth like an animal, his nose rubbing up against your clit deliciously as buries his tongue as deep in your cunt as it’ll go. The coarse hair of his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs red and raw.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, your entire world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you.

“Logan—” Your voice cracks, your head falling back against the wall as the spring of pleasure inside you winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. “I’m—fuck—I’m so close—”

“Good,” he growls, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue. “I can feel you squeezin’ me. I want you to come for me, baby. Wanna taste every fuckin’ drop.”

You’re powerless to resist.

You cry out, thighs clamping shut on either side of his head as you come on his tongue. Your body shakes so violently you knock a few things off the vanity, the distant sound of glass shattering hardly registers.

Logan growls, low and dragged from the back of his throat in such a way that makes it reverberate in the space between your legs. His own arms come up, grip strong and encouraging as he forces your legs around his head even tighter than before.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, licking and sucking and pumping his fingers to drag you through the aftershocks like a man obsessed.

When you finally come back to yourself, panting and trembling, Logan’s holding your shaking thighs apart, his mouth still pressed to you in soft, languid strokes.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, voice rough and gravelly as he presses a final kiss to your oversensitive clit.

Logan’s hands slide up to your hips, gripping tight as he rises to his feet, towering over you with that same dark, predatory gleam in his eyes.

His lips are even redder than before, swollen and slick with your juices. His beard is damp and shining in the low light, and the smug, satisfied smirk on his face sends another pulse of heat through your already spent body.

“Good girl,” he purrs, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that’s all heat and possession.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, the salt and musk mingling with the raw hunger. It’s filthy and intoxicating, and it leaves you gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

But Logan’s far from finished.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you off the dresser with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you to the bed and tosses you on it with little preamble.

Your back hits the mattress hard enough to have you bouncing on it once, twice, three times before Logan is crawling up to blanket your body with his.

The heavy weight of his metal laced bones sink you into the soft plushness, keeping you stuck beneath him with nowhere to go.

Which you know is exactly where he wants you.

He slots his hips between yours, dragging the straining jut of his cock along your sensitive cunt. You can feel the warmth of him even through the thick material of his sweats, a scalding plane of heat that makes your cunt ache with need.

You can feel the damp patch where his clothed tip nudges against your clit, and you know from that alone he’s already soaked through the cotton with pre-come. His cock leaking like a faucet in the harsh confines of his bottoms while he ate you out.

“Feel that?” Logan asks, voice hoarse as he buries his head in your neck. “That’s all ‘cause of you, baby. Got me drippin’ like I busted a damn pipe.”

The sharp intake of air you suck in at his words does nearly nothing to help your breathlessness, your desperation bleeding through as your frantic hands push at the waistband of his bottoms. “Off. Off.”

Logan huffs a rough laugh against your neck, his warm breath skating across your skin as his lips ghost over your pulse. “So fuckin’ bossy.”

He doesn’t move to help you, not right away, savoring the way your hands fumble and tug, your frustration bubbling over in breathy little gasps.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he teases, the rough timbre of his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness of his lips pressing along your jaw. “Look at you, so damn needy. Can’t even wait for me to get my cock out.”

You only tug harder, patience nonexistent as your fingers curl into the waistband. “Please, Logan. Don’t tease.”

“Alright, alright.” Logan finally gives in, sitting back just enough to push them over his hips, freeing his cock.

It springs free, slapping against his stomach heavy and slick with pre-come, the ruddy tip glistening in the low light.

The sight alone has you clenching around nothing, a devastatingly desperate noise falls from your lips as the ache between your thighs builds to an almost unbearable throb.

He makes quick work of ripping his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it behind him before he’s back on you.

This time, when he bullies his hips in between yours, there's nothing separating you.

You feel every inch of his cock as it grinds along the seam of your cunt. The velvety skin is almost scalding as it drags against your own, the drool of pre-come only adding more to your own wetness.

Logan presses you into the mattress harder, rutting against your cunt almost desperately as he noses along your damp, overheated skin.

His mouth is everywhere. Sucking marks where the junction of your neck meets your shoulder, lapping up the sweat that pools in the valley of your breasts, licking a filthy stripe across the side of your face that has your cheeks burning.

He buries his nose in the sweaty skin of your underarm, whining and panting like a surly dog all over again. Each breath is hot and wet against you, and it only seems to make him hungrier, greedier. His cock blurts even more pre-come onto your skin with every inhale he takes.

It should gross you out.

It should be utterly mortifying, but the sight of Logan like this only leaves you thrumming with want.

His desperation, the raw, unfiltered way he takes you in—like he can’t get close enough, can’t have enough of you—has your pulse racing and your mind spinning out of control.

You feel his nose press harder against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over you as he groans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates right through you.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice gravelly and broken. “You smell so goddamn good. Can’t help it. Can’t fuckin’—” His hips jerk, the weight of his cock sliding slickly against your cunt, bumping up against your clit in a way that makes you shiver.

“Logan,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the friction, the relief, the unbearable stretch you know only he can give you. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you—need you so bad.”

He smirks, his lips curling against your skin as he nips at the curve of your jaw. “Need me, huh?” he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing. “Need my cock inside you, stretchin’ you open? Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”

“So bad.” Your hips tilt up instinctively, desperate for him to push inside. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, the blunt pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Need you so bad it hurts. Please—please don’t make me wait.”

Logan growls, a feral sound. “Such a good girl when you beg for me.” he snarls, big hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise so he can flip you on your front, gently manhandling you until you're on all fours. “Gonna fill you up, princess.”

His hands knead the soft flesh of your ass as he lines himself up behind you. The weight of his cock presses against your entrance, slick and ready, and for a moment, he just stays there, teasing.

Your arms shake beneath you, elbows locked as you force yourself to stay still, patient.

The head of his cock nudges against you, spreading your slickness, and your body trembles in anticipation. He sinks himself into you in one deep, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch is instant, the burn delicious as he pushes inside, inch by inch, filling you in one fluid, devastating stroke. A choked gasp spills from your lips as he bottoms out, his cock seated so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck.” Logan stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he lets you adjust, but the restraint is fleeting.

His hands glide up your back, palms rough and grounding as they map every curve, every quiver of your body. He starts grinding his hips in slow circles, pressing every inch of his cock along your velvety walls.

Your head drops between your arms, brows pinched together as you take in greedy lungfuls of air. You’ll never get used to this, the way Logan fills you so perfectly, no matter how many times it’s been.

“Come on, baby.” Logan leans down to press a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his lips fever hot. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you could hardly wait. Now’s your chance, fuck me.”

It takes a few long seconds for his words to cunt through the molasses clouding your mind, the small thrust of his hips hinting at what he wants you to do.

You let out a pitiful whimper, hands digging into your bed’s puffy comforter as you start rocking your hips.

You start slow, letting yourself build up a nice, steady rhythm as Logan purrs words of encouragement from behind you. His hands never leave your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles over your skin as you start to pick up the pace.

“That’s it,” he encourages darkly, giving the rippling muscle of your ass a sharp swat. “Find the fuckin’ spot, baby. Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

You cry out at the sting of his palm, bouncing yourself on his length impossibly faster. Your arms burn under the strain of your movements, but you can’t stop chasing the high of pleasure that shoots up your spine.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, a lewd slap slap slap as you fuck yourself on Logan’s cock like he’s a replacement for the cheap suction cup dildo collecting dust in a box hidden away in your closet—like he’s nothing but a expertly shaped lump of silicon molded solely for your pleasure.

You can feel yourself getting close to the edge, and in nearly no time at all. The telltale coil buried deep in your belly winding tighter and tighter as you work yourself on Logan’s cock hard enough that the cheap frame of your bed thumps against the wall.

It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so far gone already, so fuck drunk that the too loud moans falling from your lips hardly phase you.

It's like there's nothing but the feel of Logan inside you, bumping against that spot inside you that has stars shining behind your closed eyes.

“Close already?” Logan taunts from behind you, voice just the tiniest but breathless, but the way his cock pulses and jerks where it’s sheathed in your cunt lets you know he’s right there with you. “I know you are, honey. I can feel how she’s squeezin’ me, so damn tight.”

His hands dig into your hips, not even waiting for a response as he starts thrusting in time with your bounces. He pounds into you, hips snapping against your ass hard enough to sting.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come too baby,” he bites out, the rhythm of his hips getting sloppier. “Gonna come so fuckin’ hard, fill you up so good. Shit–”

Logan pulls out enough that only the thick tip of his cock stays sheathed in the warmth of your cunt, his body falling to hunch over yours as he pumps his come into you with a feral growl.

You whine at the feeling of his release filling you, painting your insides with spurt after spurt of thick come. It’s so much, it’s always so much. A rush of warmth that floods your insides each time without fail.

And just like that, the feeling alone has you coming.

Your back arches as your cunt gushes over the tip of his cock, drenching his thighs and the rest of his shaft in your essence. You think you may scream, but it’s hard to tell over the white noise rushing through your ears.

Your arms finally buckle under you as Logan helps you ride out the last few tremors of your orgasm with a few slow rocks of his hips, and your spent body collapses onto the mattress.

Logan’s low noises of pleasure barely register as your chest heaves almost violently, your lungs desperately trying to get as much air as they possibly can.

But you barely have time to catch your breath before Logan plants his knees back firmly on the mattress and starts thrusting, again.

“Logan!” Your hands scramble for purchase on the mussed sheets of your bed, the overstimulation making your legs kick out frantically.

“You thought we were done?” Logan asks, his tone equal parts amused and mocking. “You popped twice already, baby. S’only fair that you let me catch up.”

With no warning, he takes you in his arms, pulling his cock out just long enough to flip you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders before plunging back inside your fucked open cunt with a filthy squelch.

He feels even bigger like this, yet your body swallows his cock like it’s nothing. The spongy warmth of your walls melding to the shape of him like it’s what you were made for.

The coarse hair of his happy trail drags across your clit each time he thrusts, adding to the blistering feeling where the knife's edge of too much too much too much meets not nearly enough.

His come stuffed in your trembling cunt only makes it all the more filthy, his cock plunging inside you and coming back out slick and wet on every thrust.

Your lips fall open on a broken moan, eyes screwing shut as you work your cunt around him, feeling the way his release gets fucked deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan notices, of course he does.

A dark chuckle rumbles against your own as he leans down enough to whisper into your slack mouth. “You like havin’ someone come in your pussy, baby?”

You moan into his mouth unabashedly, loudly. Both of your eyes burning as tears threaten to fall down the flushed skin of your cheeks, your throat going dry and scratchy in the best way possible.

“Shit–” Your hands claw at the rippling muscles of his back desperately, nails digging into his skin hard enough that you feel the unmistakable slickness of his blood coating the tips of your fingers.

The pain spurs him on, his head tips down on a low groan and his eyes squeezing together for a split second before he’s spewing filth again.

“You want some more?” Logan asks, tone going dark like he already knows the answer as his hips speed up impossible faster. “You want me to come again?”

You don’t respond, you can’t respond. You can barely make a coherent thought.

All you can manage are whiny moans that fall from your slack lips, broken little uh uh uh’s that get punched out with each new thrust. Your nails rake down his back mercilessly, leaving behind deep red welts that heal as you go.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He turns his head to nip at the skin over the delicate bone of your ankle where it bounces near his head, sharp teeth digging in enough to have you whining pitifully. “You love havin’ a messy fuckin’ pussy, don’t you? Love being stuffed so full of my come you can’t even hold it all, huh?”

His words hit you like a physical blow, lighting up your body from the inside out. Your thighs shake where they’re wrapped around his hips, ankles locking over his lower back so he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

His come mixes with your juices to coat his cock, completely drenched all slick and shiny in the dull light of your bedroom. It drips down almost leisurely compared to the near feral snap of his hips, trailing all the way down his length to his heavy balls.

“Yes.” He groans, reverent. “Give it to me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my cock again, feels so fuckin’ good. Can’t ever get enough—”

You’ve never heard him like this, so high of pleasure that his speech slurs and his words all meld together into one filthy stream of ramblings that has you sinking your nails even deeper into his back and coming on his cock with a loud wail.

Your cunt convulses around him, shaking with the force of your release, milking him.

“Fuck, princess.” Logan pitches forward, his sweaty torso covering yours as he keeps fucking into your shaking body, desperately chasing his own release.

Finally, with a muted roar of your name, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your neck and comes for you.

You cry out at the sharp sting of his teeth bearing down hard enough to draw blood, your vision whiting out with the pleasure of being claimed in every way imaginable.

Logan’s hips only stop when he’s drained of every last drop, his body shaking where it lays over yours. He laps at the broken skin of your neck, a soft gesture that isn’t quite an apology for making you bleed—because you know that he isn’t sorry whatsoever—but it’s nice nonetheless.

Your arms come up to circle around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion hits you all at once. You get lost in the steady rhythm of Logan catching his breath, in the way his heart pounds against his ribcage where his chest is pressed to your own, in the way his fingers twitch and flex on your hips.

The last thing you hear as you drift off, his come starting to leak down your thighs in thick streams of white, is a hushed whisper of “I got you, baby. I’m right here, I’m always right here.”

It puts you at ease, all the worry you felt over the last few weeks slipping from your mind like grains of sand through your fingers.

Maybe, this new side of Logan isn’t so bad after all.

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willyoubemycherryy · 21 days ago

Text

“Isn’t it past your curfew?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: What happens when you run into your father’s dark suited friend after dark? You get in trouble of course.

Contains: [deep breath]-> snacks and drinks because this one is LONGER, drinking, clubbing, panicking, choking, mouth spitting, everything IS consensual but it’s rough so, rough sex, spanking, kissing, pussy spanking, dacriphyllia, multiple orgasms, squirting, you suffer from ptw, that’s pvssy too wet, seriously, dom/sub dynamics, he’s still gross and fucked up, possessiveness, degradation, praise, he’s still mean :(((, manhandling, thigh riding, kinda in public for the first half, car sex, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected sex, one all expenses paid trip to poundtown, and cursing. There’s so much I probably forgot something but y’all get the gist.

A/N- enjoy the official second installment of the dad’sfriend au! ;)

Kisses for all starting with~ @dorayakissu @jae-mie @lcvsanaa @love2fangirl @jusferisnothere @dilfismz @mybahama @trentknd @reka13 @511rkive @gr-red

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

The second time you and your father’s new friend meet, it’s not at all in the setting you thought it’d be.

No, awfully enough you’re mid-spin- throwing your ass in a club near the shadier part of the city, out way past your dads rules in a tight dress- cute manicured toes peeking out your heels; makeup laden eyes widening as you make eye contact with the same gorgeous man who wore you out almost 3 weeks ago. Leaving you with a card and legs that remained shaky for the next 2 days.

The morning after was a trip and you won’t even touch how you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, smiling even as you went to pee; the stinging a pleasant reminder of the whole ordeal. And, true to your word, you indeed have been nicer to your dad. Kissing him on the cheek with a light “be back later dad, I love you”, whenever he was home and you were leaving just like you did when you were six and his happy smile was just the same. You also put a limit on the smart little quips where you could but not so much that it was obvious you had gotten a full body attitude adjustment.

You’d been so good.

Little did you know, he’d heard as much. Smirking inwardly like there was some in-joke whenever your father would be cheerier than normal sometimes on his early commute- telling him how you made breakfast, kissing him on the cheek with a sweet ‘bye daddy’ before you left for your day or how you were less snippy- instead you were pleasant. So now imagine his surprise seeing his friend’s perfectly pleasant young daughter in one of his clubs that you didn’t even know was his, in a snug dress so short that whenever you moved you were threatening to flash someone. The skimpy little thing didn’t even have a back.

He knows the exact moment you see him see you because the way your heart falls to your ass is written all over your face and it makes him grin even wider.

When he moves, his stride is perfect. Long limbs weaving seamlessly through the sea of bodies as he deliberately walks past you.

You who is internally panicking.

“Mmm he get to strokin’, ooh how I love when he chokin’ me! Bitch I’m a boss! I do what I want-!” Your friends yell the lyrics drunkenly as they move their ass against you and you wince, suddenly hyper aware of who’s watching. Even though you had been drinking, you weren’t drunk but that didn’t change the fact that you weren’t supposed to be here and now there was a witness who knew the reason why your fast ass wasn’t supposed to be here and could very well snitch to said reason.

You shout some nonsense excuse to your friends to where you’re going and they nod back before going back to partying. If they were less plastered you know they’d question you and insist on coming with so you thank your lucky stars they’re not because the last thing they needed to see was you getting slut out by a man twice your age while attempting to do damage control. Spinning on your heel you walk the same path he did but less gracefully as you try not to stumble in your heels or topple over anyone. Your heart beat is almost louder than the music as you look for the dark suited man and the further you walk the more intense it feels; flashbacks of devilish hands and a nasty mouth cloud your mind and you swallow harshly, willing away that heat with a shaky inhale before it can burn you.

Just as you turn, you’re yanked into a corner- the sound of your shriek swallowed by the music.

“Well if it isn’t daddy’s good. little. girl. Shouldn’t it be past your curfew?”

Fuck. His voice is just as deep as you remember and the name makes a shiver crawl up your spine, a familiar tingle settling in your cunt. Still, you refuse to give him the satisfaction, taunting him with your smart mouth even though he can see your (now hard) nipples poking through the colorful toss of glitter you called a dress.

“Shouldn’t you be in a bingo hall n’some retirement center near the exit of my damn business?” Fuck x2. Alcohol loosens your tongue something terrible on a good night so now the same alcohol coupled with adrenaline has you completely reckless- delayed sense of self preservation only loading at 34 percent. The looming realization of your fuck up comes in the form of a smile so wide that it creases his eyes as he begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until you’re giggling nervously too. It’s awkward sounding compared to the low timbre of his rich sounding one. You shuffle once and that’s as far as you go before his hand snaps around your throat; cutting off your oxygen, strong hold fastening as he gives a good squeeze, forcing you harder against the wall.

His grip is tight off the bat and just like last time you can’t keep your hand from flying up and gripping his hard forearm the same way you can’t help yourself from getting wet as blood rushes through your ears. He’s looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a thing- his little thing- as he watches you with a dark smile.

“Cute. And here I thought we fixed that smart ass mouth of yours.” He sneers in your face and you nod desperately because he really did fix it, you were just tipsy. You know for a fact that you can’t withstand another one of his attitude adjustments- especially somewhere so public- standing in uncomfortable shoes. Ignoring your pleading look completely, he slides his knee between your plush thighs, wedging it right up into your clit through your soaked panties, loosening his hold for his next trick.

“Let’s try again, okay princess?” The petname falls from his lips with the same condescension as all his other words but it doesn’t sound any less heavenly and you whine- blinking at him prettily through your lashes.

“..yes sir…”, The way you submit has his eyes fluttering shut for a second and the feeling that rolls through him is dangerous.

He truly is a sick man. He could ruin you beyond repair if he wasn’t careful.

“Why are you doing out so late in a place like this? Dressed like that too.”

“It’s the end of finals for the semester, m-me and the girls just wanted to have a little fun..” you sound so timid, like a brat caught drawing on the wall and he cooes at you.

“And the outfit?” You flush as you feel just how little you’re wearing- though the last time he saw you, you were wearing nothing at all. Even your face had been bare which was a hard contrast to now with your hair messy from dancing but lovely still, smokey eyeshadow that had flecks of glitter and pouty lips pretty and glossed. Bristling, you ask,

“What’s wrong with it?” There’s an undercurrent of more tone than he likes but he feels generous enough at the picture you paint not to make you pay for it as he smiles indulgently at you, raising a brow as he shakes his head.

“I suppose nothing besides the fact I almost missed it even when looking straight at you. Good thing it’s not any tighter or it’d be invisible.” He grinds his knee up into your pussy, catching you off guard with the sudden shockwaves of pleasure you’re subjected to at the expense of his taunting. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second as you undulate your hips against his thigh in those messy circles you like so much, choked moans breaking through your every gasp.

You’re so lightheaded.

Nerves ultra sensitive from the lack of air and tequila buzz as you bite your lip, bringing your hands to your chest, pulling your bra and dress down to let your breasts spill out; pulling and tweaking the hard nubs shamelessly as you do. What was it about him that made you act this way?

You feel so good, you don’t even care to find the answer. Bathing in the heat of his stare, you rock your wet cunt back and forth over the hardness of his thigh, the fabric of his pants giving the most delicious friction against your throbbing clit. His brows furrow in arousal as he watches you fuck yourself on his leg, moaning like every bit of the slut you looked like with his hand around your throat. But you would get much louder than this- that he knew from experience.

Your attention gets bought back to the man you’re minutes away from coming on when his other hand wraps itself in your hair and pulls. It’s intense. White-hot pleasure that comes with the burning sting as you cry out, hips jerking as your legs shake at how close you are. He pulls again, moving your head farther back, exposing your neck as he licks a fat, wet stripe up the sensitive, sweat slick skin all the way to your mouth and you can’t stop moving your hips as your eyes roll back- heart racing from how much you’re feeling, soaked hole clenching around nothing. His voice clears some of the fog about to take you but his words cause the shame this time.

“Does your father know you’re here?” You pinch your lips together in embarrassment, because no- he didn’t know. You told him you’d be back before the set time but here you were almost 2 hours past. He jerks his thigh against your center harshly, cutting off your wail with a tight hand and you swear you see lights.

“Answer me, coherently. I want to hear those big girl words.” Fuck.

It’d be a lie to say you wish he wasn’t so mean. It was part of his charm, the edge that made him that more interesting and irresistible. You swallow as best you can, sniffling wetly through the water that’s already gathering in your eyes and the sight and sound make him so feral that he’s ready to take you on the floor, fucking you stupid on the glittering black marble.

“N-no..my dad doesn’t know-“, the faux shock on his face shifts into contemplation and you can not have that as you rush the words out,

“And you can’t tell him! Please! He’ll flip if he finds out..” He wasn’t a snitch but you didn’t know that, begging sweetly for him not to rat you out- even holding off your orgasm just for him and he’s filled with that same sick rush as before. You were so delectable. So sweet, so wet- your teary doe eyes too- and so pliant beneath him.

He shuts you up by bringing his face close to yours, smelling the flavor of your lip gloss while enjoying the suddenly shy look on your pretty face at him studying you so closely as he whispers,

“Open your mouth.”

Huh? He’s close enough to kiss you so is that it? Your heart threatens to give out at the thought of him kissing you. Kissing is so…intimate. So is sex but there’s something about both your eyes being closed as you lean in, trusting one to guide the other. Especially since you still hardly knew each other…

Would you like to know him?

You ignore the tear between your gut instincts and your feelings and open your mouth. The pleased hum he rewards you with makes you keen but as the hand around your windpipe tightens and your heart stops as you feel plush lips drag across your cheek…. Right before a warm wad of saliva hits the your tongue, sliding down the back of your throat. Did he just-

You swallow on instinct and only then does he kiss you on the mouth. It’s short but demanding and so, so good- your eyes fluttering shut, hips returning to their motions with more urgency than before as he absolutely devours your mouth, licking into it like he’s trying to find traces of him; pulling away with a mean suck of your bottom lip and you gasp wetly.

“Good girl.”

You bite your lip and the water that was already gathering in your eyes spills over, panting as you try not to be swept away by the consuming waves of crushing bliss but you can’t stop your fucking self from grinding your clit against his leg, humping it with pathetically watery sobs.

He knows you’re close, that familiar pained expression on your flushed face but instead of putting you out of your misery; he decides to- “Ah ah. No-“, but it’s too late and he knew that full well before he even started. He was already planning on you disobeying, that way your punishment would be that much more…satisfying.

He watches with lidded eyes as your orgasm rips through you, grabbing his wrist for stability, hips twitching out of their messy rhythm and you wail; coming so hard it hurts. The torrent of euphoria submerges you for what will go down as the longest minutes of your life and when you come down, you’re distantly grateful for his hand because you wouldn’t be able to hold your head up otherwise.

The spot beneath your pulsating cunt is wet and he leans his head back with a pleased sigh. He was going to fuck you up in the best ways. Your makeup is messier now thanks to your tears as you sniffle weakly, trying to catch your breath and he has to hold himself back from sliding your dazed self onto the ground and-

“Sorry…m’sor- I couldn’t hold it..”, you slur out as he moves his thigh, making you stand on wobbly legs; still lightheaded from your high. Mentally, he goes through all the things he can put your soft body through as he fixes your dress, pulling what little there is of it- down as he decides what to do with you.

“It’s ok. You’ll make it up to me.” He smiles at the way you nod almost dumbly, holding your hand- ready to take you with him before looking you over, eyes searching for something.

“Where’s your phone?”

You groan because the answer was embarrassing but one you were sure he’d get off on. Shifting uncomfortably, you mumble out; “it’s in the waistband…” Oh? His night just keeps getting more and more interesting. Your face warms more as his voice takes on a mocking sort of condescending.

“Waistband of what?” Your embarrassment is as sweet as you are and he barely holds back his smirk.

“…my thong.”

It’s a good thing you’re not looking at him because the dark glint on his face would’ve sent you running for the hills. Moving closer, he takes his time running his hand down your side, making your breath hitch as he runs it smoothly into the side where your dress cuts to open back, feeling around near your hips where the soft skin gives to the pressure of fabric until he feels your phone- pulling it out.

He really needed to stop touching you so casually. It wasn’t good for your sanity. But, he doesn’t care as he squeezes your hand, making you focus up again.

“What’s your password?” You narrow your eyes but tell him anyway because you know if you don’t, he’ll make you. You wait anxiously as you watch him scroll for a bit before pressing something and typing some more before he locks it, sliding it into his suit pocket as he pulls you along with him.

“What-”

“Now your friends won’t come looking for you.” Your heart thumps, pumping heat through your veins at the many implications of his statement. He guides you down through the back corridor of the club and you notice the farther you get, the softer the music is until it’s quiet and your looking at a neon purple door before being pulled out of the building into the cool night air, walking towards a large, dark fancy car parked across from it.

He never breaks his stride as he walks you toward it, letting go of your hand to open the backseat door, turning to you with dark eyes and a grin softer than anything he’s going to do to you tonight.

“Get in.”

•

He doesn’t take you home.

Instead, your snatched into the open space of the back and he’s right behind you; slamming the door as he kneels behind you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, he manhandles you chest down to the leather seat, cheek flush against the cool surface with your ass up. There’s a deep groan that shakes you to your core as he drinks in your form with greedy eyes. You looked so appetizing that he’s tempted to keep you even after he’s done with you. Smooth ass up in the air, back arched nice and pretty for him, legs open as one balances on the seat and the other on the floor giving him a clear view of your wet pussy- their swollen lips being outlined by the scrap of wet fabric barely covering them.

The backseat of his car is plenty big enough but because of his height, he still has to maneuver a bit, taking off his suit jacket he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt before winding his hand back.

Your nerves are already on high alert, panting as you hear the rustling of his clothes then nothing. The concept of relaxing your body doesn’t even fully make it to your mind when a heavy slap has fire blooming across your ass and you choke.

The initial pain is just a prelude though as you hear a low laugh and your thong is ripped clean off you before more spanks rain down on your asscheeks. Each hit is hard, making the sensitive skin tint as it recoils from the strength behind the burning hits. You end up coughing, trying to gasp but it ends in a desperate sob as the sting begins to warm and the sting of his palm leaves shockwaves of pleasure that fester in your lower body, making your cunt pulse as he watches slick ooze from your tight hole, pupils blown.

“I know exactly what to do with you.”

You hear him but you don’t get to respond, eyes fluttering back in complete bliss as you’re suddenly stuffed with 3 of his perfectly thick fingers. All three immediately curl up like they’re trying to poke your bellybutton before thrusting in and out, brushing his thumb against your clit after every nasty squelch. Each mean swipe of his fingers sends you closer to oblivion as you feel yourself start to drift. You fog up his windows with your moans, lipgloss smeared against his seat but it’s all pointless because you’re going to cum. And when you cum, it’s gonna be your ass because you can’t catch your breath enough to ask him coherently if you were allowed to.

The fingers inside you curl completely, grinding against that sweet bundle of nerves inside you and your inner thighs spasm as you wail- hiccuping loudly, you cry in pleasure when the dam breaks and oh god you’re coming.

Your eyes snap shut as you try not to pass out from all the sensations. It’s like you’ve been dunked in lava- your orgasm blazing as it consumes you. You don’t even scream anymore, just crying and whining as you shake; cunt spasming from trying to withstand the waves. You usually never cum so hard and you worry that if this becomes a daily thing it’ll shorten your lifespan.

It’s cute. Watching you struggle not to be overwhelmed by him. You don’t even hear him unzip his pants, fat cock bobbing as it beads with precum, cooing as a certain realization finally creeps up on you. That his fingers were still fucking into your tight snatch, grinding away at your g-spot.

“Since you couldn’t stop yourself from coming…”

Oh no. Nononononono-

“I don’t want you to stop coming.” The broken sob that reaches his ears has a thick shiver of arousal run through him as wretches his hand out of your hole only to smack heavy wet spanks onto your erect clit.

Your heart stops and a few seconds later you can’t hear or see either as you cum for the third time that night, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you squirt all over him and his luxury car, drool spilling into the space under your cheek. It’s almost miserable as your arch deepens, body trembling until consciousness returns to you in a flood of lights and you go boneless.

Even in the mess he’s made of you, he likes this look much better than the polished party princess from earlier. You looked pretty before but now your fucked out form looked good enough to eat, punched out gasps leaving your chest. Taking his fingers out, he clean your cum off them, eyes fluttering at the taste as he runs his other hand up and down your back, settling on the arch when he feels your shaky hand reach back to grip his thigh.

“G’nna fuck me now?” Oh, poor thing. He was going to fuck you stupid. Too bad you sounded so dazed when the fun was just getting started. Grabbing his cock with the hand that was covered in you, he slides it between your folds, groaning at the hot slick, moving back and forth- fat head bumping your clit.

“Yeah, baby. ‘M gonna fuck you but”, he pulls your head back by your hair, the burn brings you out of your haze a bit and you hum to let him know you’re listening,

“You better not pass out. Understand?” You bite your lip, moaning from your throat as you wiggle your hips, feeling the weight of his cock against your hole but not sliding in until you agree.

“Mhm, yes sir-” He cuts you off with a snap of his hips, thrusting into your sopping heat with chest thick groan, hissing through his teeth- tingles buzzing through him. You were still so wet and tight, pussy almost choking his length as he set to thrusting right away; fat cock battering your insides.

The stretch hurt. But it hurt so good and you find that you missed being stuffed so full, crying out with the grip on your hair tightening while he fucked you like he paid for you. Broken wails spill from your throat at the harsh way he pounds them out of you, front snapping against your ass. Watching the bounce with hungry eyes, veins on his forearms popping out from every time he pulled- eventually burying his hand deeper- holding you down as he goes harder, hips snapping nice ‘n deep against yours and you scream in bliss.

You felt so fucked up because even though you were so sensitive that it bordered on painful you can’t keep yourself from whining for more. He was just as fucked up though. Apparently being a facilitator of murder wasn’t enough, now he was fucking his friend’s daughter- that he was much older than- senseless at almost 2 in the morning but you looked damn good while he did.

Messy hair and tear streaked makeup, bite swollen lips with your pretty little dress yanked up, dark handprints bruised all over your ass while you got railed with your ass up. Yeah. If you were fucked up for this then it was fine; he was beyond fucked up too.

Slick runs down the inside of your thighs and you groan, muscles spasming as you feel your impending orgasm get closer, bleating screams rising in pitch when you feel him grind filthily at the gooey bundle of nerves inside you and you don’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed at the way your cunt leaks like a ruptured faucet, ruining his pants again.

His rakes his fingers firmly through your scalp and the sound that comes from you is nothing short of pathetic- making his smirk positively wolffish when he leans down close; licking a wet stripe from your cheek to your ear. It’s primal and he revels in your shudder, voice rasp with heady arousal as he purrs out,

“Cum. Squirt yourself to a headache f’me, princess. You earned it.”

You’re sure that in the moments that follow, you pass away. Unlike your previous orgasms that only ripped through you, this one rips you apart and it’s devastating. Chest burning, you black out. Molten hot euphoria makes every synapse inside of you sizzle until your nerves light off as liquid shoots from your cunt that’s tightened around his fat cock like a vice; milking him in the wake of your bliss. His own eyes roll back as he fucks you through both of your highs, cursing at the mind numbing pleasure.

He turns you over without pulling out, hissing at your wrecked appearance before leaning down to catch you in a deep kiss, moving your head with the force as your lips smack against each other. You jerk when you feel him tongue along the inseam of your cheek before he pulls away with a short gasp, pulling out with a sigh. Letting you watch him as he fixes his pants but leaves his hair, leaving the strands that had fallen in his face when he was inside you.

You sigh at the relief of pressure finally off your back, leaning into his touch when he moves to grasp your chin. All he has to do is raise an eyebrow for you to get it, making his chest roll in satisfaction.

“Thank you for making me cum, sir.” Your voice is still scratchy from the work he put your vocal cords through and he huffs out a breath, smiling gracefully down at you.

“Of course, baby.” The petname brings another surge of heat to your face as you look away from him. You’re cute. How you’re shy after everything you’ve done together. He moves his hand and shuffles back, long arm reaching behind him to open the door and you slam your legs shut, which did nothing since your little dress never covered a damn thing even when it was pulled down.

Getting out, he swipes his suit jacket off the back of a seat, dropping it over your near naked form with a chuckle before closing the door as he walks through the night air to the drivers side, starting his car the second he gets in before he listens to the thoughts telling him to just take you.

“…soooo- what now?” You ask shyly because you’re still unsure about whatever dynamic you two had; even though it was very fun, there was still the age gap and the fact that he was buddies with your dad. The soreness was already starting to set in and you’re tired.

“We are going to a store- so you can clean up and get something that actually functions as clothing before I take you home.” Huh?

“You’re not gonna tell?” The confusion in your voice makes him laugh as he flicks his eyes up at you through the mirror.

“No. I got something out of it too, remember?” You hear the teasing in his voice and it makes you jittery, nodding in response as he speeds up. He honestly had no business looking that sexy while driving, pouting until his voice breaks you out of your reverie; his next words send your heart racing.

“I’ll keep your secrets if you keep being a good little thing. Deal?”

You’re silent as you mull it over. You already have secrets so what’s one more? Biting your lip, you think of just how much fun this could be. A little series (😉) of rendezvous with a forbidden man. Your dad never had know.

And since you know he’ll never tell….

“Deal.”

He smiles, dark eyes brimming with something unsettling. He couldn’t wait to turn you out.

You still had no idea who he was and for your sake, he hopes on your behalf that it stays that way.

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

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cumironi · 4 months ago

Text

ALWAYS : GOJO SATORU

gojo is an actor, a famous one, but he’s also been your boyfriend for a few years. you have an argument with him when he agrees to have a fake relationship with his costar without even telling you.

warning. established relationship! gojo, non-sorcerer! gojo, angst to comfort, reader thinking about leaving him.

gojo satoru, the name on everyone's lips, the face lighting up screens and hearts alike. after his series, jujutsu kaisen, hit the airwaves, his fame exploded. people couldn’t get enough of him—the magnetic charm, that boyish yet strikingly handsome face, his tall frame that seemed to demand attention, and that playful personality that left fans swooning. soon, he was everywhere, his every move followed, every glance analyzed. the media loved him, and so did the world. and it wasn’t long before rumors began to stir, fans shipping him with his co-star, utahime, the chemistry they shared on screen now fueling wild speculations.

but you— you loved him before all of that. before the fame, before the cameras, before the world started calling his name. you'd been his since high school, standing by his side through the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, when the world was smaller, and it felt like nothing could touch what you had. in all those years together, not once did you doubt him. not once did you question his love or his loyalty. satoru was yours, and you were his, in a way that felt unshakable, unbreakable.

until tonight.

you’re sitting on the couch, in the living room of your shared apartment, the place that always felt like home when he was around. the soft glow of the television flickers across your face, but the news it brings feels like a punch to the gut. there, on the screen, are headlines you never thought you'd see—rumors swirling about satoru dating utahime. the photos, the whispers, they feel like shards of glass cutting into you. your heart sinks, heavy and cold, and the world around you seems to crumble, falling to pieces at your feet. the trust you once held so tightly begins to tremble, slipping through your fingers like sand.

your chest tightens, breath shallow, as tears threaten to spill. it’s a slow ache, this feeling of betrayal—an unraveling of everything you thought you knew. but even with the panic swirling inside, even as the overthinking begins its cruel work, you hold onto a fragile hope. this has to be a misunderstanding, a twisted story spun by the media. you tell yourself to wait, to breathe, to stay strong until he comes home, until he can explain it all away.

hours tick by, and the apartment feels too quiet, too still. the silence presses in, and every minute that passes drags you deeper into doubt. finally, the door clicks open. it’s late—almost one in the morning. you watch as satoru steps through the threshold, his movements slow, his eyes glazed, the unmistakable scent of alcohol hanging heavy in the air between you.

satoru’s familiar smile lights up his face the moment his eyes land on you, that same warm, loving expression you’ve seen countless times. even through the haze of alcohol, there’s a softness in his gaze, a look of pure adoration as he leans against the doorframe for a moment, taking you in. despite the lateness of the hour, despite the swirling rumors, his eyes still hold that undeniable love, as if nothing in the world could change what he feels for you.

he steps closer, his movements slow but deliberate, and before you can say a word, his long arms wrap around your smaller frame. the embrace is warm, familiar, his body pressing against yours with a kind of gentle urgency. satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your skin like he always does when he needs comfort or closeness. his hold tightens around you, as if anchoring himself to you, as if the weight of the world outside disappears when he’s in your arms.

“i missed you,” he mumbles against your neck, voice low and slightly slurred from the alcohol. his breath is warm, his touch soothing, and for a moment, despite everything, everything seems like it’s as it should be between the two of you.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, the smile on his face wider, his gaze a bit more unfocused. he cups your face, his thumb gently tracing the line of your cheekbone. “you’ve been waiting up for me, dollface?”

you meet his blue eyes, those familiar pools of endless blue now a bit dull, clouded by the alcohol and the late hour. they still carry warmth, but beneath it all, you can see the exhaustion and the weight of something unspoken. his thumb traces your cheek with such tenderness, and for a brief second, it almost feels like everything is normal, like the rumors you’d seen and the doubts gnawing at your chest were just figments of your imagination. but as you nod silently, unable to bring yourself to speak, the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you watch his face, his smile a little too wide, his gaze unfocused, and your heart tightens. you want to ask him, demand the truth, but the words stay trapped inside, tangled with fear and uncertainty. instead, you just nod again, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you fight the urge to cry. the silence between you feels thick, and the world seems to hang in the balance, teetering between the love you’ve always known and the fear of what might come next.

satoru’s smile falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he can sense the tension in the air. he can see the way you cling to his shirt, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, and there’s a brief flicker of guilt in his expression. but he masks it quickly with another, more forced, smile.

“hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs gently wiping away the tear that escapes down your cheek. “why the tears, dollface?”

he can senses your inner turmoil when you don’t answer, the tension in your body, the way you cling to the fabric of his shirt tighten like a lifeline. the haze of alcohol makes everything hazy, his thoughts muddled and his reactions slower, but he can feel the storm brewing inside you. he leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting against your skin.

“dollface,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a mix of gentleness and intoxication, “i can see that pretty little head of yours overthinking. talk to me.”

your breath catches in your throat as he leans his forehead against yours, his closeness making it harder to suppress the storm raging inside you. his warmth, the familiar scent of him mixed with alcohol, wraps around you like a blanket, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. his words, so gentle yet muddled by intoxication, only deepen the conflict inside you. his voice pulls you in, but it’s the nagging thought in the back of your mind, the one you’ve been trying to ignore, that finally breaks through.

with trembling hands, you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your grip on his shirt tightening even further, knuckles white from the strain. the words hang in the air between you, unspoken but heavy. your heart pounds in your chest as you force yourself to ask the question you’ve been dreading.

“did you... did you cheat on me with utahime, ‘toru?”

your voice is barely above a whisper, shaking with fear and vulnerability. you can feel the weight of the question settle into the space between you, and for a moment, it feels like time stops. the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spill over, your chest tight with the possibility that everything you had believed in, everything you had built together, could shatter with his next words.

satoru's reaction is immediate, his eyes widening as the weight of your words sinks in. without hesitation, he quickly shakes his head, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly but gently, grounding you both. there's a slight frown on his face, the alcohol clouding his thoughts, making it harder for him to process what you're feeling, but his urgency to reassure you is clear.

“no, no, no,” he mutters, his voice firm despite the slur, “of course not. i’d never do that to you, never.” his words come out rushed, almost desperate, as if the mere idea of it hurts him. he leans in closer, his blue eyes more focused now, searching yours for understanding.

“i love you too much, dollface. you have to know that,” he continues, his voice softer but filled with sincerity. “there’s no one else, not utahime, not anyone. it’s just you.”

his thumbs brush against your shoulders, his frown deepening as he tries to break through the haze of alcohol. he pulls you into him again, hugging you tightly, as if holding you close would somehow prove his words, his body trembling slightly against yours with the weight of his emotion.

you swallow hard, forcing a tight smile as you look up at him, your voice barely steady. “then why did i see the news, satoru? about you dating utahime?”

the question slips from your lips, though the lump in your throat makes it harder to speak. you’re trying to keep yourself from breaking, to hold back the tears threatening to fall, but the ache in your chest won’t ease. every part of you feels fragile, like you’re on the edge of crumbling.

you watch his expression carefully, searching for something—an explanation, a sign that what you saw wasn’t real. but even as you hold onto the hope in his words, the hurt gnaws at you, and you wonder if your heart can handle the truth, whatever it may be. your grip on his shirt loosens slightly, but you can’t stop the tremble in your fingers as you push through the overwhelming emotion rising within you.

satoru's expression falters again, his grip on you tightening, the alcohol making it harder for him to control his feelings. there's a mix of guilt and frustration in his eyes, a conflict warring within him. “it’s not what you think…” he starts, his words slightly slurred, “it’s all just... it’s all for the press, you have to understand…”

he’s trying to make you understand, to make you see past the headlines and rumors, but the complexity of the situation and the amount of alcohol in his system makes it difficult. he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a desperate kind of possessiveness. “it’s all for publicity, doll,” he repeats, his voice a bit more pleading now. “they’re pushing a narrative, but you know me. you know what we have. i would never betray you… never.”

he leans his forehead against yours again, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you believe him. the scent of alcohol is strong, but beneath it, you can still smell the familiar scent of his cologne, the one that’s always so comfortingly ‘him’.

his words swirl around in your mind, a mix of desperation and pleading, but they don’t quite settle. the weight of his arms around you feels heavier now, almost suffocating, and as his forehead presses against yours again, you find yourself pulling away, pushing him back gently but firmly. your eyes narrow, the confusion and hurt bubbling up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, the question bursts out.

“what? so you and utahime are just pretending to date? for the media?”

your voice trembles with disbelief, the words sharp and cutting. the idea feels like a betrayal all on its own, the thought of him allowing the world to believe in something so intimate with someone else. you’re struggling to keep your emotions in check, trying to hold on to the last thread of composure you have left, but the pain in your chest only grows stronger.

your tears threaten to spill again, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. the ache in your throat tightens as you wait for his response, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and desperation for the truth.

satoru’s eyes widen further, the flicker of surprise obvious in his expression. he almost looks taken aback by your bluntness, the alcohol impairing his ability to react in a more composed manner. he stares at you, the weight of your words and the look in your eyes making it clear that you’re not buying into his explanation.

he tries to step closer to you again, his hands reaching out to touch you, but you step back, maintaining the distance between you two. he’s not used to you being this confrontational, this insistent, and for a moment, he looks almost lost, the situation overwhelming him in his current state. he swallows hard, the guilt and confusion clear in his eyes, as he runs a hand through his hair.

“i... it’s not like that,” he finally manages to stutter out, the words coming out shaky. “it’s just for appearances, for the sake of our careers... it’s not real. i swear, dollface. you have to believe me...” his voice is pleading, desperate even, as he tries to make you understand. the sight of you pulling away is like a punch to his gut, the fear of losing you obvious in his expression.

your frown deepens as his shaky explanation sinks in, but it doesn’t soothe the ache in your chest. instead, his words make the hurt sharper, and your heart feels heavier with each passing second. you take a step back, creating more distance between you, and the pain you’ve been holding inside finally spills over into your voice.

“you didn’t even bother to talk to me about this, satoru,” you say, your voice low but thick with emotion. “i had to find out like everyone else… through the news.”

the weight of your words hangs between you, and the hurt is unmistakable in your tone. your fingers tremble at your sides as you fight back the tears you’ve been holding in. “do you know how that felt? seeing you… like that, with her, and not even having a clue?” you swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to speak. you want to believe him, to hold onto the love you’ve always shared, but the betrayal of being left in the dark cuts deep.

satoru swallows hard, the impact of your words hitting him like a ton of bricks. the guilt on his face is almost tangible as he watches you step away, the hurt and disbelief in your eyes more apparent than ever before. his hands fall to his sides, the helplessness of the situation evident in his expression.

“i...” he starts, his voice trembling a bit, “i wanted to tell you... but i couldn’t...” the excuse sounds hollow even to his own ears, a weak attempt to justify something that shouldn’t have happened. he wants to reach out, to close the distance between you, but he knows that the hurt he’s caused won’t disappear with just a touch. his shoulders slump, his eyes dropping to the ground as he tries to find the right words, but nothing seems right.

“i swear, dollface...” he tries again, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s not real. she means nothing. you mean everything. you have to believe me... you have to...”

the vulnerability in his gaze is raw and desperate, the pain in his voice mirroring your own. despite the alcohol clouding his thoughts, the fear of losing you is clearer than ever. “i just didn’t want you to be upset.”

a bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. you cross your arms, the sarcasm lacing your words as you look at him with an almost mocking smile, your emotions spilling out in a rush.

“oh, well now that i know the truth, i’m just sooo happy, baby,” you say, your voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “euphoria, really. thank you for this… for such happiness.”

you let out a sharp laugh, rolling your eyes as your hand moves dramatically to your chest, as if to emphasize how ‘grateful’ you are. your expression is anything but happy, the hurt still etched into your features as you step closer to him, your fingers barely brushing his arm in a gesture that feels more like a mockery than comfort.

“thank you for letting me find out this way,” you continue, your voice faltering slightly beneath the sarcasm, the real pain slipping through your facade. “it’s exactly what i needed.” even as you stand so close, your words create a distance between you both that feels impossible to bridge.

your sarcasm hits him like a slap across the face, your words cutting deep. he flinches, the mixture of hurt and guilt in his eyes almost palpable. your expression is harsh, your smile laced with bitterness, and the false enthusiasm in your tone is a stark contrast to the pain evident in your gaze.

as your fingers brush against his arm, a slight shudder runs through him. he can sense your hurt, the anger behind your mocking expression, and the way you step closer, almost mockingly, only makes him feel worse. “stop…” he murmurs, his voice low and choked with emotion.

“stop it, dollface,” he tries again, his hands reaching out to grab your arms in a desperate attempt to keep you from further pulling away. “please, listen to me... it’s not what you think... i never meant to hurt you…” his voice trembles, the alcohol-fueled emotions leaving him more vulnerable than usual. he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him—with pain and disappointment in your gaze. he wants to fix this, to take it back, but the damage has already been done.

a breathy chuckle escapes you, but there's no warmth in it, only bitterness. you pull away slightly from his grip, your eyes hardening as you meet his pleading gaze. “of course you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say, your voice low and sharp, “ou’re just a coward, satoru. a coward who only thought about himself.”

your words are harsh, but they flow out before you can stop them, your frustration and heartbreak spilling over. “you didn’t even consider how i’d feel, did you? seeing it in the news, instead of hearing it from you.”

you shake your head, taking a step back as the weight of it all crashes down on you. “you thought you could protect me by keeping me in the dark? you thought it would be easier for me to find out that way?” your voice cracks at the end, the anger you’ve been holding onto breaking under the pressure of your hurt.

you look at him, eyes burning with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. “you always said i was the most important person in your life, but you couldn’t even give me the respect of telling me the truth.”

every word you throw at him feels like a dagger to the heart, each one sharper and more painful than the last. the alcohol has made him weaker, less in control, and your words cut through him, exposing all of his flaws and mistakes.

“i... i just wanted to protect you,” he stammers out, his grip on you loosening, his fingers trembling. “i didn’t want you to worry... i didn’t want to hurt you...” he knows his excuses sound hollow and weak, the guilt weighing heavily on him.

you take another step back, your eyes narrowing as his words hit you, hollow and weak. your heart aches, but anger swells inside you, pushing the sadness deeper. “protect me?” you repeat, your voice low and filled with disbelief. “protect me from what exactly, satoru?”

your gaze hardens as you stare at him, your lips trembling, trying to hold back the rising emotion. “from seeing you pretend to date someone else? from the truth? from feeling anything at all?”

your words cut through the air, and as you stand there, a mixture of hurt and frustration twisting inside you, you realize the weight of what he’s done. “how could you possibly think hiding this from me would make anything better?” your voice cracks slightly, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, refusing to break in front of him.

he winces at the sharpness of your tone, the pain in your voice making him ache. he knows how wrong he was, how stupid his reasoning sounds when confronted with the truth. he tries to find the right words to explain, to make you understand, but everything he thinks of sounds empty and weak.

“i… i thought if i didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t worry…” he answers, his voice low, almost a whisper. “i thought i could handle it… i thought i could keep you out of it…”

“i… i’m so sorry,” he falters, his eyes pleading with you, begging for your forgiveness. “i didn’t want to hurt you… i never wanted to hurt you. i just didn’t want you to worry. i wanted to keep you safe from the bullshit the media loves pushing, and i thought i could handle it on my own… but i was wrong, dollface. i was wrong about everything. please… please don’t hate me…”

your breath hitches, and despite trying to hold it back, the tears finally spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless. you stare at him, your voice trembling as you ask, “did you even think about me when you made that decision, satoru?”

each word carries the weight of your heartbreak, the betrayal sinking deep. your chest feels tight, your mind spinning as you search his face, his eyes—desperately looking for the love that was always there, the love that once felt so undeniable.

but now, standing before him, everything feels fragile, uncertain. “do you even love me?” you whisper, the question breaking you as it leaves your lips. the vulnerability in your voice is raw, and the silence that follows feels deafening.

you search his eyes for the truth, for something—anything—that can make this pain go away. but all you see is a man who hurt you, and you're not sure if he even knows how much.

the moment your question leaves your lips, you see the change in satoru's expression. it's as if the words struck him harder than any blow ever could. the haze of alcohol vanishes from his eyes, replaced by a raw, searing pain. for a split second, he looks shattered, but then, in an instant, his jaw tightens, and you can see anger flicker across his face.

“you are joking, right?” his voice is low, almost incredulous as he stares at you, his blue eyes sharper than before. “don’t you dare question my love for you.” his tone grows more intense, almost desperate, his hands reaching for you again. “i love you more than anything. more than anyone. everything i do, i do for you.”

his frustration simmers just below the surface, and you can feel it in his grip, his voice trembling not from the alcohol but from emotion. “how can you even ask me that after everything we’ve been through? i’ve given you everything i have—my heart, my life, my soul—and you think i don’t love you?”

he searches your eyes, his gaze pleading, desperate for you to understand, to believe him. but beneath that anger, you can still feel the weight of his guilt, the fear that you might not.

he takes another step towards you, closing the small gap between you. his hands tighten around your arms, his fingers digging into your skin as if he's afraid to let you go. “don’t you dare question my love for you,” he repeats, his voice low and intense. “i would never… i would never hurt you if i didn’t have to, dollface. you have to believe me.”

he looks at you, something between desperation and anger in his eyes, as if he’s begging you to see past the lie, to understand that he loves you more than anything in the world.

you've never seen him like this before—almost feral in his desperation to make you believe him. he's always been controlled, composed, but the thought of losing you has cracked that façade. he looks lost, raw, and desperate for you to see that he loves you, more than life itself.

your voice breaks as you softly ask, “then why are you doing this, satoru?” your words come out between the sobs, fragile and laced with the kind of pain that cuts deeper than any wound.

his grip tightens slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin, but you barely feel it, consumed by the flood of emotion. the tears continue streaming down your face, each one a reflection of the confusion, the heartbreak, the betrayal you feel.

“if you love me… why?” your voice is a whisper now, almost pleading, as if you're hoping for an answer that will make all of this hurt go away. you look up at him, searching for something, anything that will make sense of this, but all you see is the same mix of guilt and desperation in his eyes.

you want to believe him, to believe in the love you once thought was unshakable, but right now, all you can feel is the ache in your chest, the sharp sting of doubt that you never imagined you'd have to face.

“god damn it, dollface,” he mutters, his voice choked with emotion. “how can i make you believe me? how can i show you that i love you more than anything? i’d move mountains, i’d burn the world down…”

he leans forward, his forehead now touching yours, as he tries to get you to see the truth in his eyes. his voice is low and intense, his hands tighten around your arms, desperate to hold onto you, to make you understand how much he loves you.

the sight of your tears, the sound of your voice cracking with emotion, cuts through him like a knife. he reaches up to wipe away your tears, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. he can see the skepticism, the doubt in your eyes, and it only fuels his desperation.

“i would do anything for you, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “anything. i’d give up everything, i’d burn the world down if it would make you believe me. just tell me what to do. tell me, and i’ll do it.”

you meet his gaze, searching his eyes for something—anything—that could make the pain go away. his words echo in your mind, the promise of doing anything for you, but it all feels so distant, unreachable. the hurt inside you runs too deep, and no matter how much you want to push it away, it keeps creeping in, clouding your thoughts.

your chest feels tight, and the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. after a moment, your head falls against his chest, the steady beat of his heart only making the ache in yours worse. you stay like that, in the quiet, trying to think of what you want—what you need—but it’s too much. the hurt, the betrayal, it’s all too overwhelming.

with a shaky breath, you push him away gently, your hands trembling as you do. “i need some time,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm. “i need to be alone for a while.”

his hands drop from your arms, his eyes widening slightly as you take a step back. you don’t meet his gaze again as you add, “i’ll sleep in the next room... for now.” and without waiting for a response, you turn and walk away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you with every step you take.

as the door closes behind you, the silence in the room is deafening, leaving only the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

satoru stares at the door, his hand still outstretched, his mind struggling to process what just happened. the room feels empty without you in it, the silence is deafening, and the weight of what he’s done crashes down on him. he sinks onto the couch, his head in his hands, the full impact of your request—your need to be alone—hitting him with a force he didn’t expect.

he’s never been without you before, not like this. the thought of you being alone in the next room, your hurt, your pain... it’s almost too much to bear.

he sits like that, motionless, for what feels like hours, his mind a maelstrom of emotions. regret, guilt, worry, desperation—it’s all there, swirling together in a toxic mix that feels like it’s tearing him apart.

he thinks about going to you, of trying to make you understand, to apologize, to do anything to make things right. but deep down, he knows that you need this, that he needs to give you this time, even if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

the front door creaks open, and you hear it close with a soft thud, followed by the sound of a car pulling away. you sit on the edge of the bed, your heart heavy as silence envelops the room. tears stream down your face, each drop a reminder of the pain from the night before. despite the exhaustion weighing down on you, sleep eludes you as the memories replay in your mind, the hurtful words echoing like a haunting refrain.

eventually, the weight of your emotions takes its toll, and you succumb to sleep, your body finally giving in to the fatigue that has consumed you.

when you awaken, the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the room. glancing at the clock, you realize it’s nearly noon. the realization hits you hard—satoru hasn’t returned. a pang of hurt slices through you as you consider that he left without even saying goodbye.

as you move to the kitchen, a swirl of worry settles in your chest. where did he go? did he sleep well? did he eat anything? the questions multiply, and the thought of him with someone else makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of him with utahime, the fear gnawing at you like a relentless predator.

you pour yourself a cup of coffee, the familiar scent providing a momentary comfort amidst the chaos of your thoughts. as you sip slowly, your mind races through countless scenarios—what if he’s out drinking again? what if he’s hurting? the worry overwhelms you, threatening to pull you under.

just as you’re lost in your thoughts, you hear the unmistakable sound of keys clattering onto the kitchen counter. your heart races as you blink, trying to process the moment. slowly, you turn your head, and there he is—satoru.

he stands in the doorway, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the confident man you know. his blue eyes, usually so vibrant, are ringed with redness and framed by dark circles, a testament to a sleepless night. his silver hair is tousled, sticking up in all directions as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

“satoru…” your voice comes out as a whisper, the mix of relief and apprehension washing over you. he shifts on his feet, looking vulnerable and exposed, the weight of unspoken apologies hanging heavily in the air.

“i… i’m back,” he says, his voice hoarse and shaky. he takes a hesitant step towards you, the air thick with tension as he searches your face for any sign of how you’re feeling.

you stand there, coffee cup cradled in your hands, unsure of how to react. the memories of the previous night flash through your mind—his hurtful act, your tears. despite the urge to run to him, to wrap your arms around him and forget everything, a part of you holds back.

satoru stands there, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he watches the myriad of emotions play across your face. he looks weary, exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally. the distance between you feels like an ocean, the air heavy with tension and unsaid apologies. he can see the war raging in your eyes, the hesitation—the doubt. and it hurts, more than he thought possible.

he takes another step forward, his hand reaching out slightly, hovering in the air as if he’s afraid to touch you, to cross that invisible line that’s been drawn between you.

he opens his mouth to speak, his mind racing through everything he could say—everything he wants to say. he wants to apologize, to explain, to make things right. he wants to hold you, to be held by you, to be close to you again. but the words seem to evaporate before they even reach his lips.

finally, he simply says your name. just your name. and the way it falls off his tongue is like a plea, a silent plea for you to understand, to forgive.

your heart races as you look up at him, his tired eyes filled with guilt and longing. the way he says your name—soft, almost reverent—feels like a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that has formed between you. but despite the sincerity in his gaze, the memory of last night lingers, a painful reminder of betrayal.

when he takes your hand, the warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you. you want to feel comforted, to lean into him and forget the hurt, but the thought of him pretending to be with another girl cuts deep. the mere idea of it feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you.

“i… i don’t think i can stand it,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. “seeing you with someone else in public... pretend to be all couple.”

satoru's heart clenches at your words, the pain in your voice slicing through him like a knife. he knew it was coming, knew you’d bring it up. it’s just one of the many things he’s been dreading this morning. but hearing it from you, seeing the look in your eyes, it makes everything so much more real, so much more painful.

he tightens his grip on your hand, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin, an attempt to soothe, to comfort. “i know,” he responds, his voice almost a whisper.

satoru's heart aches as he sees the hurt in your eyes, the pain mirrored in your expression. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that has grown between you. he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to gather his thoughts.

“that’s why,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, “i spoke to the company earlier.” he pauses, searching your gaze for understanding. “they were furious.”

he cups your cheek gently with his free hand, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation. “i never wanted you to be caught in the crossfire of all this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “the pressure… the expectations… i just thought it would be easier if we kept it private. but i see now how wrong that was.”

his thumb brushes softly against your skin, an attempt to convey the depth of his remorse. “i was so focused on protecting you that I forgot what you really needed—transparency, honesty. i wanted to shield you from the chaos, but instead, I just pushed you away.” satoru’s eyes search yours, filled with regret and determination. “i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. i’ll fight for us, even if it means facing the wrath of the company. i want to be open about us, to show the world how much you mean to me.”

you blink in surprise, confusion flooding your mind as you process his words. “what do you mean you spoke to the company?” you ask, your voice wavering slightly. “wwhat did they say?”

but before he can respond, satoru turns on the tv, and your heart drops at the sight of him. he looks so different—disheveled, exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept in days. the conference is chaotic, the flashing lights of cameras blinding as reporters hurl questions at him, but he stands there, unwavering.

you stare at the screen, completely stunned. your eyes flicker from the television back to satoru, who stands quietly beside you. the image of him on the screen—a mess of disheveled hair, red eyes, and exhaustion—contrasts sharply with the composed, confident man you know. your heart pounds as you take in what’s unfolding before you: the rumors, the flashing cameras, his raw vulnerability on full display.

the conference is chaotic. journalists fire rapid questions at him, flashes of light bursting in quick succession, but satoru doesn’t waver. he remains steadfast, repeating only one thing—that the rumors aren’t true, that he’s had a girlfriend for years. you feel a lump in your throat, your chest tightening with emotion as the realization sets in. he did this… for you.

you turn to him, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper, “satoru… why you did all of this…?”

he doesn’t speak immediately, just watches you, his expression soft yet filled with a mixture of guilt and hope. slowly, he nods, his thumb still brushing gently over your hand. “i couldn’t let you think for one more second that i’d ever choose anyone else over you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse from everything he’s been through. “i had to do something… anything to show you.”

your eyes well up with tears again, but this time it’s not from pain or anger. you’re overwhelmed, touched by how far he’s gone to try and fix this. “but you didn’t have to—” you start, but he cuts you off, shaking his head.

“yes, i did,” he insists. “i needed to prove it. not just with words, but with action. i’m not letting you walk away thinking i’d ever betray you like that.”

satoru's gaze is intense, his eyes fixed on you as he continues, “i couldn’t let you think for a second that i'd even entertain the thought of being with someone else. you mean everything to me, and i had to make a statement, a public one, because i can’t bear the thought of you doubting that. not for a second.”

“i know i messed up,” he continues, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and determination, “but i swear to you, i’ll never do anything to hurt you on purpose ever again.”

your heart races as you absorb his words, a whirlwind of emotions flooding your mind. the intensity of his gaze makes you feel both cherished and guilty. the weight of the situation settles heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the cause of turmoil in his life.

you swallow hard, your throat dry as you find your voice. “but what about your series?” you ask, anxiety creeping into your tone. “what happens now? you just… put everything on the line for me?” the guilt gnaws at you, and you can't help but worry that your struggles might ruin his career. “satoru, i didn’t want this to affect you. i thought you’d want to keep things private to avoid backlash.”

the thought of him facing consequences for his public declaration sends a shiver down your spine. you look at him, your eyes wide with concern. “what did they say? are they going to fire you? or change the series because of this?” his silence hangs in the air, and you brace yourself for his answer, anxiety wrapping around your heart like a vise.

satoru’s eyes soften even further as he looks down at you, his hand still holding yours, but his grip has tightened slightly. he’s clearly nervous—nervous about what he has to say next, nervous about how you’ll react.

he takes a deep breath before responding, his voice measured and controlled. “i’m not getting fired, dollface.” his words, though relieving, don’t seem to quell the anxiety in your eyes. it’s clear that there’s more to the story, and he can see that you’re bracing for the worst.

satoru watches your expression shift from worry to confusion, then a flicker of understanding as he continues. “they just decided to kill me off in the middle of the second season,” he says, forcing a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “the writer never really liked me anyway.”

he sees the way your brows furrow, and his heart aches for you. he wants to ease your concerns, to show you that his world isn’t crumbling because of this. “it’s all part of the plan,” he adds, his tone playful, even if the situation isn’t exactly ideal. “maybe i’ll get a dramatic comeback. who doesn’t love a good resurrection arc, right?”

he cups your nape gently, his thumb brushing along your skin as he leans down to place a tender kiss on your forehead. “i’d do it a million times over for you, you know? i’d take the hit if it means you feel secure in my love. No one else matters more than you.”

as he pulls back slightly, he searches your gaze, hoping to see a hint of reassurance that you understand his intentions. he wants you to feel loved and protected, no matter the chaos that surrounds them.

your heart feels heavy as you gaze up at satoru, the weight of your worry settling deep in your chest. “are you sure about this?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to be the person who ruins your career.”

the concern in your eyes reflects the turmoil inside you, the fear that your feelings and insecurities could jeopardize everything he’s worked so hard for. you search his face for any sign of doubt, but all you find is unwavering determination.

satoru’s expression shifts, and he gently squeezes your hand, trying to convey his certainty. “dollface, you could never ruin my career,” he reassures you, his voice steady and calm. “if anything, you’re the reason i want to fight for it. i don’t care what they think or what the company says. my love for you is worth any backlash i might face.”

he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours, grounding you both in the moment. “i’d rather give it all up than let you feel like you’re the problem. you are my priority, and nothing will ever change that.” his blue eyes search yours, pleading for you to believe him, to trust that he’s all in.

your heart pounds in your chest as satoru’s words sink in, the rawness of his vulnerability hitting you like a tidal wave. his career, his reputation, his future—he’s willing to risk all of it for you, and the weight of that sacrifice leaves you reeling.

you look at him, the love and determination evident in his eyes, and you struggle to find the words to express the mixture of gratitude and guilt churning inside you. you don’t want to be the one causing ripples in his world, but his steadfast resolve makes it impossible to deny the intensity of his feelings.

satoru notices the turmoil in your expression, the way your brow furrows with guilt as you process his words. it cuts through him like a knife, the thought that you might still feel responsible for any turmoil in his life. he can’t stand to see you in pain, especially not when it’s tied to his choices.

he takes a deep breath, trying to ease your mind. “hey,” he says gently, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his, “i’ve got a few offers for new series and movies lined up. i’m not in danger of losing everything, i promise. they’re just waiting for me to finish this one.”

a small, reassuring smile crosses his face, one that he hopes will lift some of the weight off your shoulders. “this is just a bump in the road, and i’m more than capable of handling it. what matters is you. i need you to know that I’ll always choose you, no matter what.”

he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with sincerity. “we’ll figure this out together, okay? you’re not a burden; you’re my motivation.”

your heart squeezes at satoru's words, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions. the guilt, the worry, the love—it's all flooding through you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. but in that vulnerability, you also see the depth of his devotion, his unwavering commitment to you.

“but… i don’t want you to choose,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don't want you to feel like you have to sacrifice your career... because of me.”

satoru hums softly at your words, the sound reverberating with warmth as he processes your concerns. with a gentle yet deliberate motion, he lifts you to sit on the counter, his hands steadying you as your thighs rest against the cool surface. he positions himself closer, his forehead resting against the counter beside your body, effectively caging you in.

“i can’t sacrifice you for my career either,” he says, his voice low and earnest, the intensity of his gaze locking onto yours. “you’re the one thing i won’t compromise on. i’d give up everything for you, even if it meant starting over. no job, no series, nothing could ever mean more to me than you.”

his expression is fierce, a combination of determination and vulnerability that makes your heart race. “so please, don’t worry about me. we’re in this together. we’ll figure it out side by side, and i’ll make sure you never feel like you’re standing in the way of my dreams.”

as you look into his eyes, the depth of his words washes over you, and a warmth spreads through your chest. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. the feel of his warmth against you brings a sense of comfort, a connection that calms the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“i just… i don’t want to be the reason for your struggles,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “i care about you so much, satoru. i want you to shine, to succeed, and to be happy.”

holding him tightly, you feel the tension in his body ease as he leans into you, his breath mingling with yours. “i know we’ll figure this out together,” you whisper, your heart swelling with love. “but promise me you won’t carry this weight alone. we’re a team, right?”

satoru’s eyes flutter shut as he absorbs your words, a mixture of gratitude and relief washing over him. your unwavering support and love are like a balm on his weary soul, and he melts into your embrace, his head resting on your shoulder.

“together,” he affirms, his voice a whisper against your skin. “you’re not just my partner; you’re my foundation. you give me the strength to face anything, good or bad. we’re in this together, and no one, not even the company, can come between us.”

he lifts his head, his eyes studying your face. “you’re not a burden or an inconvenience, dollface. you’re my priority, my everything. i may have an image to uphold, but nothing is worth more than your happiness, your comfort. i’d take on the world for you if i have to.”

a flicker of vulnerability passes across his face. “just promise me that you’ll keep communicating with me. if you ever feel like you’re in my way or like you’re causing me trouble, i need—no, i want you to tell me, okay?”

a warm smile spreads across your face at his words, the sincerity in his eyes soothing the lingering doubts in your mind. you nod, feeling a rush of affection for him. “okay,” you mumble softly, your voice filled with reassurance.

a wave of visible relief washes over satoru’s face as you agree to his request. the tension in his body eases visibly, and he reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“thank you,” he whispers, his hand resting on your cheek. “i just... i need to know that you’re okay, that we’re okay. that, even when things are messy, we’re still you and me. always.”

you nod, a soft smile still gracing your lips as you gently cup his cheeks in your hands. feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms, you lean in closer, your heart racing in anticipation.

satoru’s heart races at the touch of your hands against his cheeks, the warmth of your palms sending electric currents through his body. your lips meet his, a sense of peace washes over you, the world around you fading into the background. it’s a sweet, tender kiss, filled with unspoken promises and the depth of your feelings for him. as your lips meet his, he savors the taste of you, melting into the kiss like a man starved.

you pull back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other, and whisper, “always,” letting the word linger in the air between you, a vow that encapsulates everything you both cherish. it’s a simple word, but it carries the weight of your love, a reminder that no matter the chaos, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

satoru feels the weight of your promise like a gentle caress. a content smile spreads across his face as he brushes his nose against yours, a whisper of affectionate laughter escaping his lips.

“always,” he repeats quietly, his blue eyes sparkling with love. “me and you.”

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