#challengers!au

[thevirtualvalentine]

Challengers

Plot: three young tennis stars find themselves in a sticky love triangle, or, satosugu x reader x Challengers!au, but if you were tashi and had stayed in the hotel room that night in 2006.

Warnings: threesomes (mfm), afab!reader, competitiveness, cunnilings, handjobs n’ oral, switch!gojo, fingering, porn with plot, missionary prince gojo, doggy king geto, they both have a massive crush on reader, banter, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms.

authors notes: I got super carried away and it’s such a long read (6.6k), enjoy! 😇

There was one thing two of these complete opposites could agree on. Y/n L/n was the sexiest tennis player either of them had ever seen. On and off the court.

Satorus' big bright eyes stared at your recent brand campaign on social media in awe as he scrolled through his phone during downtime before practice.

“Can you believe that? Look at this Su” Satoru shows his friend in utter disbelief like you just cheated on him or something. His eyes haven’t left his screen in over five minutes, he looks pained yet fascinated knowing you have no idea who he is. Additionally, he’s oddly defensive over his phone even though he offered to show the raven-haired male.

“Like she’d fuck with a guy like you,” Suguru mumbles quietly under his breath in annoyance, rolling his eyes and leaning further into his stretch. Sometimes he wishes Satoru took this a little bit more seriously considering upcoming dates.

While their favorite thing to talk about outside of tennis was you, they had serious work to do before an upcoming competition that the two of them would be competing in.

“But you know, Masamichi said we got invited to a party of hers before the match..” Satoru makes his way to the lined court, serving some while waiting for his companion.

“Shut up and just do your drills Satoru,” Suguru muses while grabbing his racket, making a face while returning a stray ball right at the white-haired man. He quickly ties his long hair back in a low ponytail before gearing up for practice.

“Ouchie!! Suguru be careful where you aim those,” he pouts, running frantically around the court before dramatically grabbing the net to state his grievances. He can only hear his partner darkly laugh with his back turned to him. Suguru has always had a tendency to be a meanie!

But, before they went to your party, they had wanted to watch you play a match in the exact upcoming competition. Suguru was the most inquisitive to see your infamous backhand the press can’t seem to shut up about in various headlines. Satoru would never pass up the opportunity to see you in motion.

Later that week at the match, the two of them arrive together and wave off various paparazzi looking for interviews before finding their seats. “Look look— is that her?” Satoru voices as you enter the court, they’re watching from their meticulously purchased stand seats as a woman with dark skin and a matching set begins to stretch. Your long curly hair is pulled back in a keen style as you showcase your limber frame.

“Unbelievable,” Suguru cannot ignore the sly smirk that graces Gojo's face as he observes you. There were visible glimmers in his friend's blue eyes that clearly shone for you.

Suguru isn’t sure if he’s jealous about it all, but he interjects nevertheless. “Again, like she’d want you over me.”

The match commences with your serve. The two of them instantaneously manspread in their seats, gazes glued to your every movement. You had absolute domineering control of the court, causing your opponent to run around like a chicken with her head cut off. Even as the ball was smashed to either side of the court, their yearning was fixated on Y/n L/n, the tennis prodigy.

During a particularly electrified set, Suguru rests his hand on Satoru's thigh. He can feel the stiffness of his friends' pants, he recognizes it because of his own growingly awkward condition. Fuck, he knew they were both whipped as they exhaled a long-held breath simultaneously. Neither of them realized they’d been holding it while watching you in the first place.

You ultimately win the match, exclaiming your victory boldly. “Come on!” Satoru doesn’t know if there’s a word for it, smitten maybe? Gobsmacked? Horny? Is he in love? He doesn’t know. He just knows you’re beautiful in that moment, emulating your joy with a smile of his own.

Later on that day, a party was held in one of your family's villas, the two of them couldn’t help themselves from gawking at all the decorations dedicated to you. Their jaws were practically on the floor seeing precisely how successful you were. Satoru’s dick hurt with how hard it was sitting in his pants, khakis aren’t really great for boners.

The duo finds you on the dance floor with your friends, a nice fitting electric blue dress hugs your curvy body while you sway and dance to the beat. It’s effortless, “wooow,” Suguru says downing his bitter drink. They’re not doing excellently to camouflage themselves with hard-pointed gazes, just standing there watching you at a nearby event table.

Their attire pales in comparison to yours, simple slacks with a nice suitable polo. Colors befitting the two of them respectively. Satoru sporting a pretty pale blue shirt and Suguru in muted navy (no doubt stolen from Satoru). You see the two of them watching you, but you don’t really mind. You know they’ll find their way over to you eventually.

In fact, it doesn’t take long. They scamper up to you in a hurry when they spot you sitting down to take a drink in a less densely populated area of the party.

“Satoru Gojo,” the man with short white hair and big bright blue eyes conveys.

“Suguru Geto,” the one with mysterious allure and long black hair articulated.

But, it comes out indistinguishable as they decide to speak in unison. “Yin and Yang, I know you two.” You take an interlude to catch your breath and sip your drink. Their hungry eyes track your hasty mouth to the straw with a similar thirst.

“So, which ones which?” they gulp, but Suguru is eager to bite first.

“Guess,” and it comes out how you would imagine. Flirtatious with a dynamism of sarcasm, you can spot the growing shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“Your match today was incredible, it was like an entirely different game. I almost felt bad for Mei Mei” Truthfully, in his heart of hearts, Satoru Gojo cannot and will not be beat. Not even by his best friend. His pride runs too deep to face a reality in which he does not win.

You look down at your hands and smile before replying to him, soaking in the compliment. Just like a flower, he thinks you’re beautiful. “Thank you, but don’t she’s a freak, honestly. You should hear the rumors about her and her little brother.”

Suguru almost spits his booze across the small table, he didn’t think you of all people would be the one to say such gossip. Beautiful, athletic, and very witty. He likes it, at least that’s what he’s concluded.

“Hey, come hang out with us down by the beach later. Do you smoke?” He has also decided that he’d act upon his feelings. What’s the worst that could happen? Getting to spend time with you would be fun.

“Uh,” you dart your eyes between them considering your options, “Yeah, sure. I’ll come by.” Not a moment sooner though, your parents call you over to oversee some of your financial business partners at the party. You are whisked away by eager hands, quickly forgetting about the two of them as they’re left to watch you mingle with a sense of want in their chest.

“She totally wants me,” Satoru says full of blind confidence, not even bothering to look at his friend to confirm his thoughts.

And again, there’s that sparkle in Satoru’s eyes. “For the final time, like it’s you she wants. She was obviously flirting with me.” He is always full of fire and smacks the back of Satorus' neck in compensation.

Later on, when most of the attendees have trickled out one by one, the pair finds themselves plotting incessantly once more. Neither of them is able to help themselves in their delusions, discussing to share you like pieces of pie.

“Still here?” You say when you find them sitting off to the side by their lonesome. They always seem to be together, attached at the hip like a husband and husband.

“We were waiting for you. Come down to the beach with us.” Even though it was a question, one which you didn’t have to answer, Suguru's raging confidence speaks volumes making it a statement. smooth, a little too smooth.

You look back once more at your surroundings to ensure your family didn’t need you for any pictures, it would be awkward if they found out you were sneaking around with two guys. Yet, you indulge them, “Uh,” hesitation finds you biting down on your bottom lip slightly, “Sure.” you say, shaking any negative thoughts from your head. this was a party after a great win today, go have fun.

As a trio once more, the three of you make your way to the grainy shores, doing your best to avoid steep drops. Both of them engaging you in conversation simultaneously, almost talking over each other with their boyish charm. “One at a time please, I can’t understand you both when you talk like that,” you say with a huff, sitting down on a dry rock while the twins find themselves perched in chairs.

Soft waves scurry against the sand in droves painting a scenic backdrop for your conversation against the dark blue sky littered with stars. Suguru lights a smoke and the sparks ignite the air around him. He offers it to you and doesn't mind your inevitable rejection. You do have an image he supposes.

“Lemme ask you something,” he says huffing smoke, passing his cigarette to Satoru. You nod, letting your body face the water as the unclear and mysterious man talks.

“What’s your angle about the whole Jujutsu College thing, you’re too good for the collegiate league.” His eyes find yours, awaiting your answer as he leans further back into his seat.

Satoru, unlike his friend, knows the value of education. He also knows you’ll be attending the same institute as him to play tennis alongside your studies.

You answer him in a smooth tone, sure of your answer, “It has classes y’know. I don’t want my only life skill to be hitting a ball with a racket.” Despite the will of Mother Nature, neither of them could hear the sound of the waves over their heartbeats. Hearing you tell them exactly how it is makes them admire you as a player even more.

“I get it, you’re making us wait for you.” He finds himself grinning lightly. “The tennis phenomenon who cares about her education.” You’re exactly the woman they knew you’d be. Smart, cunning, and ambitious. There’s nothing you couldn’t do, and there’s absolutely nothing that could make either of them want you more in that moment. Satoru drones out the rest of your conversation as Suguru gets into morals and life goals on the ethics of tennis.

Satoru takes this time to really study you. He notes the smoothness of your skin, the enunciation of your collarbones through your strapless dress, and the silver hoops that dangle from your ears and sway with every word you say. He can feel himself almost begin to salivate and glow red.

“It’s a relationship,” you assert. That’s when Satoru has half a mind to pay attention again to the conversation instead of ogling you. Suguru has seemed to hit a nerve with you about whatever you were discussing.

“Is that what you and Mei Mei had today? A relationship?” Suguru throughout his career has found himself asking these confounding questions. Wanting to know the true essence of why he plays his sport. Your conversation and mind have intrigued him, he’s going to push you further just for the sake of intelligent conversation.

“Yes, it was like we were in love like we were the only ones there. Maybe somewhere far away.” Still confused, he wants to chatter more but Satoru seems quick on the uptake.

“When you yelled,” the gears in his mind flip to that exact moment during the match when you hit the winning shot. It was electrifying and infectious.

You’re touched he was able to examine your game like that. “Yeah,” you smile at him tenderly over your shoulder. Maybe they both weren’t so bad, a bit rough around the edges you suppose. “Okay, I gotta go before my parents need me. I’ll see you at school Satoru,” you reveal while grabbing your shoes and patting the sand off your dress.

“Do you have Facebook?” Suguru interjects before you can disappear into the night, only to be seen in another brand campaign on their phone before practice. If he didn't seize this chance, when would there be another opportunity?

“What?” You dig your heels in the sand and spin around to face them. There is a moment of silence as the wind gently blows your long curls into your lipgloss.

Satoru decides he’ll be brave too. “He’s asking for your number, and so am I.”

“You both want my number?” A look of incredulity transits your face at the implication. A pair of best friends, seemingly more, who both want you? It seems a little far-fetched.

“Yes.” Quick, concise, unanimous.

“Ok, well, I’m not a home wrecker.” Whatever is happening between them, stays with them. Your eyes are on tennis and your future.

“Whatttt, nooo. It’s an open relationship. Come hang out with us later. We’re at the same hotel. Room 206.” Satoru proposes to lighten the mood. Suguru only chuckles in his chair at your words, coughing up pools of smoke in the process. What a dope.

“Bye,” is all you leave them with, making your way back up the beach to your party with your friends and family. You can audibly hear boo’s following you from the shore from the two boys.

after leaving the party, the two make their way back to the hotel. Coming up with new ideas on how to win your affections. Going as far as to stake their match tomorrow on it. The room's AC had been broken since the two boys got there. Suguru needed the window open anyway if he was going to smoke.

“So, what are the odds you think she’s coming?” Satoru asks for the sixth time this hour alone. He’s dressed only in a pair of boxers feeling the heat, he's lying upside down on the bed observing Suguru chucking cards into the trash can in between punching the AC unit in hopes of it working. They’ve shared a few drinks between the two of them while yearning desperately in their shared hotel room.

Suguru, in typical fashion matching his friend, dons a shirt of his Satorus' with boxers. “She’s not coming,” he says with a mix of disappointment and longing as a way to console himself. Perhaps the two of them had glazed it on too strong.

“Besides, if she came how would that even work? Do we just wait till she kisses one of us and kicks the other out?” The thoughts that have been plaguing his mind now reside in the blue-eyed beauty’s.

Then, three knocks at the door rouse them from their depressive slump, they eye one another to confirm what they both just heard. Had you really come? With another three knocks the adrenaline starts pumping gas.

Fuck. Dumb and dumber run to clean the room, throwing the all cards in the trash can, straightening up the bed sheets, and most importantly putting on a proper pair of pants and a shirt. They practically trip over one another to open the door.

“Hey!” But Geto’s just a little faster.

“Again with the speaking in unison thing. Stop it.” You had been listening to them clamber around in there before opening the door. they laugh before showing you around the room and settling down in a circle on the ground.

“So, did you guys like grow up together?” They snicker and laugh with each other as you join them on the carpeted floor in conversation. “What! I just mean, it seems like you guys are brothers,” you say correcting yourself a little nervously. Now that you’re alone with the two of them it’s all setting in. Your eyes catch their adam's apple as they talk, the bobbing making you swallow hard.

“Well, we went to boarding school together. Been bunk mates since we were 12 years old. That kind of thing.” Suguru answers your question as an excuse to eye you longer. Tiny black shorts strangling your muscular thighs, a hot pink zip-up jacket with probably nothing underneath it, and you have your long natural curls flowing down your back and face. You’re just so tantalizing no matter what you’re in, and he’s sure Satoru feels the same way.

“Oh, and how often does this happen?” You pause, sitting up on your knees making your hips extra plush as you query, “Going after the same girl?”

Yin and yang eye each other before answering as if in deep thought, “Never.”

“Not as often as you’d think. We usually have different types” Truthfully, they wanted to sound sincere.

“Oh, so should I feel special?” but that honesty stung nonetheless. While they didn’t mean to, it came off a bit rude. Why even entertain these two freaks in the first place?

Satoru answers your question to soften the mood, “Aren’t you everyone’s type?” he has a strange threshold of emotional intelligence, more than Suguru. That's what you like about him though, his eyes that see everything.

Both of their stares pining you in place, while they are nice, you can sense a lingering intensity in their terminology. It ignited something in you, sending a tremble through your spine thinking of what they could do to you in the security of these four walls.

Your eyes flicker between the two of them but then fall on the bed, noting the fact the two once separate beds have been forced together. You face back to the pretty pair feeling the tension amidst you all reaching its climax.

“And what about the two of you,” your hands point back and forth trying to say the obvious without saying it. “I’m not a home wrecker.”

“Us?” They ask in unison almost comically. When they realize you’re dead serious they shut up and consider it for a second.

“Well..” Suguru starts, but Satoru stops.

A flush of red overtakes his face immediately, “no, Su, not that.”

He snickers to himself lightly in a teasing manner, but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Tell me please, I feel like you two at least owe me that.” You can practically feel yourself digging your nails into the skin of your palm in anticipation of their little secret.

“Fine. Ok.” The confession begins. “Suguru taught me how to jerk off when we were 12. I think I was a late bloomer or something,” he says avoiding eye contact still beet red from the neck up. It’s honestly kind of cute but you still find yourself giggling slightly.

Much to Satoru’s dismay, Suguru only joins in on the laughter. The white-haired man places his head between his knees trying to think of some sort of rebuttal in the middle of his embarrassment.

“Whatever, you wouldn’t be the one laughing if it happened to you.”

Suguru attempts to console him to no avail and you slam down the rest of his drink when he isn’t looking, wiping the excess off the corners of your mouth. Shitty beer never sits right with you, but if you were going to go through with your plan you’d need liquid courage.

Rising from the floor you place yourself in the middle of their pushed-together beds. Sitting with your legs crossed eyeing them both from the floor. “C’mere,” you say softly, patting the bed to signal their attention.

Like a moth to a flame, they scurry over, settling themselves on either side of you.

You can feel the heat radiating from them just by being sandwiched between them, their knees confining yours. Their torsos completely turned to face you, waiting to see what you’ll do. Neither of them could face your rejection, who are you going to pick?

You lean towards Suguru giggling, twirling the hair that lays on his shoulder around your fingers. His face light pink as he looks at you expectantly, waiting for anything. It’s like he looks lost, confused as to what to do. It’s cute for someone who always seems so sure of himself. It suits him, you think.

Then, you turn to Satoru, his pretty blue eyes meeting yours with gorgeous white lashes. You’d never really seen them till now, then you noticed how well defined his cupid's bow was, and the light shade of his lips… you couldn’t help it, your mouth was meeting his with unexpected need. You felt him physically relax into you, his enormous palm resting on the fat of your thigh as you held his face. He was kissing you like he was familiar with your taste.

Suguru didn’t know he was going to be this turned on at the site before his eyes, not particularly sore that you kissed his friend before him. Bygones. It’s just thrilling to him how good the two of you look while doing it, he almost forgot he was in the room with you.

But you didn’t forget about him, of course, you have to peel yourself off of the needy man next to you to get to him though. “Can I kiss you,” you ask him.

And he nods, “More than welcome sweetheart.” You simply roll your eyes, what a charmer.

He’s all teeth and tongue, his mouth and hands trying to suck you closer to him. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and it was sending heat straight downwards, making you draw your knees together.

Though Satoru separates them, letting his appendage creep up your bare thigh trying to test the waters. You drag it up further to encourage him, he shows his gratitude by kissing the skin of your neck. He can feel you moan as you kiss his friend and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life. There’s just no way this was really happening.

You try kissing them at the same time, but it’s just overwhelming. The roughness of their fingertips makes you groan into their touch. It’s a battle of will and you can’t compete with their hunger as they devour you, greedy hands trying formidably hard to claim you as their own.

Satoru tows you into his lap, placing the plush of your ass directly on his boner. You can see the light pink hue coating his face as he watches Suguru slot himself between your legs, it makes you feel drunk to be between their immense frames like this. He grabs your legs as they dangle off the bed, letting his shoulders hold the brunt of their weight. His dark eyes find yours as he smiles, kissing your soft inner thighs with pepper-light praise.

It almost feels like you’re not yourself, witnessing your chest rise and fall so sporadically in anticipation of what his mouth is going to do next. Satoru's breath hitches as his partner slides your flimsy shorts down to your ankles, eyes locked on the translucent slick connecting you to your underwear.

Your face feels hot knowing they’re both looking at your indecent cunt, but instead they praise you.

“Pretty girl with an even prettier pussy,” Suguru says. Smug bastard.

“No fair. Do something or I will.” The blue-eyed beauty pouts, twisting your nipple from underneath your jacket. It elicits a whine from deep within your chest, their attention making you grow hotter and more ravenous every second.

Congrats, you just made their dicks 12x heavier in their pants. More of that sweet noise, they agree.

Su plants his face in your hot pussy with no shame, licking long stripes up your folds. “Fuck, Satoru you wouldn’t believe what she tastes like,” he remarks wiping your slick from his lips and directly into his mouth.

“Let me try,” his tone is different, all silliness gone, and it's quite dominant. He grabs Suguru by his dark hair, raising the male from his kneeling position to kiss him so he can get a taste of you himself.

The sight makes warmth shoot right to your guts, they’re making out so intensely it almost feels like you’re intruding, but you can’t stop watching them.

“You’re right,” he says with a wicked grin and blown-out pupils, “she tastes fucking incredible.”

You can see the look on their faces, they’re sick and you’re worried you’re going to become as fucked up as them by the end of this.

Continuing their ministrations, Suguru is back to kissing your thighs while Satoru massages your breasts in his large palms. But something’s different, their energy has changed. It’s been replaced with something you can’t quite yet place your finger on.

You start to feel teeth graze your supple skin, on both your neck and inner thighs. They smirk in unison feeling you twitch lightly in their hold, taking it as a sign to continue. “What’s wrong? You’re so shy all of a sudden. Where’s that on the court ferocity baby?”

His voice is smooth and low in your ears, you open your droopy eyes to find him already looking right back at you. “Shut up.” What a bunch of jackasses.

He laughs, pulling your cunt flush to his eager lips. “Fine then,” and damn does it feel good. His wet muscle rolls on your clit in steady waves, never breaking his pace. Suguru's warm breath and open-mouthed pants into your pussy have you crushing his skull between your toned thighs, but his iron grip stops you.

He alternates between flicking and sucking but you can’t follow because Satoru is making you feel limp in his arms. For all his cuteness, he’s really a beast; rutting his cock into your ass as he bites into your shoulder for a better grip on you. You have half to mind to tell him to not be so rough, it’s too hot outside to wear a turtleneck.

It just all feels so good, you didn’t think it could get any better till you feel a finger prodding at your entrance. It’s thick, and you welcome it with no fuss, sighing as you grind down on his worn hand.

“Her pussy is so soft, fuck I need to put my dick in this.” And there’s another finger, it burns but the calloused ridges feel much better than your own hands.

“You are disgusting,” you bark back, but it sounds pathetic as his friend pinches your dark nipples between his fingers mid-sentence.

“You’re the one twitching on my fingers, talk about disgusting.” His words sting and make your face feel hot, but he beams, delving in for more, making out with your sensitive bud as his fingers pump in and out of you.

Satoru feels this is all unsportsmanlike. He doesn’t get to taste you, but he guesses he should be grateful to just touch you. Something in him wants more, and needs to be selfish, “I get to fuck you first, understand?”

Your small face rests in his hand, your head tipped upwards to meet his infinite eyes that tell you he’s not asking. “Please S’Toru, mmn— need you now,” spit pools in the corners of your mouth and he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked sexier.

The darker-haired man merely chuckles, knowing he’s been beaten by the way your pussy is gripping his fingers right now. Only Satoru could do something like that.

But in the meantime, he’ll stretch you out just how you need.

You can only assume there are three fingers knuckle deep inside you, you honestly can’t tell because your eyes are rolled back in satisfaction. They’re caging you, bringing you to a threshold of pleasure you didn’t know before. “Gonna— ah! Wai- gonna cum,” his three digits curve upwards, jamming that spot as he sucks your clit within his velvety lips.

White hot pleasure clouds your vision as you come undone in front of them, their eyes watching every jolt devastate you. If they could make you cum like this, what else could they do to you?

“You’re so perfect for us, jus’ keep cumming princess.” You’re a moaning heaving mess in his arms but Satoru thinks he might be in love with you. He can’t take his eyes away from your face as you writhe so helplessly.

They let you catch your breath a moment before getting into the next position, removing any extra clothes that might prevent them from fully feeling you, kissing your face and thighs whenever you shiver. Despite all the shit you gave them, they were actually kinda sweet.

You let them move you to the center of the bed, Satoru slotting himself between your legs while your pelvis rests on his hips. Suguru innocently sits close by next to you waiting for his set of instructions.

“Do you trust us?” He asks.

“Of course not.” You joke, arching your eyebrow in defiance to them. Satoru slaps your clit with his cock for misbehaving, and you had not realized it before but he’s big. It’s almost to your belly button and you have no idea how you’re going to be able to take all of him.

Like a predator, he senses your fear, “kiss her,” he briefs Suguru.

His mouth and tongue still taste like you, warm and lithe as it seeps into your mouth. You’re distracted flat on your back as Gojo thumbs your still-sensitive clit, wanting to give you a little pleasure for the impending pain.

It’s like him to pick missionary, you think. You can’t see him but he’s biting his own lip to the point it could draw blood as he works his long cock into you inch by fucking inch. It’s torture not just fucking you to the hilt but he’ll be nice.

“So good baby, this pussy’s real fucking good,” he hisses through his teeth. You can only moan into Suguru's mouth, he drowns out and swallows up every cry of pain and pleasure.

They’re shallow and steady strokes that make you impatient, you respond by grinding yourself onto him with fervor. “Stop it, you know I can’t take it if you do that,” he whines, you feel his weight fall close by on the bed. “You’re just so damn tight.”

With his hand propped on the mattress, Satoru hits somewhere deeper inside you, making you reflexively close your legs around his small waist. It’s all a blur, Sugurus' snake-like tongue and Satorus' cannon of a dick.

They’re relentless. You feel like he’s carving a new hole in your insides with how thorough he’s maiming you. “You like it huh, love when I fuck you hard like this?” It’s all but enunciated with a potent stroke behind each syllable.

He knows you can’t answer him with his best friend commandeering your mouth, the sight before him was beyond enthralling. But he doesn’t need you to, each squelch of your cunt providing him with enough proof.

Plap, plap, plap. His heavy balls hitting your ass over and over again. He doesn’t even need to do anything unique with a dick like that, he might be too prideful to use it correctly.

“Su, I-I want you to eat her out as I fuck her, please,” even though Satoru was the one in control of this situation, you don’t miss the submission in his voice to his equal.

He hums, leaving your mouth to pick up where he left off earlier. Memories of your pussy sweet like candy on his tongue flash in his mind as he tucks his long black hair behind his ear to not get in the way of his feast.

It’s so fucking sexy, you moan out a mix of their names too far gone to differentiate at this point. They could be your god for all you care. “Don’t s-stop.”

“Of course sweet thing,” Suguru replies, they’ll service you however you need them to.

Satoru sits on his feet to give Geto space, inching his cock in you deliberately slow. Coupled with Su's stellar oral, you’re good as gone. Twitching and arching off the bed as you’re spread and fucked.

You didn’t know sex could feel this good, they’re so intently focused on your pleasure it’s overwhelming. That familiar fire kindling in your tummy. “Oh! I’m- I’m gonna—”

“Already?” They say in unison, watching as you cum for the second time tonight. Satoru grabs Suguru in support, your cunt is sucking him in so tight that he’s probably going to cum himself if he doesn’t calm down.

Suguru swallows your loud whines, wanting to be a little mindful of the late hour. That has his friend coming undone, “Me too— fuckkkk.”

You’re shivering in aftershock as he shallowly pumps his load in you. Letting you milk his tip as he rocks his hips lightly. It’s the most he’s ever came, and he just can’t stop cumming because it’s started to leak out of you. A foamy mix of him and yourself now coating his frosty happy trail.

“Well, that’s just not fair,” Suguru says, wiping his face and putting his fingers in your mouth. You obediently suck, feeling a tad bit remorseful. After all, he didn’t get to cum, and he’s been so good to you and your cunny.

You weakly grab his wrist, trying to speak with your mouth stuffed. “What?”

He withdraws, letting his hand drag down your body, squeezing your tit in his warm palm before resting on your tummy. The sensation of him tapping his fingers against your flesh lights you on fire all over again.

“Fuck me, I can take it. Or what? Are you too pussy?”

What a damn brat, you’re just like Satoru. At least, that’s what he thinks. After all, you both give him this nauseating sense of frustration to put you in your place for your sheer arrogance.

He just rolls his eyes, amused nonetheless, “Okay.”

He pulls a limp and exhausted Satoru from out between your legs, informing him of his next intentions before they have to go to sleep for their match tomorrow. You watch the two of them converge from on your stomach, trying to collect yourself. The feeling of something new is still so exciting even if you’re acting confident.

After what felt like forever one of them crawls back over to the bed. “Ass up hun, c’mon I wanna see it.” Suguru is hot in a different way than Satoru, as you get into position he starts pumping his cock from somewhere just out of reach. “Wow baby, beautiful arch,” he sneers, but it is genuine. He’s leaking pre just toying with himself while watching you.

“Clean her up,” he commands. Satoru obeys, giving your ass a light smack before positioning himself behind you. You’ve never had someone eat you out like this before, whatever their fetish was with tasting you was; it was heaven.

He spits in your pussy before dribbling it back up gain. Like a dog he’s responsible for cleaning his own mess, groaning at the taste of himself and you coating your thighs and folds. You’re sure it’s been gone for a while now but he doesn’t stop, neither does Suguru. Just standing there, stroking himself with a pink hue coating his face.

It’s mind-shattering at this point how diminutive you feel to their impulses. Incoherent babble about how good it feels and how it’s too much slip past your lips as you’re forced to watch his abs tense and flex in tandem with his sharp v-line, but he’s slow. Just edging himself over there as Satoru devours you. His tongue cooling your worn cunt.

“Careful, don’t make her cum again.” Enough watching, he honestly can’t take much more himself.

Satoru begrudgingly stops and sits on the bed by your head, waiting for further instruction.

“You think you’re ready?” His features are shrouded in a dark halo, raven hair cascading down his collarbones as he mounts you.

You deeply want to say yes but you can feel your pussy clenching questioning it, his broad shoulders looming over you. “Yes..” maybe you bit off more than you can chew. He would be the type to love doggy, you think.

He grins, lining himself up with your slit and coating his tip in your excess juices. “Good.” It knocks the wind out of you with how girthy he is.

If Satoru was length, Suguru was girth. You white knuckle the bed sheet as he fucks the sense out of you. Starting from the tip of your toes to the crown of your scalp he rearranged you.

“Nghhh—” You can’t say or do anything, just accept his intrusion. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, bracing yourself as Suguru picks up speed.

He’s exact, precise, and doesn’t waste a single ounce of energy in his stroke. It’s deep and punctual, powerful in your guts. “Fu-u-uck,” he has you stuttering over your words and the tears begin to spill from his mean dick.

“Aw, you cryin’?” Satoru says, wiping the tears from your face as you look to him for some sort of mercy. You should have known better, his icy eyes and tone betraying any semblance of pity to the brute pounding you’re receiving.

He just grunts behind you, hands bruising your sides surely from his grip alone. That’s the only thing keeping you up, the sheer power in his thrust makes the sound and smell of sex pungent.

Satoru takes your hand and places it on his shaft, he himself is a little envious of the sight and needs tending to again. Your sense of perception becomes needier to please and oblige his wishes, jerking his fat dick as his best friend pounds you.

It’s cliché, but you didn’t expect it to be this good. The two of them totally ruining you in their shitty hotel room, two arrogant rising tennis stars sharing you greedily.

The tension in the room builds, barreling towards completion as desperate moans and groans erupt from you all. A hedonistic sight indeed, chasing after your ends.

It’s Suguru who causes the domino effect, picking up speed and hunching over to rest his body on top of yours. You buckle under the weight which has him even deeper inside you. “Just like that, stay there,” it’s firm.

He’s moaning, driving himself in and out of you with reckless abandon. His hair wild as he mutters obscenities about your pussy. His hips begin to stutter, causing Satoru to follow suit hearing you both scream like animals.

Your hand works over just the top half of his cock as he cums, overstimulating him but he can’t help but buck his hips into your hand for more. Next thing you know, you’re finishing too, the rest of it being a blur from his spent you were.

A disgusting pile of sweat, cum, and spit coats the three of you on that bed. Catching your breaths and seeking warmth from each other after what you just did. “Are you sure you guys haven’t done that before?” You break the silence with a joke.

“We could do it again,” Satoru mumbles, half joking half serious.

“We have a game. Shower then sleep,” Suguru says matter-of-factly, removing his forearm from his eyes.

The three of you stumble to the bathroom, sticky and hot as you pile in the bath. It’s quiet, but it’s nice.

You talk about what went wrong and what went right as you wash each other, even talking about strategy for the game tomorrow. Oh, and of course the infamous bet.

Whoever wins gets to have your heart, right?

[selfishpresley]

The Points That Matter - preview

Checo looked scruffy. 

It was the first thing that came across her mind as she saw him. Stubble across his jaw. To his neck. He had always been hairy. 

Was this the businessman that people were waiting to see?

When they were dating, she used to trace her initials through the hair on his chest. Used to run her hands over the thick hair on his arms. Or brush her fingertips over the wiry hair of his treasure trail. 

Now, he looked older with it. 

And handsome and delicious. The attraction would always be there. Especially when they could look into each other’s eyes and get transported to amazing sex on her dorm’s twin bed. 

Where she would bite into the skin below his Adam's apple to hear him groan. 

She could already feel the rough patch of his stubble on her tongue. And by god, did she want to lick him from adam's apple to that freckle above his lips. She wanted to leave a mark. To draw blood. 

To consume him. To take over his body. Or to change hers. 

In a body swap situation she would do something with unbroken knees and a large cock. Win titles and medals. Fuck the world like she was the last man on earth. To still have a hunger for something.

Those lips that were pulled into a nervous little smirk. Large brown-black eyes looked her over like she was still the great player she used to be.

"Ser– Checo." It was easy to feel like that with Max and Checo. Like she never broke anything. He took that faltered confidence and brought it into his own body.

"Pretty girl."

Chapter 1 - (x)

[crumplstiltskin]

choso week day 6: college

[fanaticalthings]

just another night in gotham

<- Prev Masterlist Next ->

[fullychaotichell]

Can't believe I haven't read the new chapter of OSAS because I was focused on finishing these silly joke doodles pfff

Okay, so, the premise of this joke is that Lucifer and Alastor's relationship has grown so much without anyone else knowing anything about it, but they're also both sillies who have funny ways of showing their friendship and now romance, so I just wanted to doodle that for fun pfff

Also, even tho they promised to keep their romance a secret, I BET these fuckers would get themselves caught, like, they've been caught looking romantic a dozen other times just by Vox alone, not to even mention other characters ppfpfpfp

Anyways, @morningstarwrites I had a peek at the new chapter and saw we're back to team HARD, I'm so happy pfpfpfpf

Bonus:

[ominouspuff]

pulling strings

REQUESTS / BLOG EVENT

From @lunaemoth - request 2/2 - Palette#3 - Padme - Music stirs the soul

[andreadarcyart]

Up close look at both Cassidy and Delia:

Challengers but make it Hanamusa with some Yamushipping. I thought this fit them really well (I genuinely just wanted to draw them in tennis outfits fighting over Jessie 😂 I have an outfit I want to draw Jessie in too, if I ever find the time to get it done) and I have a few more ideas for this tennis AU, so fingers crossed I’ll get them drawn once things have settled down at work 🤞

I’m also advocating for a 🍉 family, their last two fundraisers resulted in their PayPal accounts being blocked by PayPal, so I'm organising on behalf of them with their permission and transferring the money raised to them through the bank (This is me being completely transparent for anyone that is uncomfortable, if you are, please do not donate, I will completely understand). (The money that was originally raised isn't lost, PayPal is holding on to it, but they can't fight to get it back in their current conditions since they're moving a lot and WiFi is unstable at the best of times. So if you donated before, do not worry, they'll be able to use that money to rebuild once they've evacuated to a safe place). I’m currently not open for commissions because I’m burnout from the last lot I’ve had to do (it’s the exact reason I don’t do commissions, but this is an emergency), but I am raffling off the Across the Spiderverse Artbook (never used, might as well be brand new) to anyone that donates at least €10. Also, if we manage to get to €7k I’ll draw James and Jessie in all of Barbie and Ken’s outfits from the live action Barbie movie (James will be dressed as Barbie and Jessie as Ken).

[artdcnaldson]

NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit

This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other

A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)

“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”

Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.

Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.

“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.

“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”

“How?” Patrick asked.

Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”

Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.

With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.

“What?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”

You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.

His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.

The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.

Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.

Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”

You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.

“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.

Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.

And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.

Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.

You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”

“Good,” Patrick said.

At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”

Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.

“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.

Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”

You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”

You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.

“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”

Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.

Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.

Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.

You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.

“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”

You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.

He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”

Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”

You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.

“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”

Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.

He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.

And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.

And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”

Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.

Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.

“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”

He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.

Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.

Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.

Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.

“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.

They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”

[inejqhafa]

three tickets to challengers

[m00nbuggies]

theyre bffs guys

[bananafire11]

He has arriiiived. I think i got almost everyones suggestions.... oh and wretched is there too

[yeehawgust]

Yeehawgust 2024: Greener Pastures

Saddle up, folks! We’ve got greener pastures on the horizon, because it’s time for Yeehawgust’s 6th year this August!

Yeehawgust features daily art prompts as well as alternative weekly prompts, for those of us who are a bit slower on the draw. Don’t draw at all? No problem! Submit any art at all, be it illustration, comics, writing, fanfiction, photography, embroidery, sculpture, music, or whatever other creative endeavors you might enjoy. All skill levels are welcome, and this can be a great opportunity to experiment with new styles and techniques. 

Maybe you love media like Red Dead Redemption and Fallout: New Vegas, or classic westerns like The Magnificent Seven. You might enjoy the genre, and you’re looking for a chance to make a cowboy AU and put your OCs in chaps and your blorbos in a Stetson. Heck, maybe you just really want to draw horses. Whatever your reason, you’re welcome to join in, pardner!

Tag your work with #Yeehawgust and follow along here on the Yeehawgust blog. If you include any external links or directly tag another Tumblr user in your post (which may impact search visibility), make sure to also tag this blog or contact the mod directly so your work will get reblogged! 

Check out the “Reblogging Policy and Q&A” linked on the blog for more info about Yeehawgust. The event is also Yeehawgust on Twitter, YeehawgustPrompts over on Instagram, and now yeehawgust.bsky.social over on Bluesky... but Tumblr is where we hang our hat at the end of the day. 

And remember, y’all: be rootin’, tootin’, shootin’, and most importantly, be kind.

[lastclan]

WELCOME TO LASTCLAN

cw: BLOOD, GORE, ZOMBIES, DEAD CATS

MOON 0: Prologue

Next Chapter ->

[baskeigh-ball]

It might have worked a little too well ngl

first | prev | next

[sceletaflores]

all's fair in love and viscera...

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader wc: 6.7k contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, violence, blood, gore (more so thoughts of gore) nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, fighting as foreplay, bleeding as foreplay, written with X2 logan in mind, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), finger sucking hehehe, light choking, hair pulling, blood play, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, scent kink, pain kink, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: i have a rotting note that says "logan spar fic turned face sitting" so that's what this is but it kinda got a little weird lol i also just wanted an excuse to write more about the mutant ability that's been bopping around in my brain since watching season four of the boys. kisses!

logan wants to spar...

You can smell him before he even opens the door to the training room.

It’s funny, because almost all blood smells the exact same. It melds into one coppery, metallic tang that stings your nose everywhere you go.

Mutant blood is only slightly different, something sharper with a tartness that lingers in the air longer, that tingles along the edge of your senses and burns the back of your throat.

Logan's blood is something entirely different.

The first time you met him it almost brought you to your knees. It was so overwhelming, the smell swarming you so intoxicating and all encompassing that it made you feel dizzy.

Logan’s blood is a wild mix of earthy musk and something like charred wood. His scent carries an electric charge, like the smell of air right before a thunderstorm, like ozone after a lightning strike.

It's like nothing you've ever encountered before—hot and acidic, with a barely there underlying sweetness that never fails to turn your insides to liquid. It seems to defy normalcy, bending the rules of what you know about blood and biology.

You know in the back of your mind that it's the adamantium. It's been fused to his skeleton for so long, it must be something chemical. A reaction happening in his body that makes it so distinctly different.

Part of you likes to think that it's just Logan, that the scent is a reflection of everything he is. The raw, untamed essence of his nature, something primal that’s deeply ingrained in his being.

The door creaks open behind you, you make it a point to keep your focus on the punching bag. You've been here for hours, your arms only finally starting to burn with exertion. The bag feels solid and grounding under your taped knuckles, swinging lightly with every hit.

Logan's heavy footsteps get closer and closer, echoing through the empty room until he's striding past you to lean against the wall next to the bag's rig.

You don't look at him, but you can feel his gaze—an intense, almost palpable thing.

“Figured you’d be down here,” Logan's voice is the familiar rough and gravelly rumble you've become used to, cutting through the silence between the two of you with a barely there teasing edge. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Logan has an even better sense of smell than you do, and he can sniff out a lot more than blood. You're sure he knew you were here this whole time, that he could smell you from his room two stories up.

You give a small, noncommittal grunt, ignoring him as you throw another punch. Sweat is dotted across your hairline, it drips down the small of your back and the column of your throat. It's not that you don't like Logan, that you don’t want him here, you have the complete opposite of that problem.

You like Logan too much, more than you should.

Every time he’s near, you’re intensely aware of how much his presence affects you, of the way all the blood in your body starts to sizzle under your skin with a throbbing need that's getting harder and harder to ignore. It’s like a constant, low-grade fever that only flares up when he gets too close. 

“Come on, kid. You can’t ignore me all night,” he says, thick arms crossing over his chest. "Don't make me beg."

You let out a breath, more exasperated than anything else, and finally turn to face him. Logan’s standing there, all broad shoulders and rugged confidence in his white tank and gray sweats, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

That smirk—it's almost as dangerous as the claws hidden just underneath his skin.

“Didn’t know you were the begging type.” Your attempt to sound casual is overpowered by the slight breathy edge of your voice. You blame it on the workout.

Logan's smirk widens just a fraction, and you can tell he's caught the hitch in your voice. His eyes, sharp and knowing, narrow in on you with that familiar mix of amusement and something you can't quite place, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Only when I really want something," he replies easily.

Your form falters, just barely, but it’s enough for Logan to notice. You can hear the amused huff he lets out.

You throw another punch at the bag, more to steady yourself than anything else. The impact reverberates through your knuckles, but it doesn't do much to dispel the heat pooling low in your stomach.

"Back to ignoring me?" he asks, needling. You can see the raise of his brow in your peripheral vision.

“Trying to,” you mutter under your breath, though it's more to yourself than to him. You keep your gaze locked firmly on the bag, willing your pulse to steady.

"What's that?" he leans in closer, his scent wafting over to you as he does. Somehow stronger than before, an assault on your senses. You barely conceal a shiver.

"It’s not my fault you’re here when I'm at my least chatty," you retort blandly, a little louder, willing your voice to sound as steady as it can.

"Looks to me like you’re always at your least chatty,” he shoots back, not showing any signs of backing down.

"It's late,” you reply tersely.

"Yeah," he says. "It is late."

The words hang in the air, laced with a double meaning that neither of you acknowledges.

"Too late to be up hounding the bags like they owe you money," he adds, the tone of his voice almost gentle in a way that catches you off guard. Nothing like the Logan you're used to.

“Yeah, well,” you grunt, throwing a particularly sharp jab. “Some of us don’t need all the beauty sleep."

Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, you can feel the vibration of it in your bones. "Funny," he muses to himself, voice going quiet like he's turning your words over in his mind. "I can see why Charles keeps you around."

You huff, sweaty brows knitting together in frustration. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

“Babysit?” He smirks, clearly amused. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Your resolve finally cracks, your fists sore when you drop them to your sides and turn to Logan with a questioning look on your face.

"What do you want, Logan?”

It sounds harsher than you meant it, rough and exasperated as you start to catch your breath for the first time since he walked in.

Logan doesn't respond, just pushes off the wall to step closer. His scent hits you like a truck now that your focus is solely on him, you can feel your blood start to thrum under your veins. The sweat dripping down your back feels like it’s igniting the tension in your body, and Logan’s only making it worse the closer he gets.

He stops a little less than a foot away from you. It’s too close, he evades your space until all you can see is him. The width of his shoulders, the strong muscle of his chest and torso filling your view.

Logan doesn't say anything for a few beats, just stares down at you with a studying look on his face. It's a struggle to keep still under the intensity of his gaze. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythmic thud loud in your ears as the silence stretches between you.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing as he trails them over your sweaty face. You're seconds away from saying something, from turning and running with your tail between your legs, when he beats you to it.

He lets out an amused scoff, shaking his head as he walks past you to the large blue training mat in the middle of the room.

"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, "Try hitting something that hits back, might help clear your head."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but Logan’s already made his way to the center of the mat, turning to face you with a challenging glint in his eye.

You shake your head slowly, not moving from your place across the room. "I don't want to fight you."

Logan chuckles wryly, “Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sends a jolt through you, your pulse skipping in response. It’s always the way he says it—rough around the edges but with a softness that’s almost affectionate. You clench your fists tight, as if the simple act of it will keep your thoughts in check.

"Think you can keep up?" he teases, rolling his shoulders in that casual, self-assured way of his. But there's something in his tone, a challenge that makes you want to prove yourself.

You cast your eyes to the ceiling, exasperated, a bemused laugh bubbling from your chest as you do. "You know I can," you reply, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. "This isn't about that."

You should just say no. You should say no and go back up to your room so you can go to bed and forget all about this in the morning. You can barely stand to be in the same room with Logan for more than thirty minutes at a time, training with him is too much of a risk.

"What's it about then? You scared?" Logan's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, a playful smirk curling his lips. He raises an eyebrow, daring you to join him.

That does it. A spark of defiance flares in your chest, overriding the nervous tension that’s been building since he walked in. You’re not one to back down from a fight, especially when Logan's practically begging for one.

Without thinking, you stride over to the mat.

Logan watches you approach, his stance relaxed but ready, like a predator sizing up its prey. You try your best to ignore the smug look on his face as you kick off your shoes and join him.

"Not scared," you shrug, running your fingers over the tape on your knuckles. "I just don't need you getting all pissy when I win." You roll your shoulders, shake out your arms, and square up, focusing on the way Logan’s eyes are locked on yours.

Logan's grin widens, a flash of sharp teeth that makes your pulse quicken. "We'll see about that."

You drop into a ready stance, the tension in your muscles coiled tight like a spring. For a moment, neither of you moves, just sizing each other up. The silence between you stretches taut like a bowstring. Your eyes lock onto Logan's, each of you reading the other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The air between you feels like it's vibrating, charged with a mix of tension, anticipation, and something else—something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface.

Then, in a blur of motion, Logan makes the first move, just like you expected him to. He lunges, fast and strong, but you're ready for him, sidestepping the blow and bringing your forearm up to deflect his fist away from your body.

"Slow start, old man?" you quip, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you regain your footing. "Speed isn't what it used to be?"

Logan chuckles, a low and throaty sound. "Just warming up, sweetheart. Don't want you crying unfair when I take you down too quick."

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically before launching your own attack. You swing a swift roundhouse kick aimed at his midsection. He anticipates the move, catching your ankle with one hand while his other reaches out to grab your wrist.

But you're quicker. Using the momentum, you twist your body and slip free from his grasp, landing lightly back on your feet a few steps away. The brief contact sends a jolt up your leg, his touch searing even through the thick layer of your sweats.

"Stop holding back," you say roughly, your lips turned down in a displeased frown. "Hit me."

Logan's eyes flash with amusement. "Careful what you wish for."

He advances again, this time more aggressive. He throws a combination of punches—left, right, left—each one precise and controlled. You block the first two, but the third grazes past your defenses, skimming your rib cage hard enough to sting.

You hiss softly at the impact but don't back down. Instead, you duck low and sweep your leg out in a wide arc, aiming to knock him off balance. Logan slides back just in time, your foot swiping through empty air as he evades the attack with a kind of brute grace that you wouldn’t expect.

"Getting fancy now?" he remarks, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

You don't respond, springing to your feet with a raised fist in a swift uppercut. This time you connect, your knuckles catching his stubbled jaw with a loud 'crack'. Your whole hand throbs, you can feel the break in your thumb snap back together in a sharp pinch.

Logan stumbles back a step, his head snapping to the ceiling with the force of your hit. When he turns back to you, there's a large bruise blooming along the sharp cut of his jaw. You watch the color of it spread across his skin, angry reds and dull purples that fade as fast as they appear.

There's a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he meets your gaze. The brown of them darker than before, his pupils blown out and glossy in a way you've never seen.

With a low growl, he comes at you again, faster this time. His movements a blur of muscle and intent. You manage to block the first hit, but not the second, his fist catches your side with enough power to make you stumble back a few steps. Pain flares white hot through your ribs, but you grit your teeth and bear it.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the fight. The world narrows down to the two of you, the sound of your breaths and the feel of his skin brushing against yours in fleeting moments of contact.

There's a thrill in it, in the way you challenge each other, in the way you push past your own boundaries.

But there's also something more, something deeper. Every time your eyes lock, you can feel the electricity between you, the way your heart skips a beat, the way your breath catches in your throat. It's not just about the fight anymore. 

You feel more alive than you have in a long time. More alive with every sting of each new blow, with the way your muscles burn, with the stray hairs that stick to your forehead.

The heat between you is almost tangible, mixing with the sweat and exertion. Every punch, every block, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making it both exhilarating and maddening.

The scent of him—earthy, electric, and utterly intoxicating—growing stronger with every second. Your senses are on high alert, every part of you tuned in to his presence.

It wraps around your whole being, making it hard to think straight. But you don’t need to think—you just move, letting your instincts take over.

Logan feints to the left and uses it to sweep your legs out from under you in the same move he mocked you for. Your back hits the floor with a hard thud, the give of the mat not doing much to soften the hardwood underneath.

All the breath in your lungs rushes out of you in a sharp gasp. Before you can recover, Logan is looming over you. He cages your body under his own, thick arms on either side of your head, his weight pressing you further into the floor. His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low, almost growling murmur.

"Gotcha."

You try to come up with a witty comment, a snarky line, a petty insult. Anything at all really—but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just stare up at him, your chest heaving violently, your heart pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

The whole room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the intensity in Logan’s eyes, the heat of him against you.

Suddenly, your entire body feels like it's on fire. Phantom flames lapping at every inch of your skin that send your head reeling quicker than you can blink. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but you've only ever felt it outside of a mission once, and it didn't end well.

For a few heart stopping seconds, you're more than confused. Panic starts to set in at the thought of having another "accident" and not even knowing what's triggering it.

Through the messy haze of your panic, you finally see it. The tiny cut above Logan's brow leaking a thin trail of red down the side of his face.

Everything around you dissolves into static, your eyes zeroing in on that single bead of crimson. The cut's long gone by the time it drips from his jaw to the mat right next to your shoulder. Logan's skin stitching back together and leaving no trace that it was ever broken in the first place, but it doesn't matter.

The damage is already done, and you can feel your body start to react.

You can feel your resolve crumbling, the edges of your self-control fraying with every passing second. Your own blood pulses beneath your skin like liquid fire as your stomach churns and twists. The intense need to feel, to taste, to take claws at your throat.

You let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, as you lose the last of your control.

Hank had called it a frenzy, but that wasn't a technical term.

"You're not in your right mind. You've essentially been conditioned to react strongly to the scent and sight of blood, particularly when you're already in a heightened emotional or physical state. The combination of adrenaline, exertion, and the scent triggers this...well, this 'frenzy' for lack of a better term."

It's like you blackout, and when you wake up, you're straddling Logan's chest with your hand wrapped around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tan column of his throat glowing red beneath your hand, a map of blue veins inked along his skin like spiderwebs as you watch the blood pulse through them.

Your grip tightens instinctively, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to reign in the storm swirling inside you. Everything narrows down to the pounding in your ears, the blazing heat of Logan's skin under your fingers, and the urge to let go, to give in.

Logan's voice starts to trickle in around the static buzzing in your ears, your name falling from his lips sounds strained, but there's a calmness to it. The fog of your instincts begins to fade, the world around you slowly starting to piece back together.

You blink, the haze in your mind clearing as you try to focus on his face, the way his eyes are locked onto yours. Intense, but not clouded with fear like you expected.

Your chest heaves with every breath, ragged and short like they're being ripped out of your lungs. Your wide eyes dropping to where your hand is still locked around his throat, panic surges in your chest like ice freezing over a lake.

But before you can do anything, Logan's reaching up, his hand catching your wrist in a tight grip. His thumb brushes over your pulse point—the touch sends a jolt through you, as if he’s touched a live wire.

“Don't,” he says, like he knows what you're thinking, his voice a rough whisper. The rasp of it vibrates against your hand. “Don't stop now."

Logan’s other hand comes up to rest on your hips, his touch firm but not forceful. He doesn’t try to wrestle control away from you; instead, he holds you steady. His fingers dig into your skin, grounding you.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. “I can take it. Give it to me.”

The world around you blurs, your focus entirely on the man beneath you, the way his body feels under your hands, the way he’s willingly surrendering to your control.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. You search his eyes, dark and full of want. There's a heat there, a spark that crackles between you, and it only adds fuel to your fire.

If he wants to push, you're ready to push back.

Silently, you slide your hand up the expanse of his throat, feeling the way his pulse beats strong and fast under your palm. The glow under his skin dissipates as you make your way up, tracing your fingers over his jaw and up to his bottom lip.

Logan’s breathing is rapid, his chest rising and falling under you quicker than before. His lips are slick and red, parted so enticingly that you can help but slide your index finger over them. Your nail digs into the fat of his bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to let him feel it.

Logan lets you toy with him, meets your gaze head on as you push further. Your finger presses deeper, pushing past the seam of his lips to feel the warmth of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue against your skin.

The sharp bite of Logan's teeth pinches your skin as he closes his lips around your finger and sucks.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat blooming in your core as his tongue brushes over the pad of your finger. You can feel the ache of your cunt between your legs, arousal leaking wet and sticky in your panties.

Your other hand rises up to rest on the side of his face, your fingers grazing over his cheekbone. The touch feather-light but filled with a fierce, unspoken energy. Logan’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening even further.

Your palm splays over the skin of his cheek, the heat of his face seeping into your hand. Logan’s eyes close for a moment, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he tilts his head into your touch.

In a quick move, you dig your fingernails into the fat of his cheek roughly. Logan’s body arches under you, his back snapping off the mat with guttural groan ripping from his chest as you pierce his skin.

You gasp at the scent of him wafting up through the air, at the feeling of his teeth digging into your own flesh. His blood leaking onto the tips of your fingers feels like a shock to your system, both electrifying and terrifying.

His skin glows even brighter than before. A mix of reds and oranges that light up just beneath his skin, the blue of his veins like rivers on a map. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, drawing more blood, the warm, sticky liquid coating your fingers. You watch, mesmerized, as the glow under his skin pulses in response, as if feeding off your energy, amplifying the connection between you.

Logan’s breath hitches, his body tensing beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into your touch, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

it takes barely any energy from you. The faintest traces of your power used for something none of those demented scientists in white lab coats intended.

None of that matters. All that matters is the raw, animalistic connection between you—the way his body is responding to your touch, the way his eyes shine with want, the way his blood sings in harmony with yours.

You could boil Logan alive in less than a second, burst every vessel and capillary in his body until he's nothing more than a copper stain on the floor. But his hands only tighten their grip on your waist to drag you impossibly closer.

"More," Logan growls, his voice vibrating against your palm as his teeth sink a little deeper into your finger, the heat of his breath searing against your skin. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging your body up his chest until your legs are spread on either side of his head. 

Your hands fly to his hair, steadying yourself with two fist fulls of the brown tufts that sit atop his head. You’ve always been curious if Logan styles his hair this way on purpose, or if it just grows like that naturally. You don't have time to ponder it for long before he's letting out another ragged groan and burying his face between your thighs.

You can feel the heat of his breath over the clothed expanse of your cunt, his nose trailing along the inseam of your sweats as he inhales greedy lungfuls of your scent.

"Logan," you gasp, voice gone high and breathy around the edges.

"Tell me what you want," he says lowly, his lips brushing over you with every word.

It's muffled slightly, but the demand in his tone still sends a shock through you. Your grip on his hair tightens as your mind falls into a whirl of sensations and emotions you couldn't possibly confront.

He presses a heated kiss against the fabric of your sweats, right over where your aching clit pulses with need. The sensation sends an electric jolt straight through your core. Your whole body hums with an intense craving, a need that burns hot and fierce.

"Tell me," he repeats, his voice a rough rasp that vibrates against your core.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as you try to form a coherent thought, let alone speak.

"I want..." you start, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and desire. The words are there, lodged in your throat, but saying them out loud feels like crossing a line you’re not sure you’re ready to cross.

"I need you,” you breathe out, the confession slipping from your lips like a secret finally set free “I need everything.”

Logan’s eyes flare with something fierce and wild. Without a word, he pulls you closer, his hands surging up to tear through the fabric of your clothes like it's nothing but tissue paper. The tattered remains of your panties and sweats pool to the floor in a crumpled mess.

The heat of his breath is replaced by the pressure of his mouth, his tongue sliding through the wet slit of your cunt. He lets out a filthy groan at the first real taste of you, the flat of his tongue lapping eagerly through your dripping slit.

The thrill of his mouth against your most sensitive spots sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching taut as you grip his hair even tighter. Logan’s groan reverberates through you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core.

Logan is relentless, devouring you like he’s been starving for this, starving for you. The wet sounds of his mouth working you over mix with your breathless whimpers and the low growls rumbling from his chest. He works his tongue expertly, tracing every inch of you, mapping out every spot that makes you tremble and moan.

Your thighs tighten around his head, hips grinding against his face almost unintentionally as heat starts coiling tight in your belly. The scruff of his jaw rubs against the sensitive skin of your thighs with each drag of his head, the sting of it just adds to the assault of pleasure. You wish he could leave his mark on you, wish that your skin wouldn’t work overtime to fix the angry red blotches of raw skin he leaves in his wake.

Logan grips you hard enough that you can see the bruises decorating your skin every time you look down. His arms firm and strong where they’re locked around your thighs to keep you pressed against his mouth. His nose bumps against your throbbing clit each time he fucks his tongue into your leaking cunt.

“Logan,” you moan, your voice a breathy plea that only seems to spur him on. He flicks his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a harsh pull that makes you cry out, your whole body shuddering with the intensity of it.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled by the slickness of your folds. “Could eat you all night.”

“Logan, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, sending you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your entire body convulsing with the force of it as you cry out his name, your nails digging into his scalp as you hold on.

Logan doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. He licks you through your release, his mouth working you over with a single-minded intensity that has you writhing against him, overstimulated and desperate for more.

“Fuck, Logan, please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for, just knowing you need something, anything to ease the ache that’s still throbbing deep inside you.

Logan pulls back just enough to look up at you, the bottom of his face slick with your arousal, eyes dark with a hunger that matches your own. He licks his lips, savoring the taste of you.

Logan’s hands slide up your thighs, his touch gentle now but still impossibly firm. He trails his fingers along your skin, tracing the sensitive lines where your skin starts to heal the damage he left behind.

“Still with me?” he asks, his voice is softer than before but there’s still an unmistakable rough edge coating his words.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper as you try to collect yourself. “Yeah...I’m here.”

“Good,” he growls softly, his hands squeezing the sore skin of your hips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You’re on your back in less than a second, Logan flipping your positions so fast it has your head spinning. His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, all sharp teeth and bruising pressure. 

It’s a kiss that feels like a fight, like a challenge, like a promise of something much darker and more consuming just beneath the surface. His stubble scrapes against your skin, adding to the raw, visceral feeling of it all. Your teeth clack together violently, you can taste the faint coppery tang of blood on his lips. 

You kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all the pent-up frustration, all the desire, all the fear and anger and need into the contact between you. Your hands are everywhere, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his back—needing to feel him, to mark him, to claim him as yours in a way that’s as undeniable as the blood pulsing through your veins.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache that’s building inside you. Logan grinds against you, his hard cock still trapped in the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your spit soaked cunt. You can’t help the desperate whimper that escapes your throat. “Please, Logan,” you gasp out against his lips, your voice trembling with need. “Fuck me, I need it, please–.” 

He growls low in his throat, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin. 

You nod frantically, your hips bucking up against him darkens the fabric tent of his bottoms. He feels huge, heavy and hot where he pushes against your slick folds. “Yes, please, just—” Logan doesn’t let you finish. 

With a swift, almost feral move, he pushes the hem of his sweats down roughly, the sound of seams ripping rings through the room. You barely have time to gasp before he’s pushing his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you so completely that all you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he immediately sets a relentless pace. 

You don’t have any time to adjust to the thick length of his cock carving its way inside of you, the sting of it has your eyes screwed shut. It’s only barely straddling the knife's edge of where pain and pleasure meld together, but it has you crying out his name all the same. 

Logan fucking sounds identical to Logan fighting, guttural groans and growls that are ripped from somewhere deep in his chest to pierce through the air between you. That ring in your ears and shake through your very soul like thunder. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grates, his voice thick with lust as he holds himself still for a moment, eyes glued to where you’re stretched around him. The puffy, abused lips of your cunt slick with his spit and the pre-come steadily leaking from his dark red tip. “Feels like heaven, sweetheart.”

You moan, high and loud in the back of your throat as your ankles lock around his lower back. Your heels dig into the skin just above his ass as your cunt trembles around his cock, your spongy walls working over him desperately, milking him. 

“You like that don’t you?” Logan taunts, starting to snap his hips with purpose. “You like getting fucked like this, princess?” He leans down enough to growl directly into your ear, “I can smell how much you want it, how bad you're aching for it." 

He slides his hands up your sides, rough palms gliding over your sweat-slick skin as he continues, "You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. I can barely think straight with you on top of me, with your scent all over me. You know what you're doing, don’t you? Getting me all riled up like this."

You can’t respond, can’t speak. You can barely form a coherent thought, your lips falling open in a stream of desperate moans and whines as you bury your face in his neck.

The pulse of his carotid artery under your lips is maddening, each beat of his heart like a drum driving you further into madness. You want to sink your teeth into the skin there, to pull flesh and muscle from bone so you can watch the blood run in rivers and streams down Logan’s body.

The taste of him fresh and heady on your tongue as you watch the layers build back up from nothing, nerves and veins weaving themselves back together grotesquely.

“Fuck,” Logan groans, the sound vibrating through your mouth as you press your lips against his throat, your teeth scraping against his skin with barely restrained hunger.

You nip at his throat, your teeth leaving small indentations that fade almost as quickly as they appear. Logan’s breathing is ragged, his chest heaving with every shallow breath as he leans into your touch, his body taut with anticipation.

"Atta girl, that's it," he growls, voice thick with desire as his hands grip your hips even tighter, nails digging into your skin as he ruts into you like a beast. His hips snapping against yours hard enough to sting, the loud slap of it bouncing off the walls to echo lewdly in your ears.

He’s fucking you like he wants to break you, reinforced hips heavy as he pounds you into the floor mercilessly. “Taking my cock so well, best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You can feel the way Logan’s cock jerks and pulses inside of you, the taut heaviness of his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You know he’s close, the brutal rhythm of his hips gets sloppier by the second.

You press your body up against his, your chest flush with his own as your hands wander over the hard planes of his back, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades roughly, basking in the way his muscles roll and flex underneath your greedy palms.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the pulsing glow of his blood under your fingertips as you explore every inch of him with a hunger that’s almost feral. 

And then, with a low, guttural sound that you barely recognize as your own, you sink your teeth into his neck.

Logan’s reaction is immediate and visceral. His entire body tenses above you, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you bite down, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him floods your mouth, metallic and rich, and it sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

You can feel his blood on your tongue, warm and thick, the taste of it driving you wild. It’s everything you’ve been craving, everything you’ve been trying to resist. And now that you’ve finally given in, it’s like a dam has broken inside you.

Logan’s growl is pure animal, his hips bucking up hard as he thrusts into you one last time, burying his cock as deep in you as he can. The force of his orgasm rips through him, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he unloads inside of you. It’s so much, pulse after pulse of hot come that floods your insides. His hips don’t slow, still pumping and fucking like he’s trying to stuff you as full of himself as he can.

The feeling of it pushes you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in a wave of white-hot pleasure that leaves you gasping and trembling above him. Your shaking cunt gushes over his cock as you swallow the blood pooling on your tongue.

Logan’s hips finally still, slotting flush with yours as he slumps onto the floor next to you, dragging you along with him so you can lay flat on his chest. The coarse hair scattered along his pecs scratches the skin of your cheek, you bury your face in the sweaty crook of his neck. You feel hazy, like you’re floating through the air, completely weightless. 

You think you could live here, plastered to the strong planes of Logan’s body, stuffed full of his cock and leaking his come in messy trails down your shaking thighs. 

But eventually, you have to pull back, your breath coming in short bursts as you lick the blood from your lips. Logan’s eyes are on you, shining under the chandelier light, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing. The wound on his neck is already healing, the skin knitting itself back together, but the blood still stains his skin red, a vivid reminder.

There’s a moment of silence, the air between you thick with tension and something else—something new and unspoken. You’re both panting, bodies still trembling with adrenaline.

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood across your skin. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Finally, he reaches down slowly, like you’re a cornered animal that might turn and run any second. He takes your wrist in his hand, dragging it from the middle of his chest to the muscle directly over his heart. He presses your palm flat against him, blanketing your hand with his own.

“What do you feel,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath.

The question catches you off guard. It’s a challenge, but it’s also an invitation—a chance to confront whatever’s swirling inside you instead of running away from it. You hesitate, searching for the right words to encapsulate the storm of emotions you feel thrumming through your bones.

"You," you whisper back, your palm sliding over the sweaty plain of his bare chest. "All I feel is you."

Logan’s eyes soften, and a rare, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The intensity of the moment seems to dissolve, leaving a quiet understanding between you. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a tender caress against your ear. His thumb brushes along your pulse in a feather light touch. “That makes two of us.”

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[sunlit-mess]

silly drafts of au comic doodles ( as in cracked )