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27spoons · 20 days ago

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LIGHT UP FLOOR | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/reader

request: what abt natalie and the reader coming to parties to get loose (in all senses of the word iykwim) - and it kinda connects with "casual" by chappell roan in my head, idk; like a more sentimental, melodramatic version of it

i imagine it being a drunk sex fic, but i think you'd like to throw some weed into the mix. natalie pretending to be nonchalant, unbothered and "unfeeling" by reader's presence on the party which they said they weren't gonna attend, and ending up angstyliciously talking-beefing-fucking <3 (@/postmorteum)

wc: 7500

warnings: y/n usage, ambiguous ex-relationship w/nat, strap-on usage (referred to as cock/dick), alcohol consumption, implied drug use (nat), rough sex, toxic relationships, breathplay, spanking, hair-pulling, semi-public sex, (slight) exhibitionism, overstim, forced orgasm, (accidental) watersports, dacryphilia, subspace, aftercare, emotional damage (as is the usual when it's written by me), these idiots need emotional help, someone get them in touch with a good therapist,

a/n: oh lads. this is a fic. slightly ooc in the name of porn or w/e. anyways. wanted to play around a lil and explore some themes i wouldn't normally touch

ao3

Natalie doesn't know why she thought going out tonight would be a good idea. Truthfully, she never thinks it's a good idea to go out; she just… does it anyway. Sue her, a girl likes to have some fun now and then.

And you… you didn't plan to go out tonight, either. You had fully planned on spending it in your dorm, curled up with your cat (that you aren't technically supposed to have in a college dorm), and watching some B-Movies on your shitty CRT television you stole from your parents when you moved into shared housing.

But, now, here both of you are; opposite ends of some dingy club in Philly. You were dragged out here by friends, something about 'getting out and having some fun,' or whatever. Regardless, they ditched you within ten seconds of arrival. Now you sit at the bar while some generic house music plays, a drink in one hand and your head in the other.

You try to hype yourself up—have a little fun for once—but… shit. You find sitting at the bar and downing drink after drink is much more appetizing when compared to actually trying to hook up with some pretty face in a sweaty crowd.

Natalie isn't in a much better state, but you don't know that—you're too absorbed with the bottom of your glass.

If you were to look up right now, you'd see Natalie standing almost directly opposite you, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest as she surveys the dancefloor. She's wearing what she always wears when she goes clubbing—something equally as alt-rock as it fucking sexy, but she's not dressing up for anyone else.

Well, maybe one someone else. But what are the odds of that one 'someone else' being here?

Pretty fucking high, apparently, if that's you sitting at the bar and staring into the bottom of your glass. What the fuck? Since when did you go clubbing in Philly? You were always someone who preferred heading into New York to do that shit!

Whatever the reason you're here, she clocks you before you see her. Not that she was looking for you, of course not. She wouldn't be caught dead admitting that. But her eyes catch your face anyway—the purse of your lips as you bring your drink to your mouth, the way your fingers tap idly against the glass, the way you look—

Sad.

She doesn't like that.

…or maybe she does. If you're still sad… maybe you still care. Maybe you still think about her. Maybe you still wish things had gone differently, just like she does, though she'll never fucking say it.

Natalie watches, waiting for you to look up from your drink, but you don't. It shouldn't sting, realistically. It's not like you would know she's here or looking at you.

It stings anyway.

And, all of a sudden, she feels the need to prove something, though to whom she isn't quite sure.

So, Nat pushes off the wall and walks straight onto the dance floor. There's no difficulty in finding someone willing to dance with her; after all, who wouldn't? Nat knows she's something to look at, and she shows it.

Her outfit says it all: a black, vintage cropped band tee with the sleeves rolled up, showing off the faded stick and pokes that litter her arm. It's slashed at the hem and hangs just enough to reveal a sliver of her stomach when she moves. A ratty plaid miniskirt clings to her hips, frayed at the edges, just barely hiding the ripped fishnets underneath. Combat boots thud against the sticky floor, laced halfway and scuffed from nights just like this. Around her neck, layered silver chains catch the low light, one with a rifle bullet dangling from it. Her eyeliner is smudged to perfection, her eyes smoky, and the textbook example of the 'sloppy punk' makeup look she's coined as her own.

She doesn't have to try. That's the point. Natalie Scatorccio doesn't chase. She lures.

She catches the eye of a girl with her hair streaked a neon green and too much glitter on her cheeks. The girl grins. Natalie smirks back.

And then she's dancing, pressed close, moving like she doesn't know you're here.

She doesn't look at you. Not yet.

You look at her, though.

You aren't quite sure what caused you to look up from your glass at the exact perfect moment, but you do. And there, in all her glory, is Natalie Scatorccio. The same woman that you haven't seen in over two months because of some fucking bullshit—

That isn't relevant right now, regardless. What is relevant right now is the fact that Nat is doing the exact thing she does best: making you fucking pissed off, jealous, and turned on at the same time. A dichotomy you will never properly understand.

Despite yourself, you keep watching, and goddamn, does Natalie move. The deep bass from the music pumping through the speakers radiates up your legs and through your bones, a thrumming sensation pulsing through your mind. Further reminding you of all those nights you've spent in bathrooms of clubs with the titular blonde currently grinding on someone that isn't you.

It's all you can do to glance down into your glass once more, trying to ignore the way she's still dancing on someone who isn't you. She was the one who ended things—you have every right not to be over her yet! You have every right to be upset and jealous that she's currently dancing on someone the way she used to dance on you.

You know what? Fuck it.

You shoot back the remainder of your drink, stand up (swaying slightly), and push your way onto the light-up floor, its colour shifting to a neon green in time with the start of the next song.

Natalie's always had a sixth sense when it came to you. Her eyes flick up to meet yours almost the second you step on the dance floor, her mouth twitching into a smirk—not wide, not gloating, but sharp and knowing, like she’s already won. Her body doesn't stop moving: hips swaying, hands floating in the air, the subtle shift of her weight as her knee brushes lightly against the person she's dancing with. The way she moves is electric, fluid, and maddeningly deliberate—but still so careless, like she hasn't got a thought in the world except the beat of the music.

You take your time cutting through the crowd. It's far from easy—people spill drinks, stumble into your path, and laugh too loud (which is saying something, considering the music is already very loud). Your eyes don't leave hers. You know she sees you. You know she's watching you right back, even when she tilts her head like she's still focused on the person she's dancing with. She's toying with you, and God help you; it's working.

When you reach her, she doesn't stop moving, doesn't pull back from the stranger whose hands rest awkwardly at her waist. She tilts her head to the side, feigning surprise like she didn't know you'd be there.

"Hey," she grins, voice low and just loud enough to carry over the music. "Having fun?"

You scoff, voice sharp with bitterness. "Having fun? Fuck you."

Her grin sharpens, eyes narrowing in amusement. "Yeah, bet you'd like to." She leans slightly into the person behind her, a deliberate press of her shoulder. "As you can see… I'm a little busy right now. Maybe later?"

"No," you hiss out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the other person before you can think better of it. She stumbles slightly but doesn't resist, letting you guide her until her chest is flush against yours. "I'm talking to you."

Natalie doesn't flinch or pull back. Instead, she leans in, arms looping lazily around your neck like it's the most natural thing in the world. Her smirk lingers, teasing but not quite mean. "Well, that's one way to get my attention."

You scoff again, your hands finding her hips without hesitation, gripping tighter than you probably should. "Don't bullshit me. You knew what you were doing. I've had your attention since you started dancing."

Her laugh is low and smokey, her lips brushing just close enough to your ear to make you shiver. "So you've been watching me, then?" She hums, her fingers threading through your hair with an easy, practiced motion. She tugs lightly, just hard enough to remind you exactly how well she knows you. "Guess I should be honoured. Didn't think you'd even glance in my direction again."

Your jaw tightens at her words. There's a flicker of something underneath the surface—not vulnerability, not exactly, but something close. You know her too well to miss it. She's not over it either.

"Yeah, well, trust me," you shoot back, running your fingers under the fabric of her shirt just to feel her bare skin under your palms again. "I didn't want to."

Her grin widens, sharp and unapologetic. "Yet here you are, huh?" She leans in closer, her lips grazing your pulse. Her voice drops, husky and low. "How've you been, y/n?"

Your jaw ticks at the teasing lilt that she speaks your name in, "I've been fucking fantastic, Natalie. How've you been?"

She hums in response, her kisses growing wetter and more deliberate as she moves down your jaw. "Great," she lies easily, her voice brushing against your skin like a whisper. "Thanks for asking, princess."

Neither of you believes the other's words, but truth hardly matters here—it never did.

Her hands tighten in your hair as your bodies move together, the rhythm between you growing hotter, more erratic. You can feel the heat of her skin, the way her breath hitches just slightly as you tug her hips closer.

Her lips move back up to your ear, voice low and teasing. "Can I be honest?"

You pause, considering that. It's not like she's ever asked before.

"I doubt you know how to be," you shoot back, but your voice wavers as her teeth graze your skin.

She laughs, a warm puff of air against your neck. "I'm tired of pretending we're enjoying this conversation."

Then your lips are on hers—or maybe yours are on hers, it's difficult to tell who initiated it—brutal, uncoordinated, and reckless. Nat's lips part against yours, tasting of booze and weed and every fucking thing you missed and hated all at once. The world around you blurs, boiling down into nothing but the heat of her mouth and the weight of her body against yours.

Your hands continue to run up her sides and deeper under her shirt, thumbs slowly tracing the outlines of her ribs as your tongue presses against hers, battling for a dominance you both know is already yours.

Her nails scrape lightly against your scalp, sending a shiver down your spine that you're almost embarrassed by. Almost.

"Missed me, huh?"

"Don't flatter yourself," you shoot back, though your hands betray you, sliding lower to grip her waist firmly, pulling her even closer, though there's hardly anything left to close.

She laughs, and you feel it more than hear it. Her teeth graze your bottom lip, playful and just shy of rough. "You're full of shit, y'know that?"

"And you're full of yourself," you counter, tilting her head back slightly with a hand on her jaw.

The kiss deepens, sloppier now, teeth and tongues clashing like neither of you can quite control the urgency. The warmth of her skin under your fingers and the press of her body against yours feels all too familiar, like slipping back into a bad habit you swore you'd kicked.

The song shifts once more, a pulsing rhythm slower and heavier than the one before. It's almost too perfect—like the DJ is playing music specifically to remind you just how much you're still hooked on her—an addict getting a hit of their drug of choice after a long period of abstinence. Her hips press into yours, moving with the beat, and you're so caught up in her atmosphere that the surrounding dancers just seem to vanish.

"Y'know," she says suddenly, her lips leaving yours to brush against your ear, "mmm… my hips have missed your hips."

You exhale shakily, your voice edged with lingering pain. "Maybe your mouth should’ve admitted it sooner."

She leans her head back against your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed, a delicate sigh slipping past her lips. "Maybe yours should've stayed."

You pretend not to flinch at that. She pretends not to notice.

For a moment, that sexuality that had been burning between the two of you seems to simmer down to something… softer. That lingering pain and tension that had been sitting on your chest for the past few months… it all seems to fade to black, and the only thing you can remember is the warmth you two had shared.

Your fingers tighten instinctively against her, digging into the soft flesh at the sudden rush of memories and endorphins that flood your veins. A sound—soft but unmistakably approving—spills from her lips at the action.

Her eyes meet yours. There's something else there—something raw and unsaid that you don't dare to name. Regardless, it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that infuriating smirk.

"We were always better at this than talking," she purrs, spinning around in your hold so her back is to your chest. Your hands instinctively move to her hips while hers reach back to tangle in your hair, encouraging your face into the back of her neck.

You don't hesitate, lips brushing her nape. The skin there is warm, the faint scent of her dollar-store shampoo mingling with the cheap cologne, booze, and smoke that clings to her clothes. It's a heady combination, one that takes you back to nights you thought you'd buried��nights just like this one, with your sweaty bodies moving in sync.

Her fingers curl tighter in your hair as her hips roll back against you, perfectly timed with the bassline reverberating through the floor. Your hands drift lazily up her torso, cupping her breasts gently before moving back down to rest on her lower stomach, holding her against you..

Nat's head tilts back and rests against your shoulder, and her laughter dissolves in a soft, breathy sound that you feel more than hear. Her body practically melts into yours, her movements slowing just enough to draw attention to every subtle grind and shift of her hips.

You feel her fingers trail down from your hair to your arm, wrapping around your wrist and guiding your hand lower, just beneath the hem of her skirt. The gesture catches you off-guard for a fraction of a second, but you willingly let your hand trail down the flat of her stomach.

"Careful, Nat," you murmur, the pad of your forefinger teasing the waistband of her panties. "We're still in public, hmm?"

She chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating against you. "And? When'd you start caring about that?"

Her words are a dare, and you both know that. Unfortunately for you, you also both know she's right—neither of you has ever given a flying fuck about other eyes in the room. One could even say it makes things better.

You should stop. You should untangle yourself from her and find someone—literally anyone else—to dance with. You should do a million different things in this moment, but then she presses her hips back into you with just enough force to make you both gasp, and any thoughts you had about preserving your sanity go flying out the window.

"You're a fucking danger to society," you mutter, dipping your hand underneath her waistband and teasing lower. "A fucking menace."

"Mmm, and you love it," she quips, her smirk audible as your fingers run through her folds, the wetness already palpable.

"Not as much as you do, apparently." You shoot back, pulling your hand out of her skirt before you can get thrown out of the (mediocre) nightclub you were in.

She looks at you over her shoulder as if she can still read your mind. "We gettin' outta here?"

"Yeah?" You’re not even sure why you sound so uncertain—especially since you’re already dragging her toward the exit.

You lead her out into the brisk Philly night, the cool air sharp against your overheated skin. You're not thinking clearly—you're not thinking at all—when you pull her into the narrow alleyway beside the club, pressing her back against the rough brick wall.

"Good to see you never stopped being a romantic," Nat quips breathlessly as her arms come to circle your neck. "Missed the charm."

"Thought you'd appreciate the ambience," you move your lips to her neck, starting at the hollow of her throat before tracing up her jaw and to her mouth. "You always did like it dirty." And, well, it is dirty. You've positioned the two of you between a rotting stack of wooden pallets and a half-full dumpster.

Nat doesn't seem to mind or care.

And, much to her dismay, she doesn't get the chance to fire a teasing quip back when you slot your lips against hers and kiss her like your life depends on it. You've fucked in far dirtier (and more life-threatening) places than a grungy back street in downtown Philly; plus, your tetanus shots are up to date. You and Nat made sure of that after the… incident that happened last summer in Atlantic City.

She hitches up her right leg around your hip, using the leverage to tug you even closer to her as her fingers thread through your hair, angling your head so she can deepen the kiss.

Nat's lips are chapped and cracked against yours, splintering open when you tug her bottom lip between your teeth. The metallic taste of blood pebbles upon your tongue, stirring up a moan that threatens to spill from your throat into her waiting mouth.

When her hips start grinding into yours with growing ferocity, she breaks the kiss with a gasp. "You're packing?" It's phrased as a question, but you know her well enough to understand it's a statement.

Of course she notices. She always does.

"Yeah," your breath ghosts over her face, eyes boring into yours. "Planned on getting laid tonight. Just happened to be you."

"Lucky me."

"Lucky's one word for it." Your hands slide down to her waist, pressing her harder against the wall. The rough brick scrapes faintly against her back, the friction mirrored in the scrape of your teeth along her neck.

She hisses in a breath, tilting her head to give you more access. "Fuck, you're insufferable."

"And you love it," you shoot back, echoing her earlier words. Your fingers slide beneath the hem of her skirt, the fabric bunching up as you inch closer to what you both want.

Her fingers tighten in your hair, angling your head back until your eyes meet. They're blown wide, pupils dark and wild—whether from lust or intoxication, you neither know nor care. "What're y'waiting for, then?"

You don't answer, not with words. Instead, you push her skirt up fully, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs to the cold night air. The actions feel familiar—almost second nature—when your fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and tug them down her thighs, the sight of her naked skin making your pulse palpitate.

Truthfully, it's a sight you'd never thought you'd see again. You're ever-grateful that you were wrong.

"C'mon," you murmur, removing your hands from her body. "Bend over."

Nat smirks, "Why? Can't handle seeing my face, princess?" Her back arches as she bends over the wooden pallets, the curve of her body oh so inviting. "This what you had in mind?" she purrs, looking back at you from over her shoulder.

You step behind her, hands running down her sides to rest on her hips. Despite the teasing front she tries to put up, you see past it. "God, yeah," you murmur, grinding your hips into hers, letting her properly feel the strap you had tucked away. "Missed you more than I fucking hate you."

"Shit," she hisses, pressing her hips back into you. "Yeah? Prove it, then—fuck me like you mean it," she adds a moment later, though her voice wavers just enough to betray the ache beneath her bravado.

You steady her with one hand on her hip as the other hand moves to undo the buckle of your belt. The sound of it coming undone echoes against the concrete and brick. The tension between you two feels thick enough to cut with a knife. With a torturous amount of slowness, you unzip your jeans and reach inside, taking out the silicone toy.

You spit onto your hand and bring it to the length jutting out from between your thighs, spreading the saliva across its ribbed surface. It’s cold to the touch at first, but warms quickly in your palm—slick and ready, almost like it's as desperate as you are to be inside of her again.

Her head falls forward, breath quickening as you push into her, watching her heat slowly consume every inch. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the pallet, body trembling at the harsh intrusion without preparation, and still, she takes you like she always has.

"Fuck, don't I get a fucking warm-up?" she seethes, but the words lose any strength they had behind them when her voice melts into a low moan as her expression shifts—eyes heavy, mouth parted, brows just barely furrowed in that way you’ve only ever seen when she’s falling apart for you.

"You don't need one. You never do when you're drunk." One of your hands moves to grip the back of her neck, pushing her face down against the pallets. Nat groans as the rough, dry wood digs into her cheek, but provides no further protest to the action. She's always liked you a little rougher.

It's when you start moving your hips that Nat stops her faux fighting, a pleased sound spilling from her lips. "Fuck, yes," she mumbles out, meeting your thrusts every time you snap your hips forward. Your movements are harsh—driving into her roughly and removing yourself almost entirely before plunging right back in and doing it all over again, switching between speeds as you go.

God, Nat would never admit it to anyone, but she fucking missed this. Missed you fucking into her like you had a point to make. Like it didn't matter who saw. She missed the way your cock stretched her out so perfectly every time—like it was moulded specifically for the shape of her pussy. It was everything she had been craving and looking for in partners since you but had yet to receive.

So, she allows herself to go along for the ride, letting you use her how you see fit. If this were any other encounter, you'd probably feel bad about how punishing and unrelenting your thrusts were. Right now? Right now, you can't find it in you to care. After everything she put you through, maybe this is the only way you know how to touch her anymore.

Your nails dig into the flesh of her hip as you drive into her, the smack of skin against skin echoing in the narrow alleyway. The cool night air bites at your exposed flesh, a stark contrast to the burning heat where your bodies connect. Each thrust draws a quiet, gasping moan from her lips, further muffled by the wooden pallets pressing into her cheek.

"God, Nat," you growl, free hand sliding up her back, nails raking lightly over her spine. "Look at you. Fucking perfect."

She tilts her head back just enough for you to catch the curve of her lips—a smirk, of course. Even like this, she still can't resist being a tease. "Don't stop," she murmurs, voice shaky but still holding that infuriating edge.

"Didn't plan to."

You lean over her, chest brushing against the curve of her back as you press her down even further. The angle shifts, and the new depth drags a sharp cry from her throat. She claws at the edge of the pallets, nails scraping against the splintering wood as her body writhes beneath yours.

You adjust your stance further, one hand moving back to her hip while the other gathers her hair into a makeshift ponytail. The strands are slightly damp from the club's heat and exertion of the moment, sticking to your fingers as you twist your hand into its length. With a sharp tug, you yank her head back, exposing the column of her throat, skin flushed and slick beneath your grip. Her back arches deeper with the tug, a cruel smile stretching across your lips at the sight.

"Fuck," Nat hisses, voice breaking into a gasp that's half surprise, half desperate need. Her eyes squeeze shut as she instinctively pushes back against you, meeting each thrust with a renewed fervour.

You chuckle darkly, tightening your grip on her hair and pulling harder, the motion eliciting a strangled moan from her throat. "You trying to get us caught?" Your free hand slides up from her hip to wrap loosely around her neck, palm flat against her windpipe.

She goes still for a moment, her body taut beneath yours as your fingers press lightly into the sides of her throat. You can feel the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath your fingertips, a tangible reminder of the control you have over her right now.

"Harder," she whispers, the word barely audible over the sound of your bodies colliding.

You don't need to be told twice. Your grip on her neck tightens just enough to make her gasp for air, lips parting, breath thinning, eyes glazed. It's intoxicating, the way she submits so willingly, just like she always has.

Nat tries to speak—she really does—but all that results is a weak, strangled sound that you feel vibrate down into your hand from where it's pressed over her throat.

The sound goes straight to your lower gut, forcing a low groan from your mouth at the way she still lets herself fall into pieces for you. You ease up on her neck just enough for her to catch her breath, not because you're feeling generous, but because you want to hear her again—want to feel the way her voice trembles when she breaks.

"There she is," you murmur, breath hot against her ear. "Still know how to be a good fucking girl when you want to be."

You feel the shiver rake down her spine at your breath against her ear, and her whole body twitches. Her legs spread further, and her face flushes with the kind of raw, dizzy submission she always tried to pretend she didn't like.

You give her a moment. Just long enough to catch her breath (although your hips never cease in their relentless assault, so you really don't give her a lot of opportunity to breathe properly), and then—your palm connects with the round of her ass.

She gasps, loud and shocked, but her hips jerk back toward you instead of away.

"There it is," you mutter, hand settling back over the area you'd hit in a strange form of apology. "Knew you'd still come when called."

Natalie makes a sound like a sob dressed up as a moan—muffled by the pallet, cracked in the middle. You don't slow down. If anything, you give her less now. Less mercy. Less rhythm. Less time to think.

Because she never needed gentleness.

Not when it came from you.

Not after what she did.

When your hand rears back and connects with her again, it's hard enough for the sound to echo off the brick, but not hard enough to hurt. Just to remind her she's still yours, even if only like this.

A pathetic sort of whine slips through her teeth, but there's no protest at your roughness—just her ass pressing back harder into your hips. You know Nat well enough to know she wants the pain—it makes things easier than just dealing with the emotional aspect of it all. She doesn't have to think when another sharp crack echoes against the objects surrounding you, all she has to do is close her eyes and feel you inside of her.

God, it feels good.

Just like it feels good for you to watch the way her skin reddens where you strike it, or the way she grips the wood underneath her so hard you worry she'll limp away with wooden splinters lodged in her calloused fingers.

You're so deep inside her now, it's a miracle she's still holding herself upright. She'd be a mess on the pavement if not for the pallets underneath her. Every thrust punches another fractured sound from her throat—moans, gasps, half-formed curses, maybe your name—but it's the way she clings to the pallet that tells you just how close she is. You've seen the signs before and learned to memorise them: the trembling in her thighs. The twitch in her back. The frantic, instinctive way her hips keep trying to meet yours. The way she doesn't even realise she's begging.

You let a sardonic smirk cross your face as you lean down again, lips pressed to her ear. "Gonna come already, Natalie?"

She whimpers—high and broken—and it's the most honest sound you've dragged out of her all night.

"Of course you are," you sneer gently, snapping your hips harder into hers. "Always did like being used, didn't you?"

Her entire body tenses under you, and she's gone. Her teeth dig into her hand to muffle the sharp, guttural cry that rips itself from her throat. She shudders, her muscles seizing and convulsing as she crashes into her first orgasm with brutal force.

"Shit," you laugh darkly, never once ceasing your drives into her. "Still so easy, huh? Bet no one else makes you come like this."

Nat swears she can taste copper as her teeth dig into her hand, biting down until the pain flares bright under the skin. She can't find it in herself to dispute your claim, not when she can feel the ridges of your cock dragging against her fluttering walls, nudging that spot inside of her that has her seeing stars.

When she finally manages to speak, you can't make out the garbled words she spits into her trembling fingers, but you don't need to hear them. You already know what they are; some variation of her telling you to go fuck yourself.

With a sudden abruptness, you pull out of her spasming pussy and slap your dick against her sensitive cunt a few times, watching her twitch and wiggle away from the actions.

"C'mon. Flip over."

Nat makes some weak, pathetic whining sound before realising she still has a voice she can use, and moves her hand from her mouth. "Fuck… fuck off. Give me a minute. I just—"

You don't let her finish. You don't want to hear it unless it's begging.

With strength surprising even you, you flip her over before she can even breathe properly. One hand continues to stroke the length between your legs slowly, the other running up her torso before your thumb comes to rest under her chin, fingers resting loosely over her hammering pulse.

Her bleached hair fans messily against the pallet, cheeks flushed, lashes sticky with sweat and God-knows-what. Her eyes are glassy—half-lidded, half-lost—and the second they meet yours, you feel something like grief claw at your throat.

You chose to ignore it.

She doesn't speak as her pulse bounds against the tips of your fingers, just lifts her hips in a silent ask. You don't give her what she wants—not yet. Instead, you just look down at her with faint pressure against her windpipe.

Nat doesn't want to admit it, but she still recognizes that look.

Her hand tentatively moves between her own legs, shaky and uncertain.

"C'mon," you murmur, voice low. "Show me how much you missed me."

She squeezes her eyes shut, ashamed of how fast her body responds. Her fingers slide through her wet, puffy folds, circling her clit. Pleasure shoots up her spine, and her whole body trembles—brows knitting, lips parting into that perfect little 'o' you’ve missed.

"Yeah… just like that. Such a good girl. You miss having my cock ruining you?"

She whimpers. And, much to your surprise, she nods her head—no bratty comment or easy quip, almost like she's finally submitting herself to you fully.

"Words, Natalie." You lightly squeeze her throat at the command to prove a point. "Say it. Tell me."

"Missed it," she whines reluctantly, eyes still squeezed shut as her fingers start to find a comfortable rhythm. "Missed you inside of me—"

You smirk down at her, thumb pressing harder into her jaw. "Open your eyes. C'mon, lemme see that pretty colour—ah, there we go. You can be such a good girl when you want to."

She nods frantically, green eyes blown wild with lust, meeting yours in the claustrophobic darkness that surrounds you. Dark mascara streaks down her cheeks, and it's a damn good look on her.

You watch her like a goddamn animal—eyes glued to the way her fingers circle faster now, how her breath catches every time your name slips from her mouth without thought.

"Touching yourself just to make me proud, huh?" you murmur, hand still wrapped around the toy between your thighs, stroking it like it's a part of you. "Look at you. Such a fucking mess."

Nat nods again, frantic and desperate, the heel of her palm grinding down against her clit as her thighs begin to twitch.

You press your body back between her legs, guiding the tip against her soaked entrance, splitting her labia and rubbing against her slit. Her hand slips away immediately—instinctively—as if her body knows exactly who it belongs to when it counts.

"Did I tell you to stop touching yourself?" you ask harshly, the hand on her throat moving back to grip her left thigh and pull her towards you. Nat's leg wraps around your hip like it's still second nature to her, and she shakes her head as her hand moves back to where it was.

"Y'didn't…" she says meekly, the overstimulation starting to get to her. "'m sorry…"

The grin that cracks your face at her whimpered apology could only be considered feral. "Mm, apology accepted, pretty girl."

You nudge the head inside her—barely—and pull back, teasing again, and again, until Nat whines and tugs you closer with the leg she has around your hip.

You click your tongue and slap her thigh. "When did you think I gave you control, Natalie?" It's a rhetorical question, and you both know it. She doesn't opt for a verbal response; instead, she just shakes her head in place of an apology.

You'll take it.

For now, anyway.

You keep rubbing the tip against her, collecting her slick and coating the length with a sardonic grin.

That's another look that Nat has seen before.

You want her to beg.

Any other day, any other time of the week, she'd be more annoying about it. She'd make you earn her compliance, but she's already so far gone for you; the idea of being a brat doesn't even occur to her.

"Please," she whines out, fingers failing to find the rhythm they had previously found before she pulled back. "God, please. Just…" She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, clearly battling with the words she's going to say next, but she says them anyway. "Fuck, I'm yours. Goddammit, I'm yours. Just—please—!"

Well.

Who are you to say no to that? She begs just like she used to.

You thrust into her in one slow, claiming stroke, bottoming out and staying there. Letting her feel every inch of your cock inside her sensitive cunt. She instinctively clenches down around you, pulsing like she's trying to draw you in deeper.

God, a part of her wishes you wore a bigger one. She wants to feel you in her goddamn throat—but maybe that's just the liquor talking.

The hand that had a death grip on her thigh moves to press over her lower gut, and fuck, Nat feels full. She knows she was just wishing you wore a bigger strap, but she feels full, and it feels good. It's a sensation she hasn't felt before, but it isn't necessarily a bad one. Just a lot of pressure that's adding to the rampant pleasure.

You don't give her a warning when you pull back until just the tip remains, then start to pound into her with reckless abandon.

She feels dizzy. Drunk on you. Drunker than the last shot she took. No substance ever hit like this. No, there isn't a single pill out there that could ever come close to touching this rush.

Your hand presses harder into her lower belly, fingers splayed like you're trying to cover as much skin as possible. Nat whimpers—it's all she can manage—and her legs twitch again as another wave of pleasure hits her.

The pressure's unbearable now.

Not just the pressure from your cock, but from the ache building behind her pubic bone. The kind of full that doesn't feel like just sex anymore. It's deeper than that. Heavier.

Worse.

She doesn't want to admit it, but she knows what she is. And like most things in her life, she’d rather not face it head-on. So, she doesn't think about the fact she's had shot after shot at the bar and never went to the bathroom. Doesn't think about the fact she pre-gamed before coming out. Doesn't think about the fact that she's had even more to drink because of the goddamn cottonmouth that comes with railing rackets off a porcelain basin.

Nat squeezes her eyes shut rather than telling you to stop or pushing you back, because she doesn't want that. She tries to breathe through it. She can't come like this.

And you don't stop. Your thrusts are brutal, steady, and almost cruel in their rhythm. And your hand—your fucking hand—is still pressing down over her gut like you know. Like it isn't just about the external stimulation anymore.

"You feel full, baby?" you murmur, voice low and sweet and horrible. "Feels like you're about to break for me."

"Don't—" she chokes out, voice barely coherent, but it's too late.

Her body jerks. Her thighs lock around your waist, like she's trying to hold it all in. Like she could hold it all in. Her stomach twists. Her muscles fail.

And then it happens.

The warm rush overtakes her in an instant—wet and unrelenting, gushing against your thighs and the inside of hers. A sob bubbles from her chest, and she can no longer bear to look at you, thrashing her head to the side as she tries—and fails—not to come again.

No, it would be impossible not to. She was already so close, and with the urine being pushed from her bladder, your hand is pressing directly over where your cock is hammering into her.

You feel the warmth spread across your thighs and seep into the fabric of your pants, and for a second, all you can do is laugh. "Oh, Nat… really?" But your voice isn't mocking. It's indulgent. Like you knew it was coming. Like you wanted it to.

Nat's eye makeup runs down her face in rivers now as pathetic sounds rip from her throat, but you don't stop. No, not once. You don't even slow down as you push her through the waves of her second orgasm. You don't stop when her hand falls from her clit to grip the edge of the pallets.

You don't stop.

"You can cry about it later," you hiss, bringing your hand back to her throat and applying just enough pressure on her windpipe to help her further slip into that fuzziness that's been floating around her head since the first time she came.

"Fuck, such a good little piss-soaked bitch for me, aren't you?" Your thumb presses under her jaw, turning her back to face you again, your pace never ceasing. "All you did was just make it easier for me to fuck you, you realise that?" You laugh sardonically, applying pressure to her carotid now. "All you did was give me more lube. Not that we didn't have enough already, but…"

"Please—" Nat begs, but she doesn't know exactly what for. "Please, please, God, please—!"

"Oh, gonna give me another one, baby? Even after all that?" Your voice is a low, brutal coo, and Natalie hates that she nods immediately, another broken sob escaping her mouth in the form of a "please," which seems to be the only word she can bring herself to say right now.

She doesn't want to come again, but she's going to. Even if it feels like every thrust of your hips is the equivalent of a wildfire running through her veins. She can't help it—it's like you still remember exactly what buttons to push to force her over the edge.

Her thighs are shaking. She doesn't even bother keeping them around your waist anymore. Before they can fall limp, your hands are there—gripping her, pulling her back into each thrust like there was even a sliver of a chance she would try to pull away right now.

Sobs catch in her throat, cut short every time your hips slam back into her. She feels it blooming in her stomach again—too soon, too much, too hot—her skin prickles, flushed and slick and far too sensitive. Every inch of her body feels lit up, wired and overworked, raw nerves singing with every movement.

Your cock slams into her, again and again and again, and the sound of it—the obscene squelching sounds that seem endless—bounce off the alley walls like your own private symphony.

Nat's breath hitches, a stuttering inhale that never quite becomes an exhale, and she whines, long and high and fucking mortifying. Her body arches up into you involuntarily, back bowed and muscles tensed like she's ready to snap at any second.

"Yeah, that's it," you murmur, the sound barely audible over the repetitive collisions of your bodies. "Let me have it."

And then she snaps.

Her body convulses violently beneath yours, a ragged cry tearing itself from her lungs as her orgasm rips through her like a wave of static. She's gushing around you, all slick and salt and noise, a tremor rattling straight up her spine as every part of her feels like it's shattering into a million little pieces.

Her grip on the pallets falls slack. Her mouth opens in a silent scream. Her cunt clamps down so hard you can feel it, and have to bite back a moan of your own. She comes like a house being torn apart by a tornado, and it's only then that you finally—finally—cease your relentless assault on her well-used and overly sensitive pussy.

It feels like eons between her final climax and when you finally pull out of her, but Nat doesn't mind the wait. Not when she's floating in this hazy space she's only been in a handful of times before—which, ironically, have all been with you, but that's a problem for sober Nat.

And you, well, you don't know what you're gonna do when you're sober. But that can be dealt with when you are sober.

For now, you drunkenly tuck yourself back into your pants—grateful that today was the day you chose to wear a dark colour, God forbid you be seen walking around with a giant piss stain on the front of them—and pull a tissue from your pocket, attempting to clean her up.

You're careful. Just like you used to be. You take your time cleaning her up, mindful of her oversensitivity and her state. You may be a drunk asshole right now, but you aren't a complete asshole.

Her breathing is still shaky. Her mascara's bled halfway down her cheeks. She doesn't flinch when your fingers brush between her legs again. She just exhales, seemingly… grateful.

You don't say anything as you wipe her down. You don't have to. You're safe. You always have been.

By the time you get her clothes back in place and help her up, Natalie's just coming out of that fog that has clouded her mind.

You murmur something about a payphone. She nods without question. She clings to you just like she used to after you'd pushed her into subspace.

While you wait for the cab on the sidewalk, she leans her head on your shoulder. You hold her hand.

You already know she'll be gone by the morning.

a/n: do u guys know how crazy it is that i went from writing a fic where reader literally kms'd to writing this. wild. anyways. stream melodrama

#natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #nat scatorccio smut #natalie scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio x you #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets x reader #ladles (fics/blurbs)#from the cutlery drawer #steak knives (nsfw)#q

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456-is-the-way · 4 months ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you if you could do a smutty In-ho x fem! Reader x Gi-Hun. Something along the line of they are both pining and see each other go to talk to reader alone and decide to wait. In-ho talks to her during lights out and Gi-hun talks to her doing mingle. In the final fight, she goes with either in-ho or Gi-hun and the stand of at the end, ends with them deciding to truce for a moment and share reader.

A/n: OMG A smutty story with both the hottest daddies!? Yet people keep the requests coming because I have many more to write! I hope to post at least 3 stories a week only because I am returning to my job after my holiday vacation! ALSO regarding the TAGLIST IDK why it won't let me add people like some it won't bring their name up SO I am not sure how to fix that RIP Im sorry y'all!!! ALSO, late tonight or tomorrow my part 1 of my 4-part Gi-Hun story is coming out!! (Hints of In-ho x reader) will also be in the story! Next week I'll have 3 more requests stories done!

Trigger warning: SMUT

Squid Game Masterlist

In-ho x Reader x Gi-hun

Love and War

Being in the games was the last thing (Y/n) was expecting, or at least in a life-or-death situation. She took a breath, looking over the group she was lucky enough to be in. Gi-hun did not hide the looks in her direction. Her (e/c) orbs meet his. (Y/n) could feel her cheeks warm up as Gi-hun winked. She turned away, looking at the ground quickly. How could two people be so obvious in their lustful looks? Their group quickly picked up on their subtle hints, flirtatious works, mindful touches, and lustful gazes. However, it sparked a rivalry between Gi-hun and his newfound friendship with Young-Il. The other gentleman also expressed his feelings towards (Y/n), which did not go unnoticed. (Y/n) happily reciprocated the attention she received from both of these handsome bachelors. It was lights out, and as normal, their group gathered in one spot, taking turns on night shift duty. Many thought of them as one of the strongest teams for now. In-ho sighed deeply as he was woken by Jung-bae. “Your turn.” He whispered. In-ho only responded with a grunt getting up to take his place by (Y/n). In-ho looked over her figure. It honestly pained him to lie to (Y/n) of all people. While scouting for participants, he would collect all their data and reasoning for poor financial situations. He never showed favor or pity towards anyone until now. Why did it have to be her of all people?

“I can take watch by myself if you need me to. I want you to have all the rest. Especially for the next challenge… I am nervous to find out what it may be.” In-ho whispered. She gave him such a warm and loving smile. In-ho had not felt butterflies like this in his stomach in so long the feeling was almost foreign. The way her eyes would almost sparkle while gazing into his. In-ho felt his breath be taken away every time.

“No, I won't allow you to not have a partner. We agreed on pairs of two. I am going to be fine. I could say the same for you, Young-Il.” She gazed into his eyes and before anything else could be said In-ho leaned in kissing her deeply. (Y/n) gasped but did not pull back once his warm lips dominated hers. In-ho cupped her cheek before letting his hand trail down squeezing her beast. “W-Wait.” Her voice seemed weak from the desire but quickly In-ho stopped all his advances.

“Fuck (Y/n) I am so sorry if I hurt you.” His eyes showed nothing but absolute worry.

“Young-Il, you didn’t hurt me. I just. We cant I-”

“You love Gi-hun. Don’t you?” He asked.

She looked away rubbing her temples. “I am unsure who I like. I have feelings for you both but if we act out on them… If you or him dies I would never be able to get over your death, or is..” She leans against In-ho resting on his shoulder.

“I understand…I love you.”

“I… I love you as well.” (Y/n) whispered cuddling into him.

….

After the night the next game had started early that morning, and (Y/n) had not been expecting what was to come. As the game commenced it felt very intense making sure the groups had the correct amount of people in each room. They even teamed up with new players they clicked with instantly. As it began getting lower in numbers for each door (Y/n) became nervous. She felt Gi-hun grab her hand gently. “I got you.” He whispered. Once the merry-go-round stopped and the number was ‘2’ he instantly took off with her ultimately forgetting about any of the others. Even shamelessly (Y/n) did not even look back for In-ho. Once in the room the door instantly shut. The female leaned against the wall as Gi-hun was breathing heavily on the other side of the room, “Gi-hun, are you okay?”

Gi-hun did not bother to answer before walking over to (Y/n) and kissing her deeply. The female lets a shaken moan out as their bodies are pressed against each other. His hands hold her waist before lowering down her backside and cupping her ass. “G…Gi-hun, babe, we cant.” Her body was on fire for this handsome older man.

“You love me… I know you do.” He let you go resting his forehead against yours.

“I…I do love you. I have since the moment I laid eyes on you. I can’t be with you Gi-hun. I wont risk getting attached-”

“Is it because of Young-Il? Is that the true reason? I heard you both talking last night. I know you have feelings for him of some kind… I want to know if he-”

“No, my love it's not because of Young-Il… I care for you both but if I got too attached and lost either of you I… I wouldn't be able to ever move on.” When the doors unlocked she took his hand, “Talk later okay?”

Gi-hun nods walking out as their hand in hand. In-ho instantly noticed and sent a glare at Gi-hun who met his gaze with a stronger one.

…

(Y/n) was soaked in her friend's blood as she was on her knees. Gi-hun and Jung-Bae beside her on their knees. In front of them stood a man who organized the games. With a quick hand motion from the man in the black mask, Jung-Bae was pulled away. Gi-hun went to help but a gun was quickly pulled out.

“Don’t” (Y/n) begged, tearing up. Her eyes widen as the gun slowly is lowered.

“I love you (Y/n).” The Front Man whispered she glared into his eyes.

“I hate you.” She glared. In-ho took a moment before removing his mask. Both (Y/n) and Gi-hun gave his a look showing all their bundled up emotions. “You… are the Frontman. HOW COULD YOU!” (Y/n) cried loudly .

In-ho leans down, “My real name is In-ho, I joined yes, but I never expected to fall in love with you! Please… Let me have you before anything else happens… Gi-hun.” He turned to his friend who reluctantly nodded they both desired you and that over powered all current feeling. The triangle guard let Gi-hun free before leaving.

“Please lets forget about all of this. For a few moments.” Gi-hun adds agreeing with In-ho. What felt like eternity she agrees.

Gi-hun instantly pulled her against his frame smashing their lips together. In-ho kneels down pressing against her back side kissing up (Y/n)’s neck. The female moaned loudly into the kiss as her body is sandwiched between theirs. “Fuck.” She gasped as Gi-hun trailed down to the other side of her neck. In-ho proceeded to slides his large hands under her shirt cupping her bare breasts. Her nipples already were hard. “Ngh! (Y/n) whined as he pinch them roughly pulling her buds harshly.

“Take her shirt off.” In-ho growled.

“Slide her pants down.” Gi-hun adds. (Y/n) had no time to react before her shirt was being lifted and sweatpants pulled down swiftly. Once practically naked she puts a hand on their bulges rubbing both men. They let out a shaken groan each, Gi-hun’s voice held a submissive tone while In-ho growled dominantly. Their already hardening cocks were at full attention. Gi-hun’s leaking precum at the tip. In-ho leans his forhead against (Y/n)’s shoulder cock twitching as she worked both touch starved men.

“F-Fuck I’m close.” Gi-hun whined.

In-ho chuckled,” Baby slow down before he blows a load in your hands. Let us inside of you.”

“MMmm… But will b-both fit?” She asked inhaling as Gi-hun reached down feeling her soaking wet panties.

“Fuck you are soaked honey. Did jerking us off turn you on that much?.. Yes dear we will both fit.”

(Y/n) nods and spreads her legs, In-ho nods to Gi-hun, She arches, feeling both their cocks brushing her entrance. “AHH FUCK Gi-hun. In-ho!~” (Y/n) was held up by the men who began roughly thrusting into her tight and warm pussy.

“Fuck baby you are tight.” “Your pussy was made for your us.” “Going to fill you up.”

Both of their praises made the knot tighten inside of her. “FUCK!” She cried out as their cock meet the perfect rythem until she felt the euphoria hit all at once. Her pussy clams down making both men cum deep inside. The three now lay there panting in pleasure. (Y/n) closed her eyes.

“I love you both.” Her voice is strained. Gi-hun instantly responsed with a quick ‘I love you back’ .

In-ho sighed deeply kissing her cheek knowing nothing would be the same after this. He loved her too much.

#squid game x reader #player 456 #seong gi hun #seong gi hun x reader #squid game fanfiction #squid game smut #in ho x reader #gihun x inho #gihun x frontman #squid game fanfic #seong gihun smut #in ho smut #455 #001 squid game #001 x 456 #smut #Jung-Bae #gihunxreaderxinho

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demonic0angel · 8 months ago

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(This is kinda a Damian finds out he has a long lost brother named Danyal, or Danny as he calls himself but Damian can't accept this yet. Kinda a Danyal Ah Ghul AU)

"I'm not going to accept this," Damian declared as Danny followed him through his way.

"I'll do anything!" Danny cried. "Please accept me!"

"I'm sorry, but I just cannot," he replied. He spun around suddenly, causing Danny to take a step back. "Because you have not properly established yourself as a twin brother!"

"E-Establish myself?" Danny asked in confusion. Damian chuckled as though amused by a small child.

"Allow me to explain..." he muttered. "The symbol that signifies a twin brother's qualities:

"BMW?" Danny questioned, hearing the roar of a car engine in the distance.

"Yes," Damian replied. "First: 'Blood'! As in blood relation! A brother must be related by blood. A step-brother or 'someone like a brother' might as well be a total stranger. Next is 'Memories'! As in shared memories. Precious family memories that have been forged over time, thus creating an irreplaceable bond between loving, caring siblings! And finally, not being an idiot to your brother!"

"But that doesn't even begin with a 'W'!" Danny argued in confusion.

(Istg the car engine roar means something, but I’m literally oblivious so idk)

“If you cannot accept my terms, then begone! I do not accept you!”

Danny panicked. “Okay, okay! Fine! What exactly do I need to do?”

Damian gave him a calculated look for a long moment and then he smiled evilly. Danny froze and recoiled, suddenly realizing that he had bitten off more than he could chew by trying to reconcile with his long lost, clearly evil brother.

Damian gave a diabolical laugh and then said slowly, “You’ll be helping me for some… matters of revenge.”

Damian then takes advantage of Danny’s naivety and ghost powers to torment Tim for a week. Eventually, Jason finds out and rats them out to Dick. Damian and Danny get scolded enough for a lifetime, but in the end, they grow closer bc they both got grounded (after Dick goes ??? after seeing Danny, but he also gets adopted for a second time so there’s that).

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #jason todd #danny fenton #damian wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #anon ask #ask #ty for the ask!#danny is danyal al ghul

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justanotherescapism · 9 months ago

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Hello idk if you would be able to write a nsfw and sfw alphabet for Wolverine ( also if you see that a letter can stand for something else feel free to change it!!! Your headcanons for that men man have me in love with your work) love ya

Wolverine/Logan SFW Alphabet

A/N: hope you enjoy! <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Logan isn’t one for huge displays of affection but rather chooses to show his affection more subtly. A hand on your knee or an arm round your waist. He’d always listen to what you have to say whether it’s something complex or just about your day. Just spending time with your is how he shows his love.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

After you saved him from Sabre, he’d feel like he owes you and would accompany on missions. He’d be very protective, and it wouldn’t go unnoticed but the rest of the team. You’d end up being with him a lot and hanging out, sharing drinks and talking till late in the morning.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Logan tells you he doesn’t like to cuddle but really he enjoys feeling you in his arms. Every night he’d open his arms for you to snuggle up to his chest. He’d pretend to hate it but he’d always have a smile on his face.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

When you’re with Wolverine, settling down isn’t really an option, he’s always on missions and likewise so are you. However, you find your own domestic bliss at the mansion. Teaching the kids and supervising them is it’s own job, but you’d also find time to just relax.

Logan would not be good at cooking or cleaning but he’d make an effort for you. Would it take 5 hours and several packs of pasta to make spaghetti? Yes, but you’d appreciate it all the same.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Simple and blunt. He’d sit you down and end it quickly. Honestly, it wouldn’t be comforting but cold.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He’d want to commit, fully but so scared and worried about your future, he’d suppress any feelings. What if he lost his memory again? What if you died on a mission? He’d be too scared to commit but eventually would admit everything to you. After some reassurance (a lot) he’d feel better about it but takes some time to come round to actually proposing.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

When Wolverine wants to be rough, he is. But, most of the time he’s gentle and calm. He’s not so good with emotional stuff but he’d tried his best. When your sad, he’d hold you and stroke your hair, when you’re angry he’d listen to you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Logan is not a big hugger, he’d only hug you when he’s scared he had lost you or in moments where he can’t convey his emotions with his words. He’d wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in close, burying his head in your neck.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes time, but he’d do a lot to show his love like holding you a tiny bit closer when he’s scared or remembering your anniversary with your favourite flowers.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Very, especially around his fellow x-men. He also makes a show of kissing and holding you. Cyclops looks at you slightly differently than usual? Logan will pull you into a rough kiss. My god, you want to say you hate it but really you find it kind of endearing, however, sometimes it is a little too much. You'd try to communicate this to him, but he just pretends he doesn't know what you mean. If you're a little toxic, you might flirt with another member of the team, when Logan gets jealous, you'll give him a knowing look. He'll finally accept that he is maybe a little too jealous.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Mostly rough, the type of kiss that makes your head spin. He'd pull you in by the waist, gripping onto your clothes. If you're alone, he'd push you up against a wall, either lifting you up or holding you in place. However, on occasion, he'll give you the most gentle and loving kisses, conveying what he can't in words. These are the types of kisses that you feel in your chest. His hands would caress your cheek and all the world would disappear.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Logan is not exactly the greatest with kids, but he tries. He swears to much, drinks too much and quite frankly is a bit too grumpy for their antics. However, when he is in the proximity of children - which at the mansion happens often - he's often quite caring towards them, even if he won't admit this. When a kid has a nightmare, he's the first one to respond. He'd say how annoying it is, but when that little hand holds his he'd have a little smile on his face.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

You trying to get up, and him pulling you down, back into his chest. He'd love to snuggle up and keep warm for as long as possible. He's sleepy and soft, really the only time he's relaxed.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Logan often has nightmares and disturbed sleep, so often you are woken up by him shouting or shooting out of bed. You'd calm him but sometimes it would take a while. However, once he's calm, he'd collapse into your lap, you stroking his hair, as he recovers.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Logan is essentially a blank slate, all that he knows you have both lived through so he is very much an open book in that respect. However, when it comes to emotions and his opinions, it takes a while for him to open up. He always jokes around deep topics, but eventually he'd give you real answers and not dance around the question. It would take a while for him to trust you, but when he does he spills everything to you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

When it comes to you he's soft, and would have a lot of patience. However, no one else has this luxury, and with them, he's quick to anger. His temper is short, and anything can set him off, the other x-men often rely on you to help calm him down. Other times, he'll come to you and start ranting and raving about the situation.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Logan remembers everything, every fine detail. Having lost a lot of his memories, he savours every moment in his mind. But he rarely shows this, simply choosing to pretend he forgot. Most of the time this is to hear you tell him again but also because he is worried you might thinks he's too soft or weird for remembering where you bought a specific blue jumper from 3 years ago.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The moment he asked you a date. You both flirted for months on end, the other x-men hated it, telling you both to get a room, but you were worried he'd never make the first move. When he finally took the hint and was going to ask you, he stood outside your door for 10 minutes trying to think of what to say. Just when he was about to knock, you opened the door, you were dressed up nice. He asked where you were going, and you said a date. He asked with who, and you simply grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the mansion.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Logan protective? There is no one more protective. He is always on the look out for danger, even when there is nothing to be worried about. He likes to know where you are and safe, not in a controlling way but to know you're safe, he doesn't care where you are necessarily.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Harder than most would expect. He always remembers anniversaries and birthdays with flowers and a cute date. Everyday tasks are a bit more strenuous, he doesn't always understand what he is supposed to do. That isn't for lack of trying though, but sometimes you'd have to give him pointers, like the dishes or taking out a load of laundry. But there would be no complaints from him.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Sometimes his protectiveness and jealously can get extreme, especially in times of stress. If there is some villain running around, he'd barely let you go outside for fear of you getting hurt. You'd constantly remind him that you are capable of taking care of yourself but he wouldn't hear it. He can get stubborn to the point that you want to rip your hair out.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not very. He doesn't age like a normal man so he doesn't have to worry about his physical appearance.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, when he is away from you, he is more grumpy and colder than usual. He would be snarky, stubborn and evasive, sometimes to the point of risking a mission.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He would always buy you flowers for any occasion or just randomly, and you'd dry press them so you can keep them forever. But it's gotten to the point where you have too many. So he'd buy you a chest-like box, that's ornate and detailed. Inside you keep all of the flowers, and other sentimental things from your relationship.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Logan doesn't like baby talk or being childish in that way. It's one of his few turn offs, at the end of the day, he is decades older than he looks so it would just give him the ick.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Bad, he'd constantly wake up due to night terrors, often waking you alongside him. It would take time to calm him down, but eventually he'd be able to go to sleep.

#x men #wolverine headcanons #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x oc #the wolverine #hugh jackman #x men x reader

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