#man has never not been damp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

logansbaby · 2 months ago

Text

GUILTY AS SIN - Logan Howlett

❥ summary: the entire time you’ve known logan howlett, you’ve tried to keep your longings locked. then, one night, all that effort goes to waste when you’re confronted about your feelings.

word count: 8.5k (IM SORRY!!!!)

pairings: logan howlett x fem! mutant reader

content warnings: 18+ CONTENT MDNI, masturbation, dirty thoughts, light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (reader and logan receiving), spitting, sixty-nining, scent kink, like one spank, underwear stays ON, slight hint of arousal from crying?, creampie, p in v (practice safe sex ty!)

❥ a/n: guys…… am i…. a whore? (yes) do i need to be locked up? (also yes). i started this when i was on my period so maybe that’s the reason this is so filthy? anyway i don’t know how it got to 8k of smut but it DID and i have nothing to say about that… also reader has a mutation it’s not super in depth but her hair changes to red in certain situations and she has red light/energy she manifest in her hands, kind of confusing but it’s okay. anyway please please enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

‘I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?’

Guilty as Sin? - Taylor Swift

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

THE SHEETS are chilled, crisp to the touch, cold enough that shivers tickle their way across exposed skin. A sigh is heard, loud enough for wandering ears as a figure moves about in the unmade, blanket muddled bed. The window had been left open, and as a result, cold air had poured into the room.

Despite the fact that goosebumps adorn your body, it felt as though you were on fire. Huffs escaped parted lips, a charged hum zipping through your veins that only intensified each time you moved. You’d been trying to sleep for the past couple hours, trying to ignore the need thrumming through you, but had only managed to fail.

You turn on your side for possibly the twentieth time, but the position only worsens your state as the flesh of your thighs squeeze unintentionally, a wave of brief relief sent to your throbbing core. Tears brim your lashes, damp with frustration because fuck, your body was humming with lust and everything was so, so sensitive.

This was all Logan’s fault.

The man has been gone less than a week and yet, your body was practically vibrating with need, trembling with desire.

The feelings you harbor make you feel shameful and guilty for a handful of reasons.

Logan was not your boyfriend; he wasn’t even a friend. While he was cordial with the others in the mansion, he remained cold and indifferent toward you.

You pretended it never bothered you when he pointedly ignored your greetings in passing or refused to partner up with you. You didn’t understand what you’d done to upset him, to warrant his treatment of you as if you were the most annoying person on the planet. More often than not, you are the subject of the man’s pointed glare.

So, logically, your heart shouldn’t race at the mere thought of him. Nor should desire pool between your thighs whenever images of his sweaty form cloud your mind.

By definition, you were immensely smart; a genius with how you could understand what others could not.

Though, you were only human and Logan fucking Howlett was a man worth embarrassing yourself over, especially when he looked like he did.

He wasn’t, your mind huffed.

He was, your heart retorted.

A memory comes forward, one that has your cheeks blushing, your chest rising a little faster than before.

A couple weeks ago, you’d been up late, struggling to sleep and with the way it evaded you, wandering the halls had been your solution, in hopes of tiring yourself out.

But when you had walked down your hallway, you froze at the sight of a shirtless Logan in his room, the door left ajar.

A towel covered his head as he scrubbed away the wetness in his hair, and you desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed your presence. Water dribbled down his muscular body, and your eyes greedily watched each droplet descend down, glistening against the tan stomach you wanted to bite. What really had you drooling, however, was the thick, prominent vein that crept down into the waistband of his gray sweatpants. Said pants had your eyes wide with the prominent bulge tented in the material.

When you just barely caught yourself from moaning, you had dashed back to your room right away. You were wide awake still, but for a completely different reason. All you could think about was tracing your tongue along that vein.

If you’d fucked yourself that night to the thought of him and his glistening torso, no one had to know.

So theoretically, if you gave in to your cravings, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it certainly wouldn’t make you feel any less guilty.

Scarlett hues dust your cheekbones, lips bitten until they’re swollen and shiny with spit. Your breasts ache from inside the confines of the pink, lacy shirt, made worse with each labored breath you inhale as perky nipples brush the material. Your hole feels incredibly empty, the need to be filled overpowering. Your clit, puffy and neglected, throbs with pure, searing need.

Another wave of aching pleasure from your wetness breaks your resolve— a shaky hand slipping from its place on your stomach down, down, down until cold fingers meet the mess between your thighs.

A gasp sounds, melodic as it swirls with heavy breathes, fluttering around the room as you brush over your clit. Even through the material of your underwear, the slight pressure of your fingers made you mewl.

Flashes of Logan dance behind closed lids, your imagination running wild while you messily swirl over your bundle of nerves.

You wanted him so, so bad, in every way possible, it actually hurt, both your heart and core.

Your mind submerges your consciousness with thoughts of him; his pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the tufts of his brown hair. The muscles that were constantly on display, his thick thighs that you wanted to ride until you came all over him, and the huge bulge that was ever present in those flattering jeans of his (and if it was a reoccurring fantasy of yours to ride that delicious bulge over his jeans until you both came from just dry humping, again— no one had to know).

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stop thinking about Logan.

Him hovering over you, dog tags swinging in your face as he fucked you hard. Him picking you up and taking you against the nearest surface, lips trapped in an erotic kiss. Him prying your thighs open as he licked up your pussy, tongue dipping into your hole to lap up all the desire pooling, his lips wrapping around the swollen bud and sucking violently. Him holding your face lovingly as his hips thrusted his cock deeper into your throat, groans spilling at the gag you’d let out.

You were split between wanting to sink down onto his cock and rut your swollen nub against the curls that nestled the base of him and stuffing his dick down your throat, gagging around him until he came and coated your throat with his spend.

You didn’t even bother to remove the damp underwear, instead circling the engorged bud over the material— and oh, fuck. The roughness of the lace mixed with the delicious rubbing of your fingers send little moans tumbling from parted lips.

Your unoccupied hand slips under the shirt covering your chest and only settle once your nipple is pinched between determined fingers, rolling the pert bud in tandem with the amorous touch of your hand on your sex.

Pleasure nips at your pelvis, and if you were a little more aware, you’d be embarrassed at how fast you to reaching your peak. But, as it is, your brain is completely hazy with wanton thinking and the only thing on your mind was lessening the ache that pulsates deep within you.

And fuck, you’re so fucking needy for logan that you try to pretend it’s his fingers abusing your clit, his fingers tugging at the sensitive buds of your chest. You want his tongue between your thighs, licking up your desire and sucking your puffy bud into his pretty mouth.

Chest rising rapidly, you feel overwhelmed at the fantasies swirling before your eyes. Its far too much— the mix of your filthy desires and your fingers rubbing your nub have your legs quivering as wetness coats your hand.

“Logan, Logan, Logan—“ The chant of his name mindlessly falls from you, the feeling of your orgasm washing over you, threatening to pull you under those soaring, unforgiving waves of pleasure.

Eyes snap shut, ears ring with white noise, and your hips hump your hand pitifully— you were an absolute, writhing mess against the sheets.

The hair messily strewn around your pillow shifts then from its natural state to a dark red. Even with your eyes shut, you could feel the vermillion light whirling at your fingertips, begging to be released.

Your mutation was not one of subtlety.

Searing bliss coils in your lower tummy, your button tingling with the after effects of the orgasm that crashed into you. You sigh, because even though you just came, you felt far from satisfied. Your body buzzes with sweltering hunger, all the way from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. Even if you fuck yourself dizzy with another orgasm, you knew it won’t satiate your body. Not completely, anyway.

Before you could slip your fingers inside your weeping hole, a loud knock echos through your room.

You still; desperate and hoping that if you ignored the noise, whoever was knocking would simply go away. But when another rhythmic thump comes a few seconds later, you huff.

It’s well past midnight at this point, so who in their right mind would be going about and slamming their fists on your door?

Apparently, you arent moving fast enough when the person has the nerve to knock for a third time, hand a little heavier than before. A growl, tinged with annoyance, slips out as you fling yourself up and off the bed.

You stomp to the door, ready to tell the person on the other side to fuck off.

But when you actually swing open the mahogany door, all the anger simmering beneath your heated skin disappears, along with your breath, as your eyes take in the sight before you.

Logan Howlett stands before you, seemingly angry as a frown etches deep on his face. He glares at you, hazel eyes swarming with exasperation and something unknown.

And little did you know, all of your craziest, fatal fantasies were about to come true.

❥

The moment Logan steps into the mansion, finally back from the complete shit show of a mission Charles had sent him on, he tenses instantly.

His fingers clench into fists, tight enough that the skin turns white. The adamantium claws threaten to poke through his knuckles as he inhales deeply.

Big mistake.

That sweet, sweet scent swarms his heightened senses, the intoxicating smell nearly making him dizzy. His heart speeds up, his stomach flutters, and his cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

Logan could fucking smell you.

It’s a heady aroma thats so completely you, that his body feels deranged, just about ready to march up those steps and break down your door.

He shakes himself loose from the metaphorical shackles of you and begins the journey to his room, trying to block out how delicious and syrupy you smell.

He decides then, as his body finally moves up the steps, that ignoring you is the best option.

But as he gets closer to the hallway he shares with you (just his luck, by the way!), he realizes that plan is a joke.

He feels his control slipping, especially as the heady scent grows stronger, tinged with something else— something erotic and salacious.

Logan curses, his entire being rigid.

You’re aroused, the smell seeping under the crack of the door giving you away instantly.

The idea of you whining as your pussy drips slick between your thighs has him grinding his teeth, fingers flexing and unflexing in an attempt to harness the control back to his body.

Though, it goes out the window entirely as his body is apruptly outside your door, unconsciously drawn to the very essence of you.

There’s a reason Logan has kept carefully crafted distance between the two of you.

The minute he was introduced to you, a new member of the x-men and teacher for the school, he knew he was fucked.

From the first look shared between you, he knew.

A pretty smile had graced your lips, eyes filled with joy as you greeted him, a hand outstretched in his direction as your hair swayed with your movements. In your cute, little outfit (a pretty, white lace dress that kissed the tops of your thighs, matched with baby pink pumps that accentuated your legs), he thought you looked like a princess.

He had stayed frozen, however, because he was assaulted with the fucking smell of you. It was nothing like he’d encountered before, and he’d been around for over a century.

Your scent was so fucking sweet, vanilla and honey permeated his nostrils and right in that moment, he wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

He knew that he had to keep his distance, otherwise he’d become addicted to you in every sense. If he let himself, he’d worship the very ground you walked on. He couldn’t risk having the walls he’d spent so long building to crumble.

And in an instant, he was angry that his body had reacted this way to someone he’d never even met. He was angry he wanted to press sweet kisses on your face while simultaneously wanting to fuck you on his cock until you screamed his name.

So, with that, he’d made up his mind.

He had simply glared at you, refused to acknowledge your existence and stormed out of Charles’ office. And since that day, he’s tried his hardest to pretend you didn’t exist— if only to ease the way you constantly haunted his every thought.

He pretended it didn’t kill him to see how your face would crumble at his rude behavior, at how he avoided you at all costs. He couldn’t help it, though, because if he treated you how he wanted, like the princess you were, he’d never let you go.

A sudden noise shakes him from the depths of his mind, that carnal, sensual essence growing stronger by the second.

“Logan, Logan, Logan,” your honeyed voice whines, all airy and light.

And it’s almost comical how the telltale snikt! sounds immediately after because what?

What the fuck? He thinks, mind utterly destroyed at the revelation that not only were you seemingly fucking yourself, but you were moaning his name.

Logan growls, low and dangerous as his claws reveal themselves, cutting through the skin of his knuckles. His body feels unnaturally hot, practically set on fire. His cock now uncomfortably hard in his jeans, lustful essence bubbling at his tip and no doubt staining his boxers.

With the wafts of your pretty aroma and sounds of your lewd whimpers, he knows he can’t resist you any longer.

His hand lifts, claws retracting as his heavy fist slams on your door.

And the sight of you, face shiny with a sheen of sweat has him choking on his own saliva.

Tonight was the night his control finally snaps, despite months of work put into avoiding you.

Logan knows his animalistic side is about to be released; he’s going to fucking ruin you.

❥

You gulp, a hand resting on the door frame as you stand frozen because honestly, what the fuck?

You deduce that the universe hates you because why? Why would the man you’d been thinking of while masturbating be right in front of you?

It only dawns on you when Logan’s gaze swipes over your figure that you’re basically naked. Clad only in your blushed, frilly top and the matching underwear, the latter soaked with both your arousal and release.

You shrink beneath his eyes, warmth simmering hot on the apples of your cheeks, and your mouth opens and closes, yet no words follow.

“Uh— Logan, hey!” Your voice is shaky, and whether it’s from the power of your release or the nerves that bumble beneath your skin at the man before you, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that you want the ground to swallow you up whole.

Logan doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at you in a way that you don’t understand. You assume he’s just gotten home from the very long mission, and confusion settles over you as to why he was at your door, especially considering how he badly despises you.

You’re about to voice that exact thought when Logan beats you to speaking.

“I heard you.” His gruff tone is coated in something darker than you’d ever heard before.

For a moment, you’re perplexed, brows furrowing and raising before your eyes go comically wide.

And— oh, oh.

“Can smell you, too.”

Heat licks at your whole body, embarrassment threatening to envelope you entirely. Tears of horror tickle your lash line, because this was probably the most painful moment of your life. Not only does the man hate you, but now he’s heard you moan his name as you came all over your fingers? How pathetic are you?

You open your mouth, an apology heavy on your tongue. You need to say something to quell the panic flooding your body— you’re never going to get over this

Though, before you can even speak, Logan slams his mouth onto yours.

He holds your head softly, a deep contrast to the way his lips melt over yours. A moan slips from your open mouth, the feel of his lips sucking at your bottom lip feels immensely intense and so, so good.

Your arms wrap around his neck, fingertips tangling themselves in the hair at his nape like you’ve wanted to do since the very day you met him.

“Logan—“ you whimper against his mouth, trying and failing to understand what the fuck was happening as he slips his tongue inside your wet, warm mouth. “Logan.”

He ignores you, grunting against your spit, slick lips as his hands travel down your curves, until they find purchase on your ass, gripping hard. A choked gasp spills from you as he suddenly paws at you, picking you up effortlessly in his strong arms.

The idea of him holding you up with no hesitation has your hips shuddering forward without your permission. Vaguely, you feel him move past the threshold of your door, slamming it shut before pressing your body up against the wood.

Logan switches between licking your tongue and sucking meanly at your lips, until they feel full and swollen with his attention. You’re pliant— almost willing to let him do anything he’d like to you.

Almost.

As good as his tongue feels dancing with yours, confusion still settles over your mind. Perhaps this was a dream and if that’s the case, you never want to wake up.

“Wait—wait.” You pull back, the questions swirling inside probing you until it’s impossible to ignore.

“Huh, baby?” Logan groans, teeth pulling at your bottom lip before sucking at the swollen skin.

Babybabybabybabybaby— the pet name clouds your senses for a second, a rush of arousal pooling at your hole. You want to cry at how that simple, simple word makes you feel.

“Stop that.” You mumble, pulling your head back and lips out of his reach.

Logan stares at you, silent but waiting as he waits for you say whatever is on your mind. Frankly, he wants his tongue to be buried deep in your cunt right about now, but, details.

“What is going on?” Breathless, the question settles between you, causing Logan’s brow to raise.

“Well, my tongue was just in your mouth—“ you slap his chest, face turning warm at his bluntness.

“Not that. I’m— why are you here? Why are you kissing me when you can’t stand me?” Your voice is quiet, insecurity present in your tone. Nimble fingers grasp the dog tags that rest on his chest, and you’ve never been grateful for it.

At that, Logan’s face scrunches up, confusion floating around his irises, lips curving downward.

“What are you talking about?” If it wasn’t for the genuineness in his voice, you would’ve smacked his chest again at how clueless he was.

“What do you mean? You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me; you’ve despised my entire existence the moment we met— wait, I can’t even say that because you didn’t even have the decency to greet me!”

Frustration hovers over you heavily, enough to snap you out of the lustful spell Logan often inflicts upon you. You slide down his body, ignoring the quiver of your cunt when you make contact with his jean clad bulge. You push at his chest, needing distance to ensure you actually get your words out and don’t end up back with his tongue down your throat.

“I don’t hate you.” Logan grunts out, staring at you as you pace the wooden floors of the room. Vaguely, he’s paying attention, but he can’t be blamed for the way his eyes focus on the way your ass shifts with each step, the plush skin so inviting as the lace cup each cheek. “What’re you on about?”

Frankly, Logan’s pissing you off. The vague answers are getting on your nerves, enough that you feel yourself snap.

Your hair swiftly turns bright red, a scarlet blossoming over the strands until they coat them completely. Your emotions could never quite be concealed, not with the way your hair would turn different variations of red when you were angry, furious, sad, happy, aroused.

“You’ve been a dick to me, treating me like shit for no reason and now you think you can just waltz in here and kiss me like that? You think you can pretend to want me when we both know that’s not true?”

Balls of fiery, red energy bloom at your fingertips, and though you stand in your pretty pink assortment, you look the part of threatening.

It’s too bad the abrupt display of your mutation, mixed with fiery words, has Logan’s cock jerking with want.

“Sometimes, I question whether or not you’re actually a genius.”

And just like that, you feel the words like a punch to the gut. You’re so mad, so blind by the intense emotions you feel for Logan, that you feel those pesky flames of energy moving up your wrist and forearm, a telltale sign of your anger.

“Fuck you, Logan.” You hiss, your fingers hot with the heat coursing through them.

What pisses you off more, to which your hair and eyes darken to a dangerous maroon, is the fact that Logan wears a faint smirk, watching you with humor as if you aren’t showcasing how pissed you are.

“Are you done yet?” Logan takes a step closer, uncaring of the way your mutation flares furiously at his presence.

“Logan, leave me alone. I don’t need you to sit here and pretend to want me. I don’t need you to make fun of me, either.” Huffing, you glare up at the man before you, who stares back just as pointedly.

You turn around, back facing him as you go to enter the attached bathroom when all at once, you’re spun back around by a hand on your nape, your neck in a delicious tight grip as Logan pulls you into his body, smashing his mouth on yours for the second time tonight.

Your body betrays you, a desperate whimper ebbs out at how fucking good Logan’s lips feel on yours.

His teeth bite down on your top lip, before suckling sweetly to combat the pain flourishing there. You moan, mouth falling open as he messily kisses you. The intoxicating taste of him swarms your tastebuds, his tongue swirling with yours in a way that leaves you dizzy with need.

A string of spit connects between your mouths as Logan pulls away, chuckling meanly when you promptly follow the warm wetness of his lips. A rough hand grips your throat again, tight enough to leave you feeling breathless but delicious enough to make your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“So that’s what you think, princess? That I don’t want you?” Logan’s fingers flex around your throat, gripping at your jaw to capture all of your attention. As if you were anything but than enamored with him. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing, huh?”

You can only stare up at him as your heartbeat rings loudly through your eardrums. A hand goes to tug at his shirt, an attempt to steady yourself, but Logan’s faster as he grabs your wrist.

“Answer me.” He whispers hotly as the hand holding yours captive moves to intertwine your fingers.

The touch of him, the hold on your throat and roughness of his fingers in yours, renders you speechless. You’re so overcome with your emotions that you can only manage to nod. The weight of you goes limp in his hold, silently begging him to do something to satiate the hunger burning every inch of you.

“Words, baby. Got nothing to say now, huh?” He taunts, his grip leaving your neck in favor of thumbing at your lips.

“Yes— I, it’s what it’s seemed like, what you’ve made me feel. Thought you hated me.”

Logan’s nose twitches, no doubt smelling your arousal as it leaks into the material covering you, ruining the lace.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” He groans, pushing his thumb past the soft of your lips. His knees nearly buckle at the feel of your mouth closing and sucking his thumb, tongue rolling up against the skin as though it was his cock instead. “Shit, baby.”

You whine around his finger, eyes fluttering up at him in a way that has his dick aching for you.

“Fuck, been dreaming about you since the day we met. Been dreaming of you in every way possible.” He admits, a smile tugging at his lips at the way you freeze, lips leaving his thumb with a ‘pop’.

“What?” It’s a whisper, barely audible but he heard it all the same. The butterflies in your stomach are now having a complete rager, bolts of anxiousness kissing your skin.

“Of course.” Logan leanes down, pressing a kiss to your wet lips. “Knew the second I saw you you’d ruin me, so I just… stayed away. I never meant to make you think the worst. M’sorry, honey.”

This was not the way you’d expected tonight to go.

It’s as though all the confusion, anger, and sadness drain from you and, in its place,its full of the tremulous feeling of the admission.

And despite the fact that you’d fucked yourself thinking about him, and he’d heard, you feel incredibly shy. You drop your head to his hard chest, your hands squeezing his own where he holds them.

“I don’t know what to say.” You utter, brain all muddled and no other thoughts come forth as Logan haunts every inch of your mind. You feel like an idiot, even though Logan had acted like a dick for the better part you’d known him.

Logan simply lifts your head, invading your senses as his nose bumps yours.

“You were a dick.” It’s spoken factually, making him huff against your face.

“I know.”

“You could’ve kissed me months ago.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

His quick reply leaves you flushing, but when you nod, his lips are back on yours instantly, in their rightful place.

The kiss is messy; hot, wet, and dirty. Logan groans when you jump up, strong arms catching your thighs in a tight grip. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lose yourself in the thrilling taste of his mouth. You unconsciously start humping him, dragging your drenched panties across his hard dick.

You suck on his tongue before capturing his lip between your teeth, nails dragging down his shoulder blades. A loud, feral growl escapes Logan, and without another thought, he throws your pliant body on the bed.

And at the sight of you, Logan feels like he’s about to come right then and there. In your skimpy outfit, so much plush, soft skin is on display. The hair tumbling from your shoulders has turned a dark cherry color during your kiss, and your hands are tickled with red energy that’s twirling up your arms, not unlike the way vines thread onto an old home.

This time, though, he knows you’re not upset, but instead, aroused.

He can smell the way your slick seeps from your fluttering hole, how it sticks to the skin of your thighs.

And fuck, he wants to sink his face right in front of your pussy and inhale until he’s woozy with the complete perfume of you.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

Your eyes widen as Logan drops onto the floor in front of the bed, yanking your body to the edge. Your lower half is completely in his grip, and he stares at you for a moment, eyes hazy with lust. Then, he’s pulling your pussy all the way up to his nose. The feel of him so close to your puffy lips has you clenching, even more so when he lowers his head and fucking sniffs you.

“Fuck, baby. Been dreaming of this since the minute I saw you. Smells so fuckin’ sweet.” Logan inhales deeply again, smattering messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin of your upper thigh. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to throw you over my shoulder, get you alone and eat this pussy.”

“Logan!” You whimper out. The sound is completely feeble but you couldn’t care less, not with the way he’s sucking bruises into your skin. “Please, please.”

Spurred on by your whines, he sinks his canines into the skin, where your thigh meets the lips of your core.

Pain simmers into pleasure as the sting is followed by his tongue. Rosy splotches decorate your upper thighs, a preview of the bruises that will glaze the skin tomorrow. Logan does this until he’s satisfied with how his teeth imprint the skin. It’s as if it’s his way of solidifying that you’re his, like he’s staking his claim with his bruises smattering your thighs.

At some point your hand finds purchase in his hair, pawing at the tufts and tugging his face closer to where you need him most. He groans, the pain at his scalp sending jolts of desire throughout his body.

He sneaks a look up at you, and shit, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Your head is thrown back, sending those rebellious, red strands fluttering around you. Your hips are canting up to his mouth, and the smell of you, mixed with the previous orgasm you’d worked out before he interrupted, sends his senses in overdrive.

He knows he’d tortured you both enough when you can’t stop shivering with need, when his own hips brush against the edge of the bed. Without hesitation, Logan licks a long, wet stripe up your clothed pussy, suctioning around your enlarged clit.

The taste of you, heady, sweet, and so distinctly you, floods his tongue. He knew you’d taste good, but this? Oh, he wanted to drink you up all hours of the day.

With a growl, Logan tuggs the lace aside and loses it. He sucks, licks, and mouthed at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue dips into your hole before licking up and down your slit.

Moans of his name sound around the walls of your room, along with the filthy noise of his lips sucking your swollen button.

You’ve never felt like this before; the way he’s eating you out has your entire body on fire, and if you could see yourself, you’d see how ruby colored lines swirl all around your hands, how your hair practically glows with the intensity of your feelings.

He’d been attracted to you the minute he saw you— but the way you look when your mutation is at work? The way your hair grows shades of intoxicating reds and the way the fiery energy glows from the tips of your fingers to your elbows? Oh, how it fucking wrecks him. He just wants to keep you captive in this bedroom for all of eternity, if only to see you like this all the time.

“Feels so fucking good, fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess, hands tugging Logan’s hair hard, resulting in a moan that vibrates your pussy.

“Mine.” He grunts, and you gasp at the sensation of saliva as he spits directly onto your clit. “My fuckin’ pussy.”

Then, he latches his soft lips around your puffy bud and sucks hard. His dirty words and lucious mouth have your thighs shivering, hips bucking with insatiable need.

Like you’d done when you were alone and thinking about him, whimpers of ‘Logan’ slip past bitten lips as you rut against his face.

“That’s it, baby, say my name. Taste so fuckin’ good.” He humms against the slick, swell of your pussy.

A stream of ‘fuckfuckfuck’ is audible from open lips, forming an ‘o’ as the rush of delicious, hot pleasure pours over you completely.

As you come down, the pleasure fizzles out and overwhelming bursts of overstimulation bubble over you. Logan continues to lap at your wetness, groaning at your taste.

“S’too much, Logan.” Shaky hands grip his brown locks and you try and fail to bring the man away from your throbbing hole. His tongue laps at the taste of you, dipping in as deep as he could to savor every last drop. “Oh, fuck.”

“Taste too fuckin’ sweet, baby. Can’t help it.”

Logan grips tightly at your thighs, cruelly pinching at the flesh as he devours your pretty clit.

He can’t get enough, and seemingly, neither can you, with the way you buck into his warm, slick mouth despite the crushing pleasure. The material of your underwear snaps against you as Logan’s grip loosens, but he still eats you out as though there was no barrier.

His soft lips and dangerous tongue make it difficult to do anything but take the mind-numbing pleasure.

He’s content to stay here; between your gorgeous thighs and ravage your cunt all night, pull orgasms from you until you forget everything except the syllables that make up his name.

Except, the words that come from you have him still against you, his cock jerking and responding immediately to the addictive tilt of your voice.

“Logan— Logan, wanna suck your cock. Please.”

It was as though you were made for him— every inch of you riles him up like no one else has before and he has to take a deep, deep breath to refrain from coming in his jeans like a damn virgin.

With one last lick up your lace covered cunt, his face is suddenly above yours, the sight is lethal. The entirety of his lower face wears your wetness with pride, glistening and gleaming in the lowlight of the room. His eyes look animalistic, the hazel taken over by the black of dilated pupils.

Logan looks at you like he wants to fucking destroy you. You know without a doubt you’d let him.

A sweet kiss is pressed against your lips, a warm caress of his tongue on yours, the musky taste of your pussy causing you to part your thighs further. You whine once more, because you crave the heady taste of his cock; your mouth salivates at the thought of his tip heavy on your tongue.

“Easy, honey. Can smell how bad you want it.”

If you were less intoxicated by lust, you’d be mortified at the knowledge Logan can smell your arousal right now.

“Logan.” Pathetic whimpers and moans against his mouth have him pulling back, gritting his teeth to force himself to get a grip. It doesn’t work, not with the way you’re spread out below him, face pretty with a tiny that vaguely mimics the hue of your top and panties.”Please.”

How is he meant to last when you sound like that? All fucked out from just his tongue alone?

“C’mere’.” Logan mutters, tugging your body all the way up his chest, maneuvering you until your pussy is hovering above his mouth, facing his cock.

Completely fucked out, saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his bulge, massive even in the confines of jeans.

You’re confused as to why Logan has put you on his chest, but it makes sense when he pulls your thighs down, mouth finding your wet, sopping sex once more.

You cry out, hips jolting at the way his tongue push the fabric away from your puffiness, immediately wrapping around your clit. At the way you were shaking on his face, unmoving besides the subtle thrusts of hips, he stops.

“Lo—“

“Go on then, baby. Suck my cock, just like you wanted.”

And oh, you both feel the slick that follows after those rasped words fill the air.

Only once you undo that damn belt buckle and pull both his jeans and boxers down, just enough to see the way his cock bounced out, wet at the red, swollen tip, does Logan resume licking up your pussy.

Fueled by the return of those talented lips, you lean forward without another thought.

Licking from base to tip, a moan vibrates against his cock as you hum, a taste so distinctly Logan making you feel light and warm. You lick up and down him sloppy, spitting on the tip of him as you slick his dick up, before finally wrapping your lips around him.

“Fuck.” His growl is borderning on feral; his teeth finding purchase on your asscheek and biting, an attempt to ground himself. It only serves to have his hips jump at the feel of you whining on him, sucking him down so fucking good. “Fuck, knew you’d be good with that pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

He’s so focused on the way you’ve started bobbing up and down the length of him, overcome with euphoria at the warmth and wetness as you suck and swirl your tongue, that he’s stopped his attention to your pussy, something he’s only reminded of as you wiggle impatiently over him.

“Sorry, princess, you’re driving me fuckin’ crazy.” He grits out, fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs at the little ‘hmph!’ you let out, pulling off his cock.

Though he can’t see you, he knows there’s a string of spit that spans from your swollen lips to his pulsating cock. He shutters, overwhelmed by you entirely, before burying his face into your weepy cunt.

”Oh! Logan, feels so good!” With a pathetic little whimper, his cock fills your mouth again as you sink down, satisfied with the way his tongue is licking at you.

A blend of moans sound as he wraps his lips around your puffed clit, as you ease his cock into your throat.

Logan’s eating you out in a frenzy, crazed by the tang of you soaking his mouth, chin, and nose. Despite the warmth bubbling in his stomach, he’s determined to make you come on his tongue again.

When thick fingers nudge into your hole unexpectedly, you mewl at the blissful feeling.

Logan’s fingers work steadily inside you in tandem with the way his mouth suckles divinely at your button. You’re an absolute mess— grinding down on his face, riding his digits, gagging as Logan’s hips match the pace of his fingers, grunts vibrating against you as he fucks your throat.

Logan curls his fingers in a way that has you seeing every fucking color of the rainbow. You come, moaning around the base of his cock and rocking back and forth on his fingers and mouth, muffled sobs spilling from your stuffed mouth.

When he feels you shivering on his tongue, overstimulated and sensitive, he pulls away from your center, the soaked fabric of your panties falling back into place once more.

Your mouth is still full of him, lips lazily sucking him down as your body tries to get ahold of the white hot pleasure still coursing through you.

“C’mere, baby.”

It’s a soft whisper against your thigh, but it settles over you, his soothing voice swirling around your shaky body like a warm blanket. Letting his cock fall from your lips, you scramble as fast as your body allows before you find yourself straddling Logan, staring down at the man with cloudy, wet eyes.

And maybe Logan is sick— because the sight of tears spilling over your cheeks has his cock unbelievably hard, a growl threatening to tumble out at the way your pretty, crimson hair spills over your shoulders.

Still, he wants to make sure you’re okay.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Logan watches at the way a small smile graces your features, even as tears continue to glisten your lash line. “You okay?”

“Nothing's wrong, just feel so good.” Your voice is a little hoarse, no doubt from the way his dick was fucking your whiny mouth. Your voice is still the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, those few words going straight to his dick.

Logan feels his own lips tug upwards as you speak. Even though he’s fucked you silly and stolen two orgasms, he tenses with desire as he notes the want dancing in your irises.

“Good.”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment where hungry eyes lock in on one another, sensual energy threatening to burst.

Then, in a flash, lips are locked and tongues whirl together familiarly. It’s a hot, lewd kiss filled to the brim with desire— the passion almost too much with how it lights up every inch of your bodies, a fire threatening to spread.

Neither of you are sure who moved first— but it doesn’t matter because the way Logan’s hand wraps around your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail in a tight grip, steals your attention.

If someone were to see the two of you, they would see how desperate and needy you both were.

You’re kissing Logan’s top lip, biting before soothing the sting with a sweet, soft suck. Your thighs are spread over his own entirely and your position has your cunt settling over his cock nicely. Logan’s free hand grips the skin of your ass tight, guiding as you grind against him, the soaked panties catching on the tip of him with each thrust. The fingers tangled in your hair are unforgiving, tugging harshly as Logan grunts into your open mouth.

You’re both a mess of passion and lust— and your body thrums with the idea of his cock inside you.

“Such a good girl, that’s it. Fuck—“ Logan nearly whines, the feel of your wetness on his bulge has him trapping your lips in another all consuming kiss.

Your hands, lit up with energy, find purchase in his pretty hair, yanking as he kisses you vulgar, because everything is somehow too much and not enough.

“Logan— need you. Need you so bad, baby.”

Logan wants to eat you up entirely— somehow you’re still not satiated, rubbing your slick all over his lap and begging him for more. If he was a better man, he would’ve fucked you already. As it is, he likes it a little too much hearing you beg for him.

“Shhh, you got me, honey. I’m right here.”

“Fuck me, please. Need you inside, Logan.”

There’s tears in your eyes again, ready to spill over if the ache between your thighs isn’t soothed in the next five minutes. You’re clinging to him, hips stuttering because it’s just not enough and you both know it.

“My poor baby.” He sighs, the words somehow a mix of condescending and genuine and it makes you cry out. “So needy, huh?”

“Just for you.” The way you say it, it’s a message you both understand— you need him in every way possible, not just sexually.

He wonders if you know just how badly he needs you, especially now that he’s got a taste of you.

“I’m yours—“ you start, but it’s cut off by the squeak you emit when you’re suddenly flipped over, Logan’s muscular form hovering over you, his dog tags swinging between you.

“You’re mine.” It’s not a question, but a statement and it sends a thrill over you.

“Yours.” You’re nodding, eyes wide and so fucking pretty that it makes Logan squeeze his hands, the metal of his claws threatening to break through the skin.

He pulls his shirt off then, pride filling his chest at the way your eyes glaze over, a lip taken between your teeth as you stare at the vein that leads to his cock, which is pulsing with the promise of release.

He doesn’t comment on your lustful eyes, instead tracing his fingers down your body, until he reaches the hem of your baby pink lace. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination but Logan might break something if he doesn’t see your tits in all their glory.

You get the message, leaning up and slowly pulling the fabric from your chest, your breasts and midsection on full display. If he hadn’t already eaten you out twice, you would’ve moved to cover your taut nipples. Instead, you grip the chain of his necklace and pull him back down with you, sighing when you’re chest to chest.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He says, pecking your lips once, licking a stripe down your throat. Wetness coats both nipples as his tongue swirls over them. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to have you under me?”

You moan, nails digging into his shoulder blades at the fluttery feeling his lips bring, deep enough to elicit blood from his skin. Logan groans, head tipping back as his hips thrust down suddenly, the tip of his cock ramming into your clit.

“Fuck, Logan.” Your hands span the expanse of his back, scratching each time he bumps your button just right. His jeans are still on, resting just below his thighs and something about the way he couldn’t even get up to properly take them off makes you shudder.

He’s rutting against you now, dick rubbing filthy over your panties and it dawns on you then that he hasn’t come yet, too preoccupied with taking care of you.

Determined, you slide one hand onto his asscheek, pushing him further into you, while your other grips his chin, pulling his mouth to yours in a slick, open-mouth kiss.

“C’mon Logan, fuck me, please.”

Logan turns into something animalistic then— flipping you over without warning, caging you between his arms. Your gasp is audible as he yanks your wet lace to the side, before thrusting forward, and fucks his cock into you with one thrust.

“Oh my god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—“ the feel of Logan finally inside you had you absolutely fucking drunk on the feel of him.

“Tryin’ to, baby.” He grits, arms flexing beside your head, fingers intertwining with yours as he sinks into you, inch by inch, until you were filled to the brim.

Logan’s body covers yours, lips pressing all over your shoulder blades to soothe the little whines you let out at how fucking full you felt. It’s everything you want and more— you want to memorize the feel of him, every ridge and vein as he bottoms out.

“Baby,” he grunts, fingers flexing with yours as he stays still, for your sake. “So fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ wet.”

And it was true— despite the fact that he’s huge, he slipped in easily because of the mess you created, a slick mix of your come and desire that seeps from you.

“Logan, fuck me, please.” You ask so sweetly, as if you weren’t impaled by his cock right now.

With that, he slips out of you slowly, before fucking into you hard, deep. Then, he fucking ravishes you— creating a steady, fast paced rhythm and fucking you dumb with his cock.

You’re a whiny mess. Your hair grows darker, hands glittering between his grip each time he slams into you, each time your cunt squeezes around him.

Completely cock drunk, your back arches, ass up and hips slamming back against his with your cheek pressing into the mattress as you sob.

You’re so fucking needy that his own thighs are wet with your desire— he growls at the sight, fucking you even faster.

“You’re mine. Have been since you came here.” Logan growled, releasing your fingers in favor of gripping your hair and pulling you up until you were pressed into his chest. “My fuckin’ girl.”

“Yours!” You cry, tears rolling down your face. Your entire body jolts with pleasure, and you feel like you couldn’t breathe, not with how euphoria threatens to smother you. “M’so close!”

“I know, honey, I know. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ around me.“ Logan moans out, pushing you back down into the mattress and finding purchase on your hips, pulling you back hard. “Gonna come all over me?”

You don’t answer, instead crying out as you feel a sharp flash of pain on your asscheek, Logan’s hand swift and quick. The pain mixes into pleasure when he rubs at the red skin, pressing sweet kisses on your back.

He wishes you could see yourself right now; maybe then you would understand why he was so intoxicated by you.

Your pretty body is bent over, ass up and face in the sheets as whimpers seep out. The lace that drove him crazy is yanked to the side, grazing his cock each time he drove deeper inside you. You’re so beautiful like this, he wants to keep you forever.

Sweet, little ‘uh,uh’s’ fill Logan’s ears as he speeds up, pulling you back up once more against his chest. He wants to be as close as fucking possible, the feel of your skin on his almost searing.

You turn your head back, lips seeking out his own. He kisses you, sucking at your lips as he continues to fuck you vigorously.

The fluttery feeling of your cunt squeezing around him suddenly sends him over the edge— low groans falling in your open mouth as hot, searing spurts of come coat your walls.

Knowing that Logan had lost it, finally giving into the temptation like you’d been doing all night, has you whining as your own orgasm surrounds your entire being.

“Baby—“ Logan thrusts shallowly, riding your orgasms out as long as he could; if he could, he’d never leave this feeling behind. Seemingly, you agreed as your nails dig into his forearms that hold you up, eyes squeezing shut at the overpowering bliss tingling everywhere. “I got you, it’s okay.”

“Logan, fuck!” It comes out as a huff, head against his sweaty neck, body completely limp in his hold.

You’d never been so incredibly sex-dazed in your life. From this moment onward, Logan has ruined you for anyone else.

Though, you hope there isn’t anyone else.

Logan kisses your head before untangling from you; a smirk dancing across his usually gruff features at the little whine let out as he pulls out. He gently rolls you onto your back, laying your head tenderly on the pillows. It was such a stark difference to the rough way he’d fucked you minutes prior, but butterflies flutter around your stomach all the same.

You watch his eyes trail lower, landing on the mess between your thighs.

Logan is mesmerized by the sight; your pussy is destroyed , so wet with his come seeping out of your hole. Mindlessly, he lowers himself until heieye level with your sex. Sans any warning, his fingers are thrusted back inside.

He ignores your hiss in favor of trying to push his come back inside, to keep you full of him. His eyes meet yours, watching as your chest rises as you observe him. There’s a glint in your eye that has his heart stuttering.

“I want to kiss you.” You whisper, soft and a little bashful, as if he didn’t have his fingers inside you. You look too fucking perfect, hair returning to its original color, eyes cloudy with unspoken words, a smile gracing your face.

How could he deny you when you looked like that?

Logan kisses your clit once, enjoying the way you jump before removing his fingers.

With those same digits, he sticks them in his mouth, sucking the flavor of you both and humming. He could hear the way your heart picked up at his actions. He releases them with a loud ‘pop’, before finally coming back to you.

He hovers over you, and like you’d done earlier, soft hands pull at the chain until his lips melt with yours in a soft kiss. Logan pulls back, resting his head on yours, eyes connecting with yours.

“Hi.” You giggle then, nose bumping his in the proximity.

“Hi, baby.” Logan kisses your lips once more, before rolling beside you. You would’ve whined at him if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you onto his chest.

With your limbs tangled, a kiss pressed to your forehead, you think this could be heaven and if so, you never wanted to leave.

It was quiet for a moment— the two of you content to listen to one another’s heartbeat, the breaths that fall from lips. Then, you break the silence, because of course you do.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to take me out before you get me like this again.” You mutter against his slick chest, where your head rests as you wrap yourself around the man like a koala.

A deep laugh fills the room, chest rumbling because what the fuck?

He’s fucked you, with his mouth and cock, and now you’re laying on him as his come seeps out of you and you’re demanding him to take you out?

He was going to in the first place, but he thinks it’s cute you decided for him.

Logan may be a man that’s been alive for almost two centuries, practically immortal, but it’s completely possible you’ll be the death of him.

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚ fin

tags: @strangererotica @cevansbaby-dove @morganyourone @asiancupid

4K notes · View notes

arolesbianism · 1 year ago

Text

Impulsively spent an hour making a big splat tune playlist and lemme tell you I forgot how much I just do not care for off the hook songs. Damp sock however? Absolute fucking perfection they take the best part of off the hook (Pearl and Marina's voices) and both let them properly shine and also fixed what I didn't like abt off the hook music (the boring ass instrumentals) by doing what sploon does best and going ham with the piano and guitar

#rat rambles #splat posting #like its rediculous how fucking amazing they sound when they arent off the hook #Ive always liked their voices but have never been able to rly rave abt them just due to my general meh-ness towards off the hook music #but damp socks fixed all of my problems with them and gave them even more #more good things I mean not problems fkdbdkeg #also my sibling was so right abt the live version of hide and sleek going crazy like holy moly #I love it when shiver just starts screaming in the background #man I sooo badly need callie and marie to have more songs of theirs I can bring myself to fully like #especially callie shes so good and silly and I love her but also girlie why did you record your solo with a dsi #I mean Id preffer the dj octavio remix either way but cmon give yourself a better chance #I may be the number one marie hater (lying) but I cannot deny that her solo song is like. rly good.#her voice generally doesnt speak to me much but godddd she sounds so good in tide goes out #frye still has my favorite voice tho she sounds soooo good always #shiver also sounds rly good but sounds best with the others imo #and big man. well he sure is there. according to some sources.#look its hard for me to have a strong opinion on his voice when you can barely hear him most of the time #pearl is my silly billy and her voice is a big part of the reason I adored her like immediately but I will admit that she never rly got to #shine properly until damp socks while marina has more off the hook songs where she gets to showcase her strong voice #I still preffer pearl's voice but thats just because I have pearl bias lol

1 note · View note

hon3y-y · 7 months ago

Note

Roomie!sukuna doesn't even get horny for anyone other than you anymore. You have the wettest, nastiest pussy he's ever seen- and he deserves the best so nobody but you will do. You're fucking so many other fine men now that you dont even give him a second glance when he walks out the shower in just a towel to tease you. And oh, his temper when one of your hookups pick you up and you don't come home for the weekend. Or even worse, they stay for the weekend. Sukuna has never let a girl sleep over at the apartment but now there are two colognes in the bathroom, two pairs or men's shoes at the door, and he can almost never see you in the living room without some other man hanging off your side

read the other parts here! : part 1 part 2 part 4

he’s literally so embarrassingggg it’s not even funny. he’ll walk around and flex his muscles, smirk on his puffy lips as the water drips down his ripped torso. he stands outside your open door, you’re looking down at your phone deciding on whether to spend the night at choso’s or nanami’s (pick choso, nanami gets up at like 5 am 🙄), “showers empty..” sukuna basically purr’s, resting his arm on the doorway.

and you literally could not give less of a fuck💀

you just nod, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as you focus on putting both their names in a generator and letting that choose your fate for the night. let’s just say sukuna was extremely angry when a motorcycle pulls up and you just giggle and hop onto it, kissing the stupid leather clad boy while throwing on the custom bikers helmet choso had made for you. and to top it off, sukuna had to physically restrain himself from blowing up your phone on where the fuck you are??

messages;

ryo<3: didn’t see you this morning

you: i’m staying with choso for the weekend! sorry, should’ve told you last night:/

you: i also won’t be home after wednesday satoru is taking me to this festival! i’ll send pics😋

ryo<3: have fun 👍

omfg he’s losing it. he literally will spend the whole time in the gym, refusing to be in the empty apartment for longer than eight hours for sleep. he feels like there’s a cement brick in his chest when you’re whisked away by these men. but nothing is worse than when he stays over.

he being satoru.

it was becoming a huge issue. his longest “sleepover” was a week. a week where you weren’t even home for half of it. but sukuna was. he was there for all of it.

there was now a third toothbrush taking up countertop space in the bathroom, he would find satoru’s clothes in the wash (which would always somehow be in there whenever ryo specifically had to use it??), and gojo absolutely loved to make out with you everywhere but inside of your room and sukuna started to hated it. publicly claiming you in front of the guy who literally made it possible🙄 unbelievable.

let’s just say you take a break from bringing satoru over, doing your best to settle the tension at home. but sukuna couldn’t let it go, not when he stares at the stupid fucking blue electric toothbrush and knows that it’s only temporary.

at this point he didn’t even give a fuck about the other guys, you can keep them as long as he’s added onto your roster.

it’s been a while since the two of you had a movie night. something that used to, at the very least, happen once a month has been delayed due to your extra activities. the two of you relaxed into the couch, the movie was a random one you found choosing whatever looked the best by cover and for the first time in a while, sukuna felt like he had you.

“did you buy the candy?”

“shit, yeah. i think i left it in my room?”

“go get it while i make the popcorn!” you smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling excitedly. you looked so cute and soft, and ryo got a glimpse of your cute pink panties when you bent over to grab something so he was feeling just as good. he could already picture the little damp spot he’d create after teasing you and then force you to beg and make it up to him.

he thought about it the whole walk to his room, picking up the bag and then back to the living room, fantasizing about what he plans to do. and just as he’s about to turn the corner, a head of white fluffy hair is laying on your lap, legs spread to take up the full length of the couch. and the only seat available? the one farthest from you.

“i hope you don’t mind, satoru said he missed us!”

us… sukuna looked down at gojo, looking at the content quirk in his lip while he snuggled into you more, moving one of your hands into his hair to play with it. ryo’s eye twitched before he put the bag down and went back into his room, the door slamming behind him. the noise makes you force satoru up, a pit forming in your stomach. you didn’t want sukuna to feel uncomfortable in his own house—

“damn, what’s he so mad abo- he got macha kitkats!? mmm~”

*bonus*

sukuna is literally in his room about to dry heave because??? what alternative version of himself gave him such bad karma?!? in his room like this;

but quietly, because he DEFINITELY doesn’t want you to see him like this. such a fein🤦‍♀️

a/n: i didn’t put smut because i didn’t want to get repetitive BUT should we finally let sukuna get a taste?? part 4 where he finally gets her?? lmk🫶

*not edited*

4K notes · View notes

shotmrmiller · 6 months ago

Text

dacryphilia baby!

simon's never really liked tears. people cry ugly, in his opinion. they get puffy-eyed, sclera bloodshot. their features twist ungracefully in their anguish, cheeks damp and ruddy. snot drips down their nose; clear, viscous. their mouths gape mid-sob, their shoulders tremble violently as they snort and gasp between fragmented words.

(never mind that the only time he's ever around a crying someone is when he stands in an interrogation room with a broken man who has crumbled under the pain he's inflicted, begging for mercy, coughing up anything and everything he needs to know.)

until he met you, with your bright eyes, soft lips, and gentle spirit.

tears suddenly make his cock throb. the first time he'd seen them, you'd been straddling his lap, wet heat struggling to stretch and accommodate to his size. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you sank onto him, keening at feeling so full and he's barely halfway in. brave, little pet. sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from making too much noise. you'd looked a dream when your cunt finally swallowed him whole, thighs flush against his, looking up at him triumphantly with beads of moisture on your clumped lashes.

the second time, you'd been stressed from work, nerves raw and frayed, and patience nonexistent. nothing he couldn't fix with his head between your thighs. he plopped you on the kitchen counter, ignoring your snarling protests, and lapped up your slick with the thirst of a man lost in a desert. you came in minutes, hiccupping his name through sharp gasps of breath. you'd been spent after, body slumping with fatigue post torrent of cathartic release. he'd held your face in one hand, fingers dimpling your cheeks as he fucked your thighs, covering your cunt with his spend when a singular tear spilled from the corner of your eye.

and now. he clings to the idea of making you cry from overstimulation. he wants to see tears track down your dampened cheeks, yearns to taste salt on his tongue, aches to see your eyes glimmering under the warm glow of the bedroom lamp in the bedroom. the mere thought of your tears flowing down your face in rivulets leaves him momentarily unbalanced. he could burst in his pants untouched.

you're always so pliable beneath him, so giving when he wants to take. simon slides a finger through your wet folds, gently prodding your entrance, teasing. he knows exactly what to do to get you to the brink and keep you there— teetering that knife's sharpened edge of biting discomfort and searing ecstasy. "so close, m'so close," you garble as you try to buck your hips (he pins them down to the bed firmly, you will receive what he gives and nothing more) and he keeps at it until your throbbing pussy hurts from being held back from the edge. until you beg him with shimmering eyes to please, please, let you come. you'll be good, so good, just— please.

he gives it to you, satisfied with how delicious you look— all glossy-lipped and luminous eyes— swirling your swollen pearl under his thumb until you climax, pushing two fingers into your cunt so you can have something to clench around. your soul is barely coming back down from the heavens when he's pressing your thighs against your chest, knees almost to shoulders, feeling the air in your lungs being punched out of you when he bottoms out in one long stroke. the angle is on the verge of too much, feeling that deep pinch in your stomach you'd felt the very first time he rut his cock into you.

simon can see your eyes well with fresh tears, his throat drying at the sight. he starts to put his weight behind each thrust, hearing the squeaks that fall past your lips. you take what he gives you so well, pride prickling in the base of his skull. it tightens the coil that's spooling oh so ever tighter beneath his navel but it's not enough. he wants what he wants.

he weaves a hand down to your sensitive clit, rubbing tight circles on it until he feels your walls fluttering and squeeze him like a vicious vise. it rips the breath out of him, almost has him fucking his cum into you but he sharpens his focus— gritting his teeth to keep from ending the fun. his iron will has never been so useful. you're wriggling beneath him now as if trying to get away from him (as if you could) because he keeps touching your clit. your legs are shaking, your mewls are loud enough to cause a ringing in his ears but he quickly gets you to another orgasm. you're a sobbing mess now; hiccups, gasps, high-pitched squeals.

and tears. full-blown tears spill, roll down your pretty face, sticking strands of your hair to cheeks. he wants to see this forever. wants it etched behind his eyelids, wants it inked on his skin (what a thought. he just might, no one has to know.)

he relents, abandoning your over-sensitized clit to grab at your fleshy hips to piston into you until he comes with a groan (and salt on his lips)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley #cod smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut

3K notes · View notes

strang3lov3 · 27 days ago

Text

Clean

Joel makes a mess on you, then keeps you in the bathtub until the water goes cold. (3k)

Tags - dark!joel, one shot, smut, fingering, come shot, manspreading, masturbation, overstimulation, forced orgasms, dubconnnnnn, daddy kink, innocence kink, inexperienced reader, biiiig girthy yet unspecified age gap, weird feelings and some good ol' fashioned shame, hitting, Joel is fatherly in a hot and disgusting way, calls himself 'your old man', gratuitous use of the nickname 'kiddo'. Say the affirmation with me: The ickier it is, the harder I nut.#bushnation, MORE DEPECHE MODE REFERENCES. TRY AND STOP ME. Like car sex, I write bathtub sex uniquely in that I’m not bound by bullshit ass physics or logic so yes, both people fit in the tub and everything is fine. Reader is bathed by Joel, her hair is washed and finger-combed by him too, but length and texture are not described. This was a decroded fic for me to make i can't lie Fic help - @endlessthxxghts, thank you for always seeing my disgusting visions and giving me your eyeballs A/N - thank you for all the birthday wishes, dear friends in my phone! I celebrated with you all last year when I was writing Mall Rats and it’s special that a lot of you are still with me today, but some I have new friends too ❤️ I love you. Having readers like you in my corner all this time has been beyond special and so rewarding and I hope you know I mean it when I say that I love you.

You’re washing the dishes tonight, your least favorite of the chores Joel makes you do. You prefer doing laundry or plucking the weeds with him, because he lets you collect flowers and put them in vases. He even taught you how to press them between heavy books, and how to frame them nicely.

Joel calls your name from upstairs. You quickly wash and dry your hands, then scurry up the steps. His door is closed almost all of the way, just a small sliver of light peeks from his room into the dark hallway. “Joel?”

“In here, sweetheart. Need ya for somethin’.”

You push open the door the rest of the way, and Joel’s naked and sitting upright on the edge of his bed, cock in hand with his bare thighs spread wide. He’s grunting as he squeezes the base, the tip all flushed and swollen. “C’mere. Switch me spots.”

You don’t yet obey his order. You’ve seen Joel’s cock before, seen him masturbate before, too. Despite that, it still makes you feel nervous to see him and be with him like this. It gives you that icky feeling in your gut and makes you breathe funny.

“C’mon. You know it ain’t gonna bite ya, kiddo.” Joel stands up and pats the spot on the bed. “Sit,” he says, his tone sharper than before. “Need somethin’ pretty to come on.”

Joel doesn’t like repeating himself. You won’t make him ask a third time.

You sit on the bed, the covers warmed and slightly damp by Joel’s body heat don’t comfort you. He stands in front of you, rock-hard cock bouncing in his loose grip. “Why don’t you give me a hand this time,” he says, reaching for your wrist. He pulls it up to waist level, then wraps your palm around his member, closing your fingers tightly. “Ohhh, fuck,” Joel groans from deep in his chest. Loudly, he breathes in and out through his nose as he twists your hand up and down his shaft. “Jus’ like this. That’s a good girl.”

This is, however, the first time you’ve ever felt his cock. All of your firsts with Joel have never gone the way you thought they would. The first time he saw you naked, touched you, or that you saw him - it was all surreal and rather abrupt. Joel tells you things like this are always a little new and funny at first.

His cock feels heavy in your palm. You think about the things you like about it - the warmth, all of his veins and ridges, how smooth and soft the head is. But it’s a little sticky, too, which is unexpected to you.

“Alright, alright. S’enough,” Joel says, pulling your hand away. “Lift up your shirt.”

You lift your shirt, pushing it up your torso until it’s bunched just beneath your breasts. “Nuh-uh. Like this,” Joel murmurs, pushing the garment up above your chest, exposing yourself entirely to him. He rubs his thumb in circles over both of your nipples so that they pebble under his touch, then gropes and squeezes your flesh. “Lie back,” Joel says, pushing you down on the bed. “Attagirl.”

You watch as Joel pumps his cock above you, the end of his fist slapping against his softened belly repeatedly. He breathes heavily, and his dark eyes are wild like an animal as his gaze is fixed on your naked form. Joel breathes quicker as he approaches his release, grunting a slew of swears he doesn’t allow you to say. “Fuck, goddamn. Oh, goddamn,” he hisses as ropes of his hot come spurt onto your body. He covers you like a canvas; his favorite painting, and for his eyes only.

Joel collects a bit of his spend up with his first two fingers. “Give it a taste,” he says. “Want you to try it.”

You open your mouth, and Joel pushes his calloused digits inside, painting your tongue with his come. “Suck,” he says, and you do. You furrow your brows at the salty, bitter flavor, how it tastes dissimilar from its scent. “Don’t like it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

Joel chuckles, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. “S’okay. Y’don’t have to.” Joel yawns then, patting your cheek gently with his weathered hand. “C’mon, kiddo. Bath time. Daddy made a mess a’ ya, didn’t he?”

Joel walks you to the bathroom with him, holding your hand the whole time. He puts the little rubber stopper in the drain of the bathtub, then turns the water on. “Warmer, pl-”

“Don’t need a reminder, sweetheart. Know you like it hot. Daddy won’t let you freeze.”

“And bubbles.”

“I know, baby girl. I won’t forget your bubbles.”

As the bathtub fills, Joel opens the oak cabinet under the sink and pulls out the old bottle of bubble bath, the one he’s been refilling just for you. He pours a capful under the water, bubbles immediately building. It smells mostly of nothing, but a bit of that original bubblegum scent remains. Your image reflected in the mirror begins to blur as steam fills the bathroom, and when the tub is full, Joel shuts off the water. He helps you undress and then gets in the tub first, carefully lowering himself until he’s sat with his back against the wall. “Jesus, s’hot. Gonna turn us both into soup,” Joel laughs. You smile shyly.

He spreads his legs, then outstretches his arm to you. “C’mon. Hop in.” You take Joel’s hand, squeezing it while wobbling a little on your one foot as you step into the bath. “I gotcha, kiddo,” he says.

The water is warm on your feet, nearly burning you but you enjoy the tingle. Joel helps you down, lowering you until you’re submerged in the water, your back against his warm chest, his thick package pressing against your ass.

Joel fills an old, plastic measuring cup with the soapy bath water and brings a hand to your chin, tilting your head back so he can rinse your hair. The hot water feels soothing on your scalp, and Joel repeats the action until your hair is soaked all the way through and dripping down your back.

You giggle at the noise the bottle of shampoo makes when Joel squirts a bit into his hand. He lathers it between his palms, then scrubs your scalp. “Eyes closed, kiddo. Don’t wanna hurt ya,” he whispers.

Your eyes flutter shut as Joel works the soap into your hair, scrubbing your scalp all over. He alternates between scratching you gently with his dull nails, to massaging you with the tips of his fingers. He uses his thumbs to rub the base of your skull in circles, the other four fingers of each hand drawing lines up and down and all over. Once Joel’s built a thick lather, he uses the same plastic cup to rinse out the shampoo.

He conditions your hair next, working the cream into the strands. He uses his fingers to loosely detangle, “Ow, daddy,” you complain as he tugs on a knot.

“I know, I know. M’sorry, baby girl.” Joel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Was an’ accident. M’tryin’ to be gentle.” He rinses out the conditioner next, “Grab me that bar of soap, will ya?” he asks.

“Mhm.” You lean forward and reach for the orangish, rectangular bar of soap in front of you on the shower niche, then grab it and hold it over your shoulder.

Joel takes the soap, “Thank ya kindly, darlin’.” He dips it in the soapy bathwater before lathering it between his palms that are already beginning to prune. Gently, he pushes you forward to scrub your back and your neck, then pulls you right back into himself. “Gimme an arm,” he says, a slight rasp in his voice. You raise your arm for him and he washes you with the lather, “An’ the other,” Joel adds, now washing your other arm, massaging you with his strong hands. “Here-” Joel taps your shoulder with the soap. “Your daddy’s gettin’ old,” he grumbles. “Can’t bend like he used to. Wash your legs f’me, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” you murmur, taking the soap back from him. You lather the soap just like Joel did, then wash your legs one at a time, bending them at the knees. When done, Joel reaches over you to take the soap back. He pulls you back against his soft middle and puts his soapy hands on your torso, sliding them up and down your skin, washing off his now dried spend. He groans quietly as he washes your breasts, kneading the flesh there and circling your nipples with his slippery fingers. You feel his cock twitch against you.

Joel washes down, down your stomach. “Spread ‘em,” he says, and you part your legs wider. Your stomach jumps when his hands rub past your pubic hair and he washes your folds, that soft, private place between your thighs. You whimper when his thumb catches your clit.

“That feel nice, kiddo?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you search for an answer.

“I-”

“You can tell your old man. I know it does,” Joel coos, rubbing his thumb left and right over your clit. You lean your head back and turn your head to the side, burying yourself in his bicep as you whine. “You don’t take much at all, do ya, sweetheart?”

Joel’s made you come before. It’s one of the first things he did when he brought you home, actually. But you amaze him every time, how quickly and easily you fall apart on his fingertips. He thinks about tasting you for the first time, how sweet you’ll be on his tongue. Or his cock, down your throat or between your thighs and splitting you in two. God, you’ve so much to learn, and Joel gets to walk you through it all. His favorite innocence.

Joel adjusts you both so that you’re sitting more upright and he can reach around you with both hands. “Rest on me,” he says, pressing the side of your head against his so that his scruff is tickling you, but not scratching you. It’s too long for that.

Joel peers over your shoulder to watch what he’s doing, and to watch how you react. Your soft tummy rising and falling with big breaths, thighs twitching. Joel circles your clit with his middle and ring fingers, patiently working you up. “How’s that feelin’?” he asks, “Can you tell daddy?”

“Mm,” you hum, “Yeah…”

Joel chuckles, dragging the tip of his aquiline nose along the side of your face. “Use your words, baby girl,” he instructs. “Good girls use their words, hm?”

“Feels g- feels good,” you whimper, voice breaking as Joel works you. He rubs your clit faster now, and you’re rocking against his palm, splashing the water a little.

Joel brings his other hand to your core and lines two fingers up with your entrance, slowly pushing in while he massages your clit. You wince in pain, squeezing his bicep as he pushes them in further.

Joel hums in sympathy. Being in the bath means you’re not a slick, slippery mess like usual. “Know it hurts, kiddo, but you gotta get used to it.” Joel’s fingers are all the way inside you now, and he pulls them back out. “You’ll get used to it,” he drawls, now pumping those fingers in and out of you, slowly. “You’re bein’ so brave for me, baby girl.”

The ache of Joel’s fingers stretching you out dissipates eventually, and he changes the action - instead of drawing his fingers in and out of your cunt, he curls them repeatedly inside of you - Joel knows you love when he does this to you.

You moan freely, relishing in the pleasure. Joel’s right, he’s always right. You’re used to him now, and he feels so good. Swirling his fingers around your clit, stroking that sweet spot inside you with the other hand - it takes no more than five minutes until your breathing turns ragged and you feel that hot, sticky feeling in your gut, the one that feels both bad and good all at the same time.

“Ask for it,” Joel mumbles, reminding you of your manners as he senses how close you are. “Be polite.”

“Please,” you say, “Can I come?”

“‘Course you can, sweetheart. Of course.”

The orgasm washes over you quickly. You come with a symphony of breathy moans, saccharine in nature. Joel’s never heard anything like it, and he’s grateful he has enough of his hearing left to be able to.

With his weathered, wrinkled fingers, Joel fucks you through your climax until the last of it courses through you. You come down, but Joel doesn’t stop touching you.

Maybe he thinks it’s not yet over. Joel keeps doing those same tight circles on your clit, and you start to squirm. “Joel–” you wrap your hands around his forearm and attempt to move him, but his strength is far too great for your efforts to mean anything at all.

“Sit still. You’re givin’ me another one.”

Joel keeps your back pinned tightly against his hairy chest, your legs spread wide with his hand in between them, patiently swirling his middle and ring fingers around your swollen and over-sensitive clit. Your hips are starting to ache and the sensation of Joel pleasuring you has turned uncomfortable, downright painful.

“I wanna be done, Joel. I can’t do another one,” you whimper, voice shaking as tears well up in your eyes. There’s nowhere to run, and you know you just have to take it. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers soothingly, his ministrations on your pussy unfaltering. Joel’s holding you back. You’re not supposed to tell him no. “Know you can.”

His words serve more to frustrate you than encourage you. “I. Can’t,” you huff as you try to pull away from him and close your legs shut in the now lukewarm and soapy water, but Joel keeps you in position in his vice grip.

“Knock it off,” he growls. Joel has to hide his amusement. You’re quick to anger, just like he is. Just like your daddy. “Jus’ relax.”

You’re close, and whether you realize it or not, Joel does. Your twitching legs, the way you’re breathing. Release is right around the corner if you’d just calm yourself down. Poor thing. You always did struggle with regulating yourself.

“Get - I told you-“ you interrupt yourself to groan, “You’re not listening to me, daddy. I said I c-can’t fucking—” you don’t finish the sentence and instead seethe in frustration, jerking and splashing bath water onto the floor. “F-”

Joel slaps your cheek, hard. “Easy,” he scolds, “I didn’t raise you to speak to me like that.” Joel his nose against the side of your head and bites your ear, the way a dog does with a pup. A warning. “An’ I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he adds. “Adjust the fuckin’ attitude and try it again before you piss me off.”

Your voice cracks as you whimper Joel’s name, a sob then escaping your chest. Your cheek stings and tingles, like you never stopped feeling the impact of Joel’s hand meeting your skin.

“Don’t start cryin’, just breathe. Breathe. Go slow,” Joel instructs, pleased when you inhale steadily. On your exhale, Joel whispers, “You need me to talk you through it?”

You nod against him, sniffling. “Then I’ll talk you through it. Focus on my voice, focus right here, kiddo,” he tells you. “Relax, just a minute. Calm yourself.”

You rest against Joel, and he pauses his ministrations on your clit. “I can’t do it again, Joel,” you plead. “I don’t think I can.”

“I know what you think. It don’t matter, ‘cause it ain’t up to you, sweetheart. We’re tryin’ it again.”

Joel restarts, circling and massaging your clit with that same pressure from before. And just like before, it’s uncomfortable. It hurts, and you don’t like it.

“Lean into it, sweetheart. Let it ride.”

Frustrated, you shake your head. “Daddy–”

“You need to let it happen. Got all night, sweetheart. Water’s gettin’ cold.”

“Joel.” Your voice cracks.

Joel ignores you. He pumps his fingers, focusing specifically on your g-spot as he knows how sensitive you are there. Your protests begin to quiet, replaced by soft noises of pleasure. “There it is,” Joel purrs. “Make those pretty noises for me. You’re doin’ good.”

Pleasure begins to build, just like Joel said it would. It almost makes you mad, mad that he’s right. Always right. Mad that Joel knows your body like the back of his hand, better than you do. The stubborn part of you wants to stave off release, but a bigger part of you doesn’t wanna fight Joel on this. You don’t like to fight with him anyway. You always lose. So, you allow yourself to bask in the pleasure Joel knew you’d feel.

“You gonna come one more time? You gonna come on daddy’s fingers?”

“Yeah,” you nod. Your eyes squeeze shut as the feeling builds, almost exponentially. Your gasps and moans halt and there it is - Joel’s pulled another orgasm from your body. More powerful than before, the feeling washes over you like the tide, waves of warmth and electricity flowing over your body with each movement of Joel’s fingers. “Yeah, attagirl,” he breathes. “Manners, sweetheart. What do you say?”

“Thank you,” you whisper, out of breath.

Joel rinses you with the water as you come down from your second orgasm of the evening. He taps you twice on the hip, “Up,” he says, and you stand up on shaky legs.

Joel reaches for an old, floral-patterned towel and dries himself off first, then wraps it around his waist, thick belly bulging over the edge of the fabric. He grabs another towel for you next, drying your legs and arms one at a time before wrapping the towel snugly around your shoulders.

“You finish those dishes?” Joel asks, pulling the drain stopper out of the tub.

“Not all of them,” you answer. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t you worry ‘bout it. I’ll do the rest, hm?”

You wear a small smile, “Okay.”

“An’ I was thinkin’ that I could make us popcorn, like you like. Put on a movie. One of those girly ones I picked out for you, huh?”

Your smile grows. “Yeah,” you answer.

Joel smiles too. “Good. Let’s get you dressed, then.”

thank you for reading! please consider engaging by reblogging, hopping in my inbox, and/or commenting. your words go so far in keeping me motivated to write ♡

More dark!joel

#joel miller x reader #Joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #Joel miller #joel the last of us #dark!joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #pedro pascal characters

2K notes · View notes

lady-lauren · 25 days ago

Text

❥ SATORU GOJO X SUGURU GETO X NANAMI KENTO X TOJI FUSHIGURO X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 4.7k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: fivesome gangbang, some (okay, um, a lot) of m/m action, ass play, ass fucking, vaginal fucking, double penetration, throat fucking, hair pulling, snowballing (cum + mouth + spitting in another mouth), creampie, excessive cum in all your holes, cum swallowing, spitting (it's Toji, he spits on someone's cock, don't ask questions), praise, use of "good girl", some degradation, they're all nasty fuckers, Toji does show up eventually I promise he's just ~late~

~Happy Halloween~ let's go out with a bang

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

This is not what you signed up for.

Satoru opens your thighs in his lap, long fingers spreading your pussy wide. A smirk kisses the back of your throat as you shiver, flushing so unbearably hot as Suguru’s dark gaze smolders at the sight of your drooling cunt.

Suguru’s mouth fastens over your pussy and you arch in Satoru’s hold, whining with every wicked flick and suck of his warm tongue. Your arms tangle back around Satoru’s neck, nails scratching down his skin, knotting in snowy hair already melting with sweat.

“Be a good boy and make her cum, Sugu. I want our girl nice and loose when we fuck her.”

This isn’t—you never imagined this is where you’d end up, in Satoru Gojo’s bed, an electric hum from the frat party below thumping through the walls, pounding the floor.

When you signed the form to have an upperclassman mentor, you pictured a few lackluster coffee meetups and texts about class schedules. Something more…casual, cursory, trivial.

Only Satoru Gojo is none of the above.

Day one he sunk his fingers into you, charming and carefree, with a pride only the most popular name on campus can muster. The whole year has been a blur of gentle loopings of his string around you until you trusted him. And you do, especially as his strong fingers press into your rib cage to keep you from squirming away from Suguru’s mouth.

Every walk to class with his arm around your shoulder, every late night text with just a little too much innuendo, every party with his fingers toying just a little close to the edge of your skirt. It’s all been building to this.

“Told ya I had the best end of year present~,” Satoru sing-songs in your ear.

Neon lights pulsate purple, long black hair catching and reflecting every strobe as Suguru leans in deeper, muscular shoulders rolling as he presses his nose to your clit. He groans in some sick mixture of pleasure and annoyance at Satoru.

“Whose name is she going to scream out? Yours or mine?” The man between your legs is toying with fire.

“Or mine?”

Your heart kickstarts in your chest at the new voice ringing in your ears, baritone and slicing through the heady room.

“Ah, Nanami! Didn’t expect you to respond to the group text.”

Satoru’s voice is still so playful, like he doesn’t have you open and vulnerable and trembling in his lap. You cling on to him tighter, jumping and gasping as Suguru slides his tongue over your swollen clit.

“Well,” Nanami looks directly at you, through you, shutting the door behind him, “this year your little pet is especially pretty.”

Being Satoru’s fledgling meant Suguru was always around—you know him, feel only the normal amount of embarrassment as he pushes his tongue into your cunt—but Nanami? He’s barely acknowledged your presence until now.

Nanami shrugs his button-down shirt over his arms, stalking the few paces to where you’re being held open and eaten. He reaches down and digs his strong fingers into Suguru’s hair, holding his slick mouth against your cunt.

“Ride his face and make a mess of him.”

Your hips roll before you can even think to stop them, lashes fluttering as you listen and start to grind against Suguru’s face. You can feel his smirk as his arms slip between your thighs and Satoru’s, jerking until you’re sliding farther down damp sheets.

Suguru locks his arms around your legs, blunt fingernails digging into your thighs. He sucks on your clit until you’re whining and cooing, all the while being shoved deeper into your pussy by the consistent tug from Nanami.

“Atta girl, you like his mouth, yeah?” Satoru pats your cheek.

“Ah, y-yeah, f-feels so good, fuck.”

His hot tongue dips deeper in your folds, tip prodding your fluttering hole. He slips in for just a moment, grinning as he teases and pulls back out to smooth the wide flat of his tongue against your clit again.

“Oh Sugu, fuck, please, oh god, in me, put your t-tongue back in me.”

“Are you gonna deny our girl? She’s practically shaking.”

Satoru lets your head fall to the mattress between his thighs, fisting his cock just above your eye line. The pump of his hand is lewd, already wet from the pre leaking down his slit from watching Suguru eat you out.

Nanami takes one of your tits in hand, fingers mean against your nipple like they are in Suguru’s hair. He rolls the bud between thumb and forefinger, making you gasp and arch into his palm.

“Sensitive,” he grunts. “Did that make her wet, Geto?”

“Oh fuccckk, I…”

“That’s right, be a good girl.” Suguru’s voice vibrates down your pussy and you’d scream if it weren’t for Nanami’s fingers slipping between your parted lips. He teases them around your tongue, dragging them out so he can use your spit to swirl around your puffy nipple.

“Oh fuck, oh god, like that, ‘s good,” you writhe on the bed, your legs squeezing around Suguru’s cheeks.

Your eyes blink open and your vision is filled with Satoru’s long cock, pretty and angry and throbbing in the color-changing lights.

Your body trembles as you come undone, tongue lolling from your mouth like you’re dying to taste Satoru. It’s a fast, painful kind of pleasure, like Suguru sucked it from your core only to swallow it for himself.

He watches the aftershocks of pleasure racing across your skin like a cat not yet done with his meal, your legs still shivering as you pant and try to catch your breath.

Suguru sits to his knees, shaking Nanami’s hold away with a slight sneer. He’s tempted to wipe his messy mouth with the back of his hand, but thinks better of it when he catches Satoru’s hungry gaze. He leans forward, pressing a hot, open mouthed kiss onto Toru’s lips, letting him taste you. They both groan, Satoru pulling away only to trace his tongue around Suguru’s lips, licking at his ruined cheeks.

“Stop doing that before I get jealous,” you pur from below them, tugging at the long hair that brushes Suguru’s back so he will bring his lips to yours.

“Jealous?” he mumbles into your mouth, “I just had your pussy in my mouth and you already miss me?”

You grasp his messy jaw in your hand, fingers mean, bruising. It’s rougher than he expects.

“Toru said this is my present.”

“Sure is, sweetheart,” your head jerks to where Nanami stands next to the bed, fisting his naked cock, “now let’s get something else inside you, hm?”

“You know the rules. I get her pussy first.”

Bodies reposition like this is a dance with familiar steps. Satoru settles below you, smearing his cock through your sloppy folds and grinning when you tremble from how sensitive your clit is already.

“God you’re fucking soaked. Good job, Sugu.”

All three pairs of eyes are too excited to watch as you sink down on Satoru’s cock, pussy lips bulging at the stretch of him. You suck in his dick inch by inch, time turned to slush, head thrown back and lips parting.

Suguru’s hands are eager, gripping your hips from behind so he can slam you down onto his best friend’s cock.

“Fuck that’s so good, fuck, Toru!”

Nanami’s hand is suffocating his cock, standing still, patient, watching you get used to the bounce of Satoru’s hips.

Suguru runs his nose up the back of your neck, groaning as he paws at your tits, tweaking both nipples until you hiss. He flicks a nipple quickly with his middle finger, smarting your skin. Then he licks a hot stripe up your throat, the length of his hair falling over your shoulder.

Your head lulls back against his chest, “I th-thought you’d be nice to me, Sugu.”

“I am the nice one, princess. Just wait.”

You look absolutely stuffed, belly nearly bulging from Satoru’s thick, intrusive cock making a home inside you.

Nanami brushes his fingers over your face, cupping your cheek to cull your attention away from Suguru.

“So pretty. You’re a good little slut, aren’t you?”

Grabbing his wrist, you move his strong hand on your face closer to your mouth, wet lips closing around his thumb. You suck hard, mischief gleaming in your eyes as you watch his normally stoic mouth open at the feeling. You repeat the action, licking at the digits and moving his fingers in and out of your mouth. You release his fingers when Satoru pushes his cockhead into a particularly soft spot of your walls, making you gasp.

“I’m a very good girl.”

“Oh yeah?” You hear Satoru’s unmistakable, demeaning laugh from below. “Put his cock in your mouth, suck him ‘til he cums.”

Suguru’s hand splays across your spine and pushes you down, smashing your body to Satoru’s and lining your face with Nanami’s cock. The new angle of Toru’s dick in your guts makes you mewl, hips rolling and begging.

You shift your weight, balancing one hand on the bed so the other can wrap around Nanami’s cock, silken and hot and pounding in your little palm. Satoru has the perfect view below as you spit onto the cock in your hand, tracing your tongue along the vein lines.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be messy, aren’t ya?” Icey eyes shine before winking up at you, one of Satoru’s hands wiping away a stray drop of spit on his forehead.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Nanami grunts and shoves his fingers into your hair, making you look up the muscular planes of his body to his face, “focus on me.”

You obey, lips sucking at his swollen head before taking the rest of him slowly. Nanami groans as he watches you, ass in the air, cock in your cunt, pretty eyes not leaving his as you slide him to the back of your throat and swallow.

Suguru smears lube onto your ass as you get to work, grinding down into Satoru and sucking Nanami. He thumbs your tight, puckered hole and you moan low and deep around the cock in your mouth. The vibrations tingle down Nanami’s spine and make him jerk your hair, shoving you into the blonde curls at the base of his cock until you gag around his length.

Satoru swirls his thumb against your clit to make your brain think about him again, about the way he’s thrumming into your hole, stretching you so wide you barely notice when Suguru’s thumb dips into your ass.

There’s nothing you can do but let them work your body, every part of you pulsing and throbbing with this hot, wormy need to be filled and fucked.

“Fuck her cunt’s so tight, gonna b-bust,” Satoru moves quicker, making you break the rhythm you’ve built sucking cock. You pull back to breathe, tongue flattening on the underside of Nanami’s dick.

“So early, Toru,” Suguru tuts, “I’m not even in her ass yet.” Two fingers now scissor into your tight hole as lube drips down to where Satoru’s balls are slapping into your ass cheeks.

Nanami keeps you distracted, roughly shoving his cock back between your lips once you have enough breath in your lungs. You bob your head, keeping him moist and slick between hollowing cheeks. His impressive thickness has saliva dripping down your cheeks and falling into Satoru’s hair.

Suddenly, your clit is pinched between Satoru’s cruel fingers, with no pleasurable intent beyond his own. You scream and the opening has Nanami pushing his cock halfway down your throat.

“Oh that’s it baby, get tight, milk me, fucking god.”

“Satoru,” Suguru bites in annoyance, “fucking hold it in until—”

“I can’t, been dreaming of fucking this little cunt. Can’t wait, fucking can’t, she’s too soft and wet and—”

You’re not sure who cums first, you from the blistering force of Toru’s thumb on your clit, or him from the way your pussy convulses and sucks around his shaft. Not that it matters, you’re both whining.

Your tongue goes slack against Nanami’s cock as you feel the thump thump of ropes of cum unloading into your hole. Bliss makes you numb, makes you dumb, easier for Nanami to control and for Suguru to play with.

“Don’t swallow.” Nanami’s groan is the only warning you get. His powerful hips go still, cock pumping, before a grunt precedes the salty burst of his release coating your tongue.

Of course you listen to him. There’s barely any will left you beyond to fuck and be fucked.

Only you’re not prepared for Nanami slipping his cock from your mouth and tilting your chin up, making you stare into the rapacity of hazel eyes.

“Now give it to Satoru.”

Your heart knocks in your chest, heat fissuring down your spine as if you’re worried about getting in trouble. You stare at Nanami with wide eyes, having to forcibly stop yourself from swallowing in shock.

Satoru gives you a lopsided, fucked out grin as you look down to face him, his hand reaching up to brush hair from your face. He kisses you before you overthink it, forcing his tongue into your mouth until spit and cum spill from the edges of your lips.

You’ve thought about kissing him before. Too many times, really, and never once did you picture it sloppy and tangy with Kento Nanami’s cum swishing from your mouth to Satoru’s. He groans at the taste and you moan as he shifts his hips below you, cock still hard and raging.

“Well isn’t this just disgusting.”

That voice is new. Taunting.

You look at the cracked door, your swollen, cum stain lips parting at who fills the gap.

“Fushiguro,” Suguru clicks his tongue against his teeth, “you’re late.”

“Surprised I’m still invited since I broke the last one.”

Toji Fushiguro is nearly a myth, a revenant that you’ve only seen shadows of in the dark corners of parties. Yet here he is, arms crossed across his shirtless chest, a dark gray spot already leaking through his sweats at the sight of you sandwiched between three sweaty men.

“Are you just gonna stand there and stare?” you ask, unsure where your audacity came from.

The smirk he gives you is sinister, the door slamming as he fists his cock through his pants, “Make room for me.”

Nanami pulls you up and off Satoru’s cock. He keeps your wobbly legs steady as bodies move around you, one of his big hands smoothing down your back as if to reassure you. Not that you need it, the headspace of sex is still engulfing you, like a haze all around the room.

“I want her ass.” Toji’s knees sink into the mattress.

“She’s prepped,” Nanami grins, hand reaching down, pawing at your ass, before he slides one of his big fingers into your asshole. You groan at the stretch, a filling pleasure shooting down to your toes.

Toji snatches you in his arms, his strength allowing him to tug you around like a little rag doll. His mouth seals over yours with a primal groan, settling you into his lap so his cock can twitch against the softness of your belly. You moan and let him have you, calloused hands groping your sore tits.

“Taste good,” he licks against your lips, “pretty little thing, aren’t ya? Toru outdid himself this time.”

He grabs your hand in his, forcing your fingers to wrap around the width of his cock. He helps you pump the shaft, thick neck tilting back when your thumb presses right under his mushroom head and you squeeze along his veins.

“Suppose you need another one of these in your pussy too, hm?”

The thought of being completely filled makes you leak, slick sticking to your thighs.

Your eyes flicker over your shoulder. Three men are waiting, naked, ready to fill whichever hole you want.

You reach first for Suguru.

“Oh, oh, don’t tell me he’s your favorite?” Toji’s laugh rumbles your whole body in his hold.

“No, I-I mean…” you flush hot.

“He’s just trying to rile you up, baby,” Satoru’s white lashes sweep to where his cum is starting to drip from your hole, “besides, I want your mouth next. I have…payback, in mind.” His gaze cuts to Nanami.

Five bodies tango around each other far too easily.

Suguru slips beneath you, Satoru stands before you, while Nanami and Toji make the bed groan and creak under the weight of their knees.

There’s no pause once Toji’s hands latch on to your hips, his fat fingers mean and greedy as he pops the head of his cock into your asshole. You hiss at the full feeling, only for the sound to bleed into a whine as Suguru nudges his cock into your puffy folds, pressing until he breaches the first ring of slicked muscle.

Your head falls to Suguru’s chest as they both begin to push.

The spread is delicious and excruciating all at once, so much pressure in your holes as Toji ruthlessly starts thrusting. He’s working his way in, grunting, worming his cock until you’re halfway down his thick shaft.

“Ahhh, oh, oh, ‘s so much!”

“Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay, pretty baby.” Satoru pets your head as your nails rake down Suguru’s arms.

“Toru—can’t fuck, too full, oh god, god, god, fuckkkk.”

Suguru notches his cock just a little deeper in your pussy, making you weep.

“Yeah you can, sweetheart,” Nanami’s talking to you but looking at where you’re being split apart, lip sucking between his teeth. “You can take more. Promise.”

Not that you have a choice. Toji grunts as he thrusts once, twice, finally forcing his way in deep and smacking his hips until he’s flush with the jiggle of your ass. You scream and you’re sure any music playing in the house can’t drown out the sound.

“Hurry up, Sugu. Or I’ll start fucking her without you.” Toji kneads his knuckles into the fat of your ass, tsking.

You do it for him. You press down, down, down until you’re sucking Suguru’s raw cock all the way in so you can feel full.

Your walls feel thin, like you can feel the outline of both dicks as they start to move together. Slow, at first, since you whine and coo and reach up and grab Satoru’s thighs like you’re afraid you’re going to topple over from their power. Then the pace really starts, a cacophony of skin on skin and grunts that have your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Your guts are a mess as you finally pick your head up and look at Satoru, tears and mascara streaming down your face as your silly brain tries to make sense of the all-encompassing ecstasy of being so full and used.

“God damn you’re perfect, aren’t ya?” Satoru weaves his fingers in your hair, soft and sweet, guiding your mouth to his cock. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, hiccuping every time the cocks inside you slam up and in sync.

Satoru smears his cock over your awaiting tongue, popping the head into the softness of your cheek before pulling out and rubbing the leaking slit over your tastebuds.

“Mhmmm gonna keep you as a little pet, okay? I’ll let you have any dick you want, whenever you want it. Sound good?”

You nod, finally feeling stable enough to reach back and wiggle your fingers for Nanami.

Nanami slots his cock into your palm, groaning as your fingers fasten around him and begin to pump along his length.

“Need some help with that?” Toji’s scarred lip pulls into a smirk before a suck, swish sounds in his mouth. He spits over Nanami’s cock, the wet glob sinking between your fingers as you tug and pull his heated shaft.

“Nasty fucker.” You hear Nanami mumble under his breath.

“Oh yeah?” Suguru snaps out his pussydrunk haze beneath you, one of his hands leaving your thigh so he can curl his fingers over yours on Nanami’s cock and help jerk him off. “Toru can still taste your cum in the back of his mouth.”

Satoru gives you a wink and one last chance to breathe before he pushes his cock between your lips. You moan around him, finally, completely, entirely fucking full.

Every hole is stretched, your body aches, pleasure bubbling under every inch of your overheated skin like you’ll erupt at any moment.

You barely know who you are, can barely think beyond the carnal craving of being full and filled and used. Your hips roll back to match the sinful pace set by Suguru and Toji, your head and hand move in rhythm together as you work for Satoru and Nanami.

Toji fists one hand in your hair, pulling you back and bouncing you against their cocks. Your eyes snap up as Satoru follows the shift of your body, settling his knees over Suguru’s face so he can keep fucking into your hot mouth. You hear Suguru groan as the thick threads of his hair get tangled beneath Satoru’s weight—though it doesn’t sound like he minds it.

“What a fuckin’ slut,” Toji sneers and latches his other hand around your neck from behind. “Push deeper, Toru, wanna feel your cock in her throat.”

Satoru cants his hips forward and you open your mouth the best you can, still gagging as the length of him pounds into the back of your throat. Squeezing his thick fingers around the sides of your neck, Toji pets his thumb down the center column of your throat. He can see and feel the dick inside your neck.

Drool soaks your cheeks, bubbling around the tight suck of your lips. You hollow your cheeks and press your tongue to the veiny underside of Toru’s cock and let him use you.

Suguru’s cursing, cock plunging into the wet squish of your pussy with every groan. He squeezes his fingers over yours around Nanami’s cock, both of you moaning at the increase of pressure. Then he dips his hand lower, fingers sinking around heavy balls as you twist your wrist and tug, thumbing the Nanami’s sensitive ridge.

“Shit fuck, fuck you both.” Nanami grumbles, knees faltering until he has to brace himself on one arm on the mattress.

“Kento,” Toji grits his teeth, panting now from how hard he’s thrusting into your abused, tight hole, “cum on her ass. Gonna, ah, need more lube.”

Nanami swats your hand away, moving out of your eyesight to kneel behind you. You hear the deep baritone of his groan before you feel his hot cum pool and drip down your ass.

“That’s it, yeah.” Toji’s fingers smear in the mess Nanami made, coating the base and middle length of his cock with cum as he pulls out, only to push the gooey mess back into your hole.

Nanami collapses on his back, lungs expanding as he watches your breasts bounce from below.

“Ah, ah, god, ah,” you don’t know how long you’ve been babbling around Toru’s cock for—probably this whole time, a garbled, drooling mess of lewd sounds.

“Fuck, keep, ah, shit, keep fucking her just like that, her throat’s gettin’ tight.”

Suguru takes the initiative to swipe his thumb over your sensitive clit. Your nerves buzz instantly, making your cunt convulse and suck. You’re close, so overstimulated you’re not sure if any of your senses actually work anymore. Your vision is blurred, your hearing just a thump of music and skin and groans, your fingers numb as you grip both hands into Satoru’s thighs, and all you can taste and smell is his salty cock twitching on your tongue and thumping into your hot mouth.

Your sanity is only held together by the push and pull of the cocks inside you. You can feel how both Suguru and Toji’s cockheads bully past one another, curving and dipping just perfectly into spongey, soft spots you didn’t know existed in your body. Your gummy walls are swelling, straining around the double penetration.

“Fuuckkk, make her cum, Sugu. I bet this little ass will get so god damn tight and strangle my fucking cock. Fuckin’ do it.”

The way you try to say please around Satoru’s dick in your mouth makes him laugh, a little maniacal sound that makes you burn with need. You jolt your hips forward as much as you can, pressing into the thumb that starts flicking like lightning across your clit.

“Shit, she’s already m-making a mess,” Suguru lets out a groan that rumbles your body, sinks into your bones and makes you tremble. Slick is so wet and hot between your legs, making both your holes sloppy as cocks search for bliss inside your tight suction.

Satoru suddenly cums down your throat and you’re suffocating, spurting and gagging as he forces you to swallow a few spurts before he jerks his cock from your lips. He fists himself until pearly strings shoot across Nanami’s chest.

“Filthy,” Nanami drags his finger through the cum on his skin, gathering enough to flick toward your tits, “all of you.”

You’re gasping like you’ve been beached, falling down onto Suguru and burying your face in his shoulder.

Finally you reach the peak, the point of no return, your whole body spasming as you cum.

You scream and bite into skin, every single nerve ending in your body exploding and firing with ecstasy and intensity. It hurts, your cunt clenching and pulling and sucking around two throbbing cocks. Your body squeezes them together, walls stretched so thin that you can feel their veins pumping like heartbeats searing your insides. You’re so stuffed, plugged, fuller than you fear you ever will be again.

The choked sounds from Suguru and Toji are divine, four hands gripping and bruising your body to keep you still so they can fill your holes until cum bursts from your seams.

Suguru’s hand cups the back of your head, both to soothe and pry your canines from his flesh.

“Atta girl, atta girl, so good, you’re okay.”

“More than okay,” Toji wolf-whistles, smacking his hand across your ass to hear you yelp, “your little body is fuckin’ spectacular.”

He takes his time sliding out of your ass, more for him than you, you’re sure, so he can savor the last drags of your swollen walls around his shaft.

The empty feeling of your open ass makes you whine, but still you lift your head, sitting back on your heels, moaning as you shift on Sugu’s cock. You watch Toji step back into his gray sweats, grinning as he snaps the elastic band low on his toned stomach.

“Well, well, guess this one didn’t get broken.” He slaps Satoru’s shoulder as he throws open the bedroom door and leaves with, “She might even be up for round two.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, slinking deeper into the desk chair he’s occupying, spent cock resting between his thighs.

“You okay?” Two voices say in unison, Nanami and Satoru. Suguru has his arm across his eyes, dark hair like ink spilling over the sheets.

“Mhhhmm,” you nod, the afterglow rolling over your skin as you manage to pull yourself off the last remaining cock plugging your body. You collapse next to Nanami, face down in pillows that have been shoved to the back of the bed.

The group of them start talking, but your ears are ringing, thumping with your blood and the still raging music below the floorboards.

“Baby.” Satoru runs his fingers down your back, shaking your ass to get your attention. You groan as you feel cum spill from both holes from the movement.

“You should treat your playthings better, Gojo.” Nanami pats your head and out of the corner of your eye you see him almost smile.

“Oh yeah? You think you can do a better job? She loves me, don’t you baby?”

You nod your heavy head, one of your feet kicking up playfully.

“Give her to me for a week and we’ll see if she comes crawling back to you.”

“You can have her anytime she wants,” you hear Suguru grunt from what sounds like a hefty pat on his chest from Satoru, “any of you. She’ll be our pet.”

1K notes · View notes

lubdubology · 1 month ago

Text

When Things Turn Green Again

SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.

PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader

WC: 11k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v

A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.

The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down.

Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both.

The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago.

A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage.

You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.

“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.

Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.

You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.

You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair—a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.

+++

You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store.

The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”

“Logan?”

He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”

“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse.

George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”

“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter.

“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.”

You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.

Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.

You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.

He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”

He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you.

“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”

You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness.

God, this was embarrassing.

It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.

He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.

Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble.

+++

You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him.

You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit.

And that attraction terrifies you.

Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through.

Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding.

Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart.

But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.

Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?

His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.

Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.

“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.

“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch.

Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”

At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.

“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.

You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that.

You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.

You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.

+++

It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him.

And you don’t know why.

He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.

There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him.

A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too.

You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain.

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”

You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp.

“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face.

He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”

His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable.

You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look.

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”

“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”

His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say.

His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies.

“Well, I am.”

Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave.

He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag.

You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest.

Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body.

“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion.

You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.”

Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you.

Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer.

Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps.

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face.

He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”

And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble.

+++

Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.

It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.

But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore.

As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber.

The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”

He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”

You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”

He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello.

“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face.

Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you.

“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks.

You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board.

You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose.

He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him.

“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.”

Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit.

His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze.

“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex.

Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought.

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.

You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable.

It’s enough to drive you mad.

“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.”

Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”

He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.

“You belong here,” you say softly.

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”

He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further.

You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind.

As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”

A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin.

“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”

“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”

Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”

+++

You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into.

You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee.

Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart.

Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do.

God, you hope he does.

You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine.

While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders. You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more.

Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead.

It’s just Logan, you remind yourself.

Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower.

“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter.

Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”

His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine.

You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice.

Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees.

He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass.

Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.

Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”

“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”

“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.

Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.

“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate.

He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”

You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”

��I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft.

Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”

Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips.

You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades.

As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity.

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles.

You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”

Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.

“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.

You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through.

An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.

“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”

Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.

You grin. “You should give it a try.”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”

You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape.

Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”

He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.

Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.

“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps.

As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze.

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric.

“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch.

Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away.

Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours.

It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer.

You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth.

Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.

You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.

+++

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle.

You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him.

You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth.

You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months.

Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth.

But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole.

Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.

You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.

Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.

From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.

“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”

“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.

He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest.

Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.

Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”

Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady.

His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.

The pieces he wants you to see.

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up.

Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say.

After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”

You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one.

“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”

He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles.

“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”

+++

It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.

Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken.

So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…

You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.

Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence.

Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.

He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”

“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”

Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection.

“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.

You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.

+++

The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses.

“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness.

You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face.

Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper.

Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw.

“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.

Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.

“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.

You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours.

Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”

“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin.

Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head.

Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts.

Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.

A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.

His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.

You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips.

Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with.

Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.

Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you.

He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties.

“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs.

“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver.

Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod.

“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly.

Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”

“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin.

Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.

You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.

“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”

A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.

“That’s not possible.”

“Other men have—“

Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”

The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.

“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth.

He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.

“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.

His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.

Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth.

“Do you trust me?”

Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip.

“Turn over,” he commands lowly.

A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips.

“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt.

You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before.

His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”

Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.

“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”

Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear.

You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit.

Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast.

A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him.

Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”

And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release.

“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”

With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs.

You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can.

Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear.

You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.

“Logan?”

His hum vibrates through his chest.

“I think we’re healing each other.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #origins wolverine #origins logan howlett #the wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader

1K notes · View notes

reidrum · 26 days ago

Text

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k

Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.

This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.

And it ended with you being held hostage.

It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.

You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face.

Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.

With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”

“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.

Shit.

He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.

“Drop it.”

You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.

“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”

Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.

Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”

Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.

“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit.

Sour gummy worms were your favorite.

A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.

“He took her.”

___

The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.

Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.

“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”

He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“

“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”

“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.

JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”

He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.

He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.

“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.”

An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”

The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”

Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection.

After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks. He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.

Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—

“Reid. Are you even listening?”

“What?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, man.”

“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Spencer—“

“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.

Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”

“I know that, Morg—“

“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”

Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.

——

A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact.

Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.

Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.

He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”

You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”

The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.

He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”

All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain.

The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.

To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.

And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“

“FBI, Drop your weapon!”

A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.

“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.

“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.

“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.

You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”

Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.

He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”

You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?”

It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other.

That’s what worried his Unit Chief.

He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.

Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.

If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.

He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.

——

You were a fighter.

At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.

“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”

He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.

“Hi, Spence.”

His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.

“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”

“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”

He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”

Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”

“You could have.”

“Spencer—“

“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”

“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.”

Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”

“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”

He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”

Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”

Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.

“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.

“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.

You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”

Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side.

You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.

——

Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.

You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it.

The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.

Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”

A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.

He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.

“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.

He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”

“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”

He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”

Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.

“I told you, I came to check on you.”

“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”

He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”

“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”

“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”

“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.

“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.

His eyes steel over, “That was different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You know why I left.”

“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”

“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”

Tobias. Mexico. Cat.

A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”

He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.

“Cat had details about your family.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”

His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”

You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.

“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.

“I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.

You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.

Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”

He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”

“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.

“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”

He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.

“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”

The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.

“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”

He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.

Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”

“I’m here, honey.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid criminal minds

2K notes · View notes

kooqitas · 15 days ago

Text

#pairing: jungkook x reader.

#genre: smut MINORS DNI | #w.c: ~1800

#synopsis: crying on jungkook's shoulder might not have been the smartest idea in the world since now he's fucking you while your ex is calling.

#warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f.), namjoon ex bf, rough sex. jk has a bick dick. maybe phone sex?

★ m.list | inbox :D join my taglist

it was friday when jungkook texted you asking if you were gonna the college party, and of course your answer was 'no'. breaking up with namjoon was one thing, but seeing him at a party where he would probably kiss several girls in front of you was a bit too much

"you can't stay home while the biggest party of the semester is going on"

'"yes i can, and i will!"

"god, why are you so complicated? at least come over to my house, i won't leave you suffering alone'

"i'm not suffering, jungkook!'

that's a lie. you were. a lot.

you ended up accepting jungkook's invitation, at first feeling bad for ruining the party for him, but jungkook was always the person who made you comfortable, usually when you went to parties with namjoon, he was the one who always stayed by your side while namjoon got drunk with his friends, he was the one who took you and namjoon home, the reality is that jungkook spent much more time by your side than your, now ex, boyfriend.

jungkook was excited, he came over and offered you wine and before you knew it you were on the couch, with your legs over his while he tried to convince you that it was namjoon who had lost you, not the other way around.

"he fuck so good, jungkook," you admitted, clearly overcome by the drink (added to your fertile period that made your panties damp at that very moment). "that pisses me off. he's arrogant, stupid, i hate him... but damn, the sex was so good"

jungkook laughed, as affected by the alcohol as you were, it's not like he'd never heard namjoon talk about sex with you, how wild and rough you two were.

it wasn't like jungkook had never heard you two...

but in that situation, knowing that you weren't together anymore, it was a little different...

"he pulled my hair, hit me, called me a whore, damn, it was so good, i can complain about him in many ways, except for this one, the son of a bitch made me cum like no one else"

"jesus!" jungkook said, taking a sip of his drink.

okay, things need to be pointed out, yes, jungkook was gorgeous, damn, he was hot, but you had never thought of him as a 'man' he was just your boyfriend's best friend, who always hung out with you at parties, who danced with you on the dance floor, who complimented your clothes and makeup, who complimented your smell, your lip gloss...

"i hope one day i can find someone who fucks me like him," you blurted out.

and jungkook took a deep breath, motivated a little by the drink, but deep down he knew that if it wasn't right then he might never have another chance. i mean, it was crazy, of course it was, who in their right mind would try to have sex with their best friend's ex-girlfriend when it hasn't even been a month since they broke up...

but jungkook wasn't the sanest person at the moment, in fact he never was when it came to you, not when he jerked off in the bathroom of namjoon's parents' beach house last month after seeing you parading around the pool in a red bikini.

"i can fuck you like him, in fact... i can fuck you even better"

"what?" you choked on your own saliva when you heard that.

jungkook took advantage of the fact that your legs were on top of his and started to leave a mischievous caress on your knee

"i told you i can fuck you better than him"

"jungkook..." you scolded him, but deep down that idea excited you.

"hi, love"

"fuck, that's not right"

"why not, why the hell are you so scared to do that?

"it's not for me, it's for you"

"well, i don't care... i've wanted to fuck you for a while now"

you choked again, but before you could say anything, jungkook took the glass from your hand and laid down with his body on top of yours.

you were going to ask again what the hell was that, what the hell was he doing, but jungkook kissed you, and there, fuck any lucid thought you could have.

the taste of wine in his mouth, his hot tongue entering your mouth with voracity, fuck any conscious shit, you needed to fuck with jungkook at that moment.

it was a blur until you were only in your panties underneath him while he sucked your tits, using his hand to play with the free nipple in a somewhat abrupt way, he seemed desperate, in reality, he was desperate, jungkook had been thinking about fucking you for so long that it seemed like a joke from the universe.

he finally took off his shirt and you smiled with his chest exposed, and jungkook just grunted, going back to kissing you while the tie of his shorts hit your waist. you knew he would be big, but nothing expected you for what you saw when he pulled down his shorts with his underwear all at once.

jungkook's cock was big, thick, full of veins and the purple head was already leaking precum. you couldn't hide your scared face when you saw it, making jungkook laugh.

'what's wrong?'

'fuck, that won't fit...'

'yes, it will, love, i'm gonna suck you and open you up for me, you're gonna take every inch of it and be a good girl on my cock!'

you gasped, agreeing, and jungkook laughed again, trailing kisses down your belly until he reached your panties... you quickly lifted your hips, a silent request for him to remove the fabric right away, and he obeyed.

the first thing jungkook did was smell your wet panties, the scene almost made you cum.

"if you taste as good as you smell, fuck, kitten..."

and jungkook sucked your clit, you moaned loudly, holding his hair. it was a mix of desperation and pleasure that you only felt when you had sex while stoned with your ex, and there was jungkook, ok, not 100% sober, but wanting you so fucking much...

you didn't even see when he inserted a finger, but at a certain point you were grabbing the couch's upholstery because he had three fingers inside you while he sucked your clit, your hips lifting desperately seeking more contact, at the same time trying to pull away, jungkook's long hair tickling your belly nicely, the way he put his fingers deeper and deeper...

you saw the ceiling of the room spin, and the next second jungkook had only his mouth on you.

sucking every drop.

you had never been sucked so well, but you were far from satisfied, so you were just grateful when without any prior warning jungkook entered you.

fuck, it burned, he was so fucking big. jungkook laughed, trying to contain his own arousal while you got used to his size. he ran his hand over your nipples, squeezing the tip, rubbing his fingertips on your belly, on your thigh... all while looking at you as if he wanted to devour you... and he did.

"jungkook..."

just his name was enough for him to understand, and then he thrust, his balls hitting you full on made you see stars. and the rhythm only increased, along with the brutality.

"i've wanted you like this for so long, fuck, imagining my cock destroying that tiny pussy"

you grabbed his shoulder, immersed in your own feeling and the noises you were making.

but something took you out of orbit.

ir rather, someone.

the shrill ring of the phone with the name 'namjoon' on the screen. you ignored the first call, the second, but on the third jungkook got irritated, he swiped right and simply accepted the call. your eyes widened, mumbling a 'what?'

but all jungkook said back was an 'answer', stopping his thrusting into you.

you obeyed.

damn the time you obeyed.

"where the fuck are you? why didn't you come to the party?"

"i... hm?"

"i'm asking why you didn't come to this fucking party, i got all dressed up, i bought a fucking bouquet, i bought your favorite chocolate, where the fuck are you?" namjoon was irritated, visibly irritated.

"i..." you tried to answer, fuck, what would you say to him? "i jus-OH" you moaned loudly, when jungkook moved inside you again, a little less aggressive than before, still strong.

you whispered a 'stop' but jungkook ignored it, laughing when you put your hand over your mouth trying not to moan loudly.

"you what?" namjoon questioned from the other side.

"i... i'm not very- very well" you choked on your own moans, while jungkook laughed.

you looked at him desperately, but he just laughed, whispering for you to continue talking on the phone. and of course you could hang up and end it all, but that feeling was so good... you felt like a slut, but you had never felt so good.

jungkook slapped your breasts audibly, enough for namjoon to hear.

"what's going on there?"

"nothing... is just thFUCK, JUNGKOOK!" you screamed without thinking as jungkook thrust even harder, the couch scraping on the living room floor as his balls slammed violently against you.

"wait, what? you said WHAT?"

at this point in the game, fuck any shit, you just ignored your ex-boyfriend, moaning loudly as jungkook fucked you like an animal, you knew namjoon was listening, he was following the line, but fuck any shit, you needed to cum, and thanks to this disgusting situation you would cum soon.

"are you fucking with my best friend? what type of whore are you?"

"my whore." jungkook took the phone from your hand, still thrusting angrily. "i'm fucking her delicious pussy, the one you kept telling me was tight, that it was delicious, fuck, you were right, it's so fucking delicious!"

and jungkook hung up, still laughing at you.

namjoon returned the call, the phone vibrating in jungkook's hand as he laughed evilly.

jungkook pressed the phone to your clit, the vibration being enough to make you cum exactly 10 seconds later, but jungkook went further...

he accepted namjoon's call, only to turn it into a video call, and then show his (maybe now ex) best friend, a video with a perfect angle of him cumming inside you.

before namjoon could say anything, jungkook hung up, his heavy body falling on top of yours.

"fuck that..." you tried to say.

"shhhh, let's think about it later? i just lost my best friend"

"do you regret it?"

"it depends... will I be able to fuck you more often?"

you thought, and it was pretty clear that you wanted to again, so why lie?

"if you want..."

"then no, fuck, i only regret not trying before..."

"u are crazy..." you laughed.

1K notes · View notes

seresinhangmanjake · 4 months ago

Text

About Time

Tyler Owens x Childhood Friend!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Tyler’s best friend since childhood, but a near-death experience makes him realize he feels much more for you than friendship and he shouldn’t have allowed himself to deny it for so long.

Warnings/Notes: cursing, mild angst, mostly fluff, typos

Words: 2300

Masterlist

It was when he almost lost you that Tyler knew he was in love with you. When he was forced to play tug of war with the violent winds to keep you in his arms. When he felt your chest move against his with your shallow, rapid breaths. When he heard his name, a soft whimper from quivering lips.

“T–Tyler…”

He tightened his grasp on your waist and mumbled, “I got you, darlin’. Just don't let go.”

At that moment, he didn't know if he could protect you, but the alternative was an unbearable thought. Living without you was unimaginable, unacceptable, so if the winds planned to take you, they would have no choice but to take him, too. Then at least you'd be going together.

He’d always felt something for you, and he understood that he probably always would, but he'd been unwilling to give it a name more intense than a teenage crush that just happened to last well past its expiration date. And while your perpetually growing beauty and intoxicating laugh made it hard for him to tame what he continued to feel, he’d managed.

But that fear of imminent death—more potent than ever—tapped into the depths of those feelings he’d been swallowing for more than a decade. The abuse of pelting rain and flying debris paled in comparison to the overwhelming storm breaking free from the neglected portion of his heart.

Once disaster moved along, you looked up at him with wide, weary eyes, and he couldn’t think clearly past the repetitive chanting in his head: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, overpowering every other sense of logic and reason. He pushed strands of damp hair from your face, cupped your cheeks, then leaned down and sealed his lips to yours in a deep kiss. The first kiss. A kiss that typically has a much better outcome than what followed.

He hasn't seen you since that day. A week has come and gone and not one glimpse of your face, and now he’s more desperate for the sight than he’s ever been before. Missing you when you’re not around is far from new, but having released his feelings, the all-consuming sensation is worse. It’s harder to tolerate.

You're avoiding him, he knows it, but he supposes that can happen when someone kisses their best friend with no prior discussion of deeper feelings. It's not what he would do were the situation reversed—he'd still be all over you, kissing you back, smiling, never letting you go—but you've chosen to handle things quite differently, and in doing so, has left him no choice but to respond accordingly.

—

“Mornin’,” you hear, nearly dropping the pail of milk you’d been collecting all morning. Eyes darting to your right, you find Tyler sitting in one of the living room's quilted armchairs. Your heartbeat stutters.

When you turn your head to the left, your mother is leaning against the kitchen countertop, her fluffy robe tied around her body and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands that she brings to her lips as she reads the newspaper splayed out beside her.

“Mom, what is Tyler doing here?”

She glances up, swallows, and swipes her tongue across her bottom lip to catch the remnants of caramel-colored liquid. “Oh gosh, dear, he must've snuck in,” she replies, feigning ignorance. “But I’m not one for kickin’ anyone—especially not a fine, young man—off my property, so I guess he’ll just have to stay.”

With a huff, you set the pail down on the breakfast table, knowing your mother will take care of it, and shoot her a glare before making your way to the living room. Tyler stares up at you. You cross your arms and nudge your head toward the storage barn just behind the house where the two of you used to hold your late-night meetings when you were children, and later, teenagers. Many nights you spent in that barn after Tyler had snuck out of his parent’s house and chucked a pebble at your window to wake you.

Tyler nods and follows you out the back door to the large structure that protects your privacy from the prying ears of the woman inside the house.

“We gotta get you a new phone, darlin’,” Tyler says to your back once you're enclosed in the barn. “The one you've got doesn't seem to be receiving my calls…or texts…or elaborate voicemails.”

“Tyler…” you sigh, twisting to face him.

“You know we gotta talk about it,” he says. And he’s right, despite how the complicated element introduced into your relationship is entirely his fault and so you shouldn’t have to owe him the time of day until you're ready to give it. “You didn’t have to run away from me.”

“I didn’t run.” Tyler’s eyes follow the movement of your arms wrapping tighter around yourself and he swallows hard. “I walked.”

“Speed-walked,” he counters. “Borderline jogged.”

You groan, your tense shoulders sagging. “Tyler listen, I just–”

“Do you really think disappearing on me was a fair thing to do?” he interrupts. “I’m your best friend.”

Your jaw drops at the audacity. Not surprising, really; Tyler’s always had a way of wording things that gets under people’s skin, but out of the two of you, he is the last person who should be doling out the criticism.

“Fair?” you huff. “You’re the one who–”

“I mean, what was so wrong with it?” Long fingers slide through his blond hair. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about me in that way? It hasn’t crossed your mind once? No sex dreams? Nothin’? ‘Cause I’ve been wrestlin’ with it since fuckin’ high school, but ok, sure, fine.”

“Ty–”

“And I know it was unexpected but was it really that shocking? Don’t you think we’d be good together? I think we’d–”

“For fuck’s sake, Tyler, will you let me talk!” you snap, your voice carrying throughout the barn.

If you were trying to preserve your privacy, you’ve definitely failed now. Half of town probably heard you and they’re nothing short of a mile away, but at this point, Tyler has pushed you well past caring. Let them hear. Let them know what’s going on between you. They all saw him kiss you anyway.

“We nearly died,” you continue. “People around us did die.”

Tyler’s face breaks down and you instantly regret your words. You know he stuck around after you left. You know he helped everyone he could in the aftermath of disaster while you let your emotions override your system and ran home to cry to your mother over how he just rocked what was your very steady relationship.

“Look,” you sigh. “Even if I wasn’t thinking about death—and that is a massive ‘if’—I told myself a long time ago that you are my friend, just my friend.”

Tyler’s hands settle on his hips. His eyes fall to the floor and his back teeth clench. “Why?”

“Because I repeated it so many times in my head that it solidified,” you tell him, throwing your arms up. “You know why Bradley dumped me last year? And Pete a couple years before that? And Bobby back in high school?” you ask. “Because of you. They all sensed this weird…energy…from you. All of them. Do you know how many times I had to tell them they were crazy? Do you know how many times I had to tell myself that I was crazy whenever they brought it up to me and I actually considered the possibility of you feeling that way?”

You know exactly how many. Bobby had mentioned it five times before he decided he was done; broke it off with you right before prom and scoffed when he saw that Tyler had stepped up as your date. Pete was shorter-lived; asked you about Tyler three times before he said he could see which way the wind was blowing and had no interest in getting in between anything. And Bradley held the record at seven, each time making the fight outdo the one prior before he was simply fed up with the friendship you refused to sacrifice. Three boyfriends have ditched you solely because of Tyler, and fifteen times you had to talk yourself down from the jolt of excitement you got from imagining him loving you.

Taking a deep breath, you say, “You don’t just get to kiss me and not let me sort out my thoughts for five damn seconds.”

Tyler’s head snaps up, jaw ticking and eyes blazing. “Five seconds?” he spits. “I haven’t seen you in a week. That’s the longest we’ve gone since I graduated.”

“This isn’t just about you; how you feel; what you think; what you want.”

“Then what are you tellin’ me?” Tyler asks.

The light quiver in his voice unnerves you. Not because you aren’t used to him expressing himself to the fullest—and if he’s ever going to be vulnerable with anyone, it’s with you—but that quiver is typically the trigger for you comforting him, taking him into your arms and holding him, letting him wrap himself around you until he feels better and is ready to stop. For some reason, you never noticed how long he would stay tied to you when you gave him the chance.

“Are you feelin’ like this is it?” he continues. “Are you wantin’ us to be done?”

And suddenly, you’re irritated again. You can’t stop the roll of your eyes. In no universe would you ever be done with Tyler Owens, and the fact that he would entertain otherwise is asinine. “Don't be dramatic.”

“Well, what do you expect!” he shouts. “You’re actin’ like I’m about to lose you!”

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

“But you're mad that I kissed you!”

“Damn it, Tyler! I am not!”

Green eyes widen, his breaths heavy from his heaving chest. His mouth opens then closes then opens once more. “You’re—” He licks his lips as you watch him grasp for words. “Then why haven't you called me back?”

You shrug. “I don't know. We've never fought before, and I thought you'd be pissed that I walked off, which clearly you are, so…”

“That’s not true,” he says, moving to take a step closer to you before thinking better of it and staying put. “I haven’t been pissed, darlin’, just terrified. And missing you. And…wanting you.” Heat flares your cheeks, forcing you to tear your eyes away from the desperation in his. “But I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to…I mean, you left and I thought…”

You shake your head. Whatever he let himself think, he was wrong.

The silence that settles over you is thicker than you're used to in his presence. You're used to laughter and jokes, sweet comments and banter. Tension zings in the space between your bodies, but it's pleasant, electrifying, invigorating. You feel the full impact of everything that was tucked underneath the stress and anxiety of barrelling through such a hard conversation.

Tyler feels it too. His face shows it. His eyes you can only describe as heatedly glittering as he stares at you staring at him. His brows are pinched from frustration of a different kind. It's his lips, though, that reveal his thoughts better than any other feature. They're softly parted, glistening from a swipe of his tongue like he's ready to lock them to yours at any second. Like he needs to be ready just in case you give him the go-ahead so he can kiss you before you dare rescind your permission.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, words quieter than you meant for them to be, but Tyler hears you.

His chuckle is short, half-formed, partially overtaken by the exhale of a breath. You detect a slight tease, as if you should already know the answer to that question.

“That I wanna kiss you again,” he says. “So fuckin’ bad.”

The corners of your mouth struggle not to quirk upward. “Tyler.” He hums. “You know what it means if we do this, right?”

He nods. “We can’t go back,” he says. “But darlin’, I don’t wanna go back. I wanna keep on goin’...with you.”

“Everything will be different.”

“Not everything. We're still us, we'd just be kissin’ and touchin’ and, you know, doin’ other stuff,” he replies with a smile. “Hopefully.”

You picture Tyler standing before you as you have secretly wished you could have him for years—bare and muscled and grinning and telling you he loves you—and for the first time, you aren’t awash with guilt and shame. It feels right to think of him like this. Natural. There’s a soothing ocean of serenity flowing under the flames of desire, and it hits you that this was probably inevitable. All the pieces were there—friendship, trust, love—all there was left to do was act on it.

“You won't change your mind?” you ask, stepping to him.

At your question, distress takes over Tyler's face, but it melts into a grin once he notices your smirk. He closes the remaining distance between you and takes your hand, carefully interlocking your fingers.

“No chance,” he tells you.

“Ok,” you say, nodding. “Well, if you’re absolutely sure, then I guess it’s ok if you kiss me agai–”

Your chuckle is muffled against his lips. His fingers untangle from yours and he guides your hand to rest on the back of his neck so he can cup your cheek. His free arm coils around your waist, pulling you in closer, and your body melts into his. Your brain fuzzes. You lose all awareness of your surroundings. You think you might just stay like this forever.

----

Tag List (if you wanna join)

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #twisters #glen powell #tyler owens fic #glen powell fic

2K notes · View notes

gojosprettyprincess · 3 months ago

Text

STUCK IN THE WASHING MACHINE TROPE WITH STEPBROTHER BAKUGOU!!!

SMUT, Stepcest, dubcon in the beginning, Creampie, dumbification, anal play, he's aged up to 19, dirty talk, heavy degradation and Bakugou is really really mean cause he's Bakugou duh, slight daddy kink, some bad grammar bc it's not proofread. MINORS DNI!!!!

Word count - 2350

A/n - I have no idea how someone can possibly get stuck in a washing machine but just pretend you can😔🙏

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Katsuki Katsuki! Holy fuck are you deaf or something?! I'm stuck!" you yelled at the top of your lungs as you tried your very best to wiggle yourself out from the washing machine opening. You can't even remember how you got yourself into this fucking mess, you were just trying to look and see if there were any more clothing pieces left behind because you've been noticing a few of your panties have gone missing the past few days and it kept getting worse and worse to the point where you barely have any left to wear, you assumed it's because you accidentally kept leaving them in the washing machine and now somehow your fucking stuck.

Heavy substantial footsteps were heard loudly outside the room before the wooden door went flying open, causing the doorknob to hit against the wall, causing a loud bang, "The fuck do you want, can't you see I'm tryna fucking play?" the annoyed blond growled at you.

"Shut up and get me the fuck out" You yelled annoyed, while kicking your legs back to get his attention.

"Woah some mess you got yourself into, sweetheart" he smirks slyly while analyzing the situation, staring down at your pretty ass poking out of the washing machine, barely even covered by those tight slutty shorts you always wore around the house that never failed to make his cock rock hard.

"Oh please, just shut up and get me out already", you kicked your feet back hoping that he was behind you so it would hit him. "I don't think that's how you speak to someone you're trying to get help from, princess".

You rolled your eyes at the annoying pet names he always calls you every fucking time but you've grown used to it by now but the constant teasing was so fucking annoying. "Listen are you going to help me or not?".

"That depends princess, are you gonna beg me to or not?" you wanted to punch him in the face so fucking badly, imagining the shit-eating grin he definitely has plastered on his face right now. "Your so fucking annoying! No way go to hell!" you yelled.

"Oh yeah? Is that so"

He chuckled as he bent down behind you, eyes fixated on the way the thin material hugged your ass cheeks so tightly and delicious, you're so vulnerable in this position, he could keep you there and pound your slutty little holes for hours and hours if he wants to—which is probably what he's gonna do anyways.

He pressed the pad of his thumb against your damped crotch, rubbing it slowly back and forth as he watched the way your body jolted unexpectedly.

"Wha-what are you doing! You sick fuck??" you screamed as you tried to wiggle your ass away from his hold. "Oh, come on princess, let's have some fun yeah? You might even like it" he teases before tugging down your tiny shorts, just to be greeted with your glistening dripping cunt. A string of your slick connects to the crotch of the shorts before snapping away as he pulls it down to your knee. He groaned as his eyes took in the delicious sight in front of him, "No panties? And your fucking dripping, you probably planned this out and did this purposely just so I can come and see you like this, dirty fucking slut" he lands a harsh slap on your right ass cheek as you closed your eyes in embarrassment when you realized you're basically fucking exposed to him.

"Go to fucking hell you perv" You snapped back at him, "Oh yeah? I'm the perv?, I'm not the one fucking soaked and dripping onto the floor sweetheart". He laughs mockingly.

His dick was painfully hard and eager, straining to be released from his sweatpants, what can a man do? It's not his fault his dumb little stepsister always runs around the house with those tight little booty shorts, ass almost fully exposed, basically begging to be pounded and now he has his chance so why not take it?

He pulls his sweatpants and underwear down, thick perfectly curved dick slaps against his abdomen as pre cum oozes out of the angry red tip, he grips his fist around it before pumping himself a few times while circling your clit with his thumb, "Pretty little cunt you got here princess, been hiding this from me this whole time?"

"S-stop it Katsuki, this is wrong! You're my stepbrother, we can't do this!" you whined, it's so fucking wrong and fucked up and you sure as hell knew that, you just can't help but feel your needy cunt throbbing and yearning for more, it's only natural right?

Before you could even process anything else you felt his angry tip lining up at your entrance, his thick cock head bullying and prying it's way into your weeping tight hole before he shoves it all the way in unexpectedly, knocking the wind out of you as you hissed at the sudden pain.

"Hahh fuckk- Katsuki slow down!" you moaned as he starts thrusting his hard cock in and out of you like it was his mission to bruise and mark up your silky walls with his tip, strong hands gripping onto your waist as he stretches out your poor cunt with his fat girth, splitting that pretty little cunny in half as it drips all over him. "Holy fuckk you're so fucking tight hah- shitt" he hisses as your pussy clenches around him snugly, tightest cunt he ever fucked for sure.

He started pounding you harder, gripping the oversized T-shirt you wore as he rammed himself in the tight warm space between your thighs.

"Stupid little slut, is this what you need to shut that annoying little mouth of yours, my dick pounding this little pussy?" he took a mental note to give you exactly what you wanted when you're acting up and being a little bitchy brat to him. "Sh-ut up katsu-" shit you couldn't even form proper words to even say his fucking name, "You're the fucking worse fuh-ckk" you moaned out of pleasure. You can't even lie his cock was the best you've ever had and it's only been minutes since he started fucking you so that surely says a lot, his tip was grazing against the right spots in your hole, it's like his dick knew all the parts in cunt that would make your eyes roll to the back of your head and he was stretching your stuffy cunt with his cock soo good, it turnt you into a moaning mess.

"Oh yeah I know my cock is good you little slut, Gonna fuck you so stupid with it, you won't ever think about another guy's dick other than your stepbrother's" he smirks as he lands a hard slap on your ripped ass, watching the way the thick flesh jiggles against him, bouncing back against his pelvis as he drills himself so fucking deep inside of you. You're his little glory hole, he can stuff you full and deep of his seed and use your tight pussy for hours and fuck you so dumb that you can't even think for the rest of the week if he wants to.

He circles his thumb over your neglected butthole, the puckered hole fluttering against the pad of his thumb as he notices the way your moans got sweeter and louder at the gesture. He won't be surprised if you're a slut for anal he snooped through your room a shit ton of times looking for your dirty cum-stained panties he uses to jerk off to, to know that you have several jeweled anal plugs hidden away in your drawer.

"Mmm want me to put it in baby?" he teases, adoring the way the pink ring flutters on his thumb, soo eager and hungry to be stuffed and played with, "Ye-yes pleasee!" you hiccupped, purposely winking your hole for him desperately as a form of inviting him. "Heh, how cute" he mumbled before gathering your slick from your clit to rub it on the tiny rim before slowly sinking it in little by little. He groaned as he felt your cunt throbbing around his cock as your hungry asshole swallows his thumb into the hilt.

Heavy balls slapping against your clit as your eyes roll back to the back of your head as if you were possessed or something- or maybe you were, possessed by his fucking cock hitting your favorite spots in your hole that had you seeing stars. His cock was so fucking good, mushroom tip kissing your cervix with every single one of his mean thrusts. "Fuck wish I could play with those pretty tits" he groans, head falling back as he moans, your cunt felt like fucking heaven, so warm and tight just for him.

"Kat-Katsuki m' so close" you moaned as you felt the familiar feeling in your stomach building up, "Yeah? That fast? My cock is that good huh?".

You let out a porn star-worthy moan when you felt his thick thumb sliding in and out of your tight bullied walls, matching the rough brutal pace of the pounding he was giving your poor pussy. He lifts up one of his legs and plants his feet flat on the floor so he can drill deeper into your cunt, "Fuckk yes daddy- don't stop fuck! Please don't stop" you cried out as you felt yourself approaching your release.

He chuckled mockingly, "Daddy huh? You're such a fucking dirty whore ya know that?" he slapped your ass so fucking hard that his handprint was definitely branded on your ass cheek, "Didn't know my dear little stepsis was such a cock-hungry slut, what'd ya think mom would say if she found out her innocent daughter was milking her stepbrother's cock and calling him daddy hm? Always knew you were a whore" he smirks as you whimpered and dripped to his mean words.

He pulled his thumb out of your butthole slowly and then groaned when he saw the delicious little gape he created. He brought his thumb up to his mouth before sucking it, gathering spit onto the finger then circling it around the gaped hole.

"Fuckk would you look at that, she's all prepped and ready for my cock, maybe after I'm done stuffing your cunt, I'll fill this one up too, bet you'll fucking like that", you felt his cock throbbing like crazy in your pussy as he imagined stuffing both of holes with his bitter cum and having you all plugged up n pretty with his seed deep in your asshole and the only thing keeping it in is the princess plug you have hidden away in your drawer- buried deep inside your ass.

You almost screamed when you felt him stabbing his cock into your cunt even harder, strong hands gripping your waist tightly to keep you still as he rams his hips against yours. The friction of his heavy balls slapping your clit made it feel even better as your cunt clenches around his cock, threatening to milk his balls into your pussy. You're not surprised that Bakugou was this good at fucking, after all, he was really fucking sexy and built, of course he had a lot of experience. You cried out when you felt his fingers rubbing harsh harsh circles on your clit, "Come on slut, need ya to cum on my cock, don't make me repeat myself" he grunts, head falling back when he feels your cunny squeezing around his cock soo much fucking tighter. You closed your eyes as you felt your orgasm approaching. His thrust was so fucking brutal, it's like he has some fucking personal problem and is taking it out on your poor cunt.

Before you could process anything else, you were gushing all over his pretty cock, warm liquid squirting all over his abs and pelvis and he continues pounding you through it, he lets out a slurpy moan while laughing, "Fuckk yeah that's it baby that's it, Gooddd girl" he thrusts got sloppier and sloppier when he felt his balls tightening. He didn't expect you to fucking squirt and make a mess all over him so it drove him fucking crazy.

You felt his cock twisting against your tight walls, assuming he was about to cum. Fuck, you felt so lifeless. The only thing holding you up was Katsuki's strong grip on your waist and the washing machine because you can't even think right now, your mind fully fucking clouded with his cock bullying your poor insides, splitting your sweet cunny apart. Fuck he's so mean, you shivered when you felt his fingers digging deep into your waist.

"Fuck m'gonna cum, gonna stuff this slutty cunt so full of my seed, it'll come right out your mouth bitch" he hisses before emptying his balls in your pussy, thick ropes of cum filling up your cumdump of a hole as you cried out when you felt his angry tip pushing the cum further and further into your cunny, making sure to stuff you full and not let any of it leak out or you'd have to lick it up.

He chuckles darkly when he hears you're out of breath whimpers. "Is this what you needed? A good little filling to shut that pretty mouth of yours? Because if it's dick you need to function properly you know where to find me baby" he chuckles, slowly pulling out his still-hard cock, being sooo careful that none of the cum drips out. He lines his tip up at the entrance of your butthole, smearing the cum onto the hole as it winks at him.

"Ready for the other filling?"

3K notes · View notes