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cowboybeepboop · 1 month

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Lost in you

"God, I can't get enough of you..."

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: smut (all smut)

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: You’re coming home from the bar with Tyler when things get a little bit intimate.

Warnings: p in v sex, no protection, lots of oral, hand kink ig?

a/n: I don’t really have much to say this time around other than like I hope y'all enjoy 😝

As the neon lights of the bar faded into the rearview mirror, the cool night air filled the car with a gentle hum. Tyler expertly navigates the quiet, winding streets, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow on his focused face. The silence between you was comfortable, a testament to the years of friendship that had grown stronger with every shared experience. You lean back into the passenger seat, mind wandering through the memories of the evening's laughter and banter, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders.

He took the silence as an opportunity to glance at you, taking in your features illuminated by the low light. His eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose, all the way down to your lips. He quickly darted his eyes back to the road. Not wanting to stare.

His mind wandered the same as yours, thinking of every little thing that happened that night. Every laugh, smile, and touch that he shared with you. He took a deep breath, trying to push those thoughts out of his mind.

Your eyes wander over to Tyler, a small blush creeping up your cheeks as you notice his hands. His strong, big and veiny hands. Your mind fills with thoughts of what they could do to you. Fantasizing about them all over your body as he pleasures you, causing you to suck in a deep breath.

He heard the shift in your breathing and his grip around the steering wheel noticeably tightened. He could almost sense the change in energy coming off you. He took another deep breath, his thoughts and imagination starting to run wild.

He tried to clear his mind, telling himself that he shouldn’t be thinking about you in those ways, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been silently dealing with his growing feelings for you since he met you.

Your skirt slides up your thighs slightly as you move around in your seat, noticing the way his arm flexes as he turns. As you adjusted yourself he noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and his gaze immediately went to your exposed skin, his hand moves as if on auto pilot, reaching out to touch your bare thigh.

His breathing hitches in his throat, and a spark of electricity courses through his body. He feels your skin under his rough, calloused hands and his grip reflexively tightens a bit before loosening and softly caressing your thigh.

A quiet moan slips out of your parted lips as he squeezes your skin. Your breathing becomes slightly ragged as he slides his hand further up your thigh. He grips your thigh tighter, his mind and body filled with this sudden urgency.

He tries to fight the urge growing in him, but the way your breath hitches and the quiet sounds coming from you make it nearly impossible. His hand moves further up your thigh, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your skin, his knuckles lightly brushing against the edge of your underwear. He takes another deep breath, his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ty..” you gasp out his name as your head falls back against the seat. Your hand moves down to his as your legs spread open, guiding his fingers between them. The sound of his name coming from your soft, parted lips was music to his ears. He watched as you repositioned his hand and his breath hitched.

He could feel the soft, damp fabric of your underwear as his fingers ran along the edge of them, his hand twitching and slightly clenching.

His chest ached and his mind went blank, except for thoughts of you and the sounds coming from you. He pushed his finger gently against the damp fabric earning a desperate moan from you.

Tyler's hand slipped under the fabric of your underwear, his fingers delicately exploring the slickness he found there. Your eyes snapped open, meeting his in the dimly lit car, and for a moment, you both froze, the gravity of the moment heavy in the air.

But the heat and desire in your gaze only spurred him on. He began to rub in gentle circles, matching the rhythm of your hips as they rolled in silent plea. The car's soft purr and the quiet whispers of the night outside became a distant backdrop to the symphony of your mingled breaths and the intimate dance of your bodies.

As he touches you, you guide him to where you need it most. The connection was palpable, the line between friendship and something more blurring with every touch.

Your hand slid over the bulge in Tyler's jeans with surprising confidence, and when you gripped him firmly, his eyes widened in shock before a groan of pleasure escaped his lips. You felt his cock, hard and hot, pulsing in your hand as you began to stroke him.

The car's interior grew even more intimate as you both succumbed to the heady rush of desire. His eyes never left the road, but his focus was split as he felt your hand moving over him, feeling the weight and heat of his arousal in your grip.

The sound of your breathing grew heavier as you worked him, matching the tempo of his movements against your pussy. The leather of the steering wheel creaked under his white-knuckled grasp as he fought to maintain control of the car and the situation, but the raw passion in the air was undeniable.

The car's speed remained steady, but the rhythm of your bodies grew more urgent, a silent promise of the explosive release that was building between you.

As the truck pulls onto your street, the heat of your desire almost tangible. The heady scent of arousal filled the small space, mingling with the faint aroma of leather and the cool night breeze that slipped in through the slightly open windows.

Tyler's eyes remained fixed on the road, his breathing ragged and his pulse racing as he felt the warmth of your orgasm against his fingertips. You bit your bottom lip to stifle a cry, your eyes squeezed shut as your body convulsed in pleasure, your hand tightening around his cock.

The muscles in his arm strained as he stroked you faster, eager to feel you come apart under his touch. Then, as the car rolled to a gentle stop, it happened. Your body arched, and with a keening wail, you climaxed, your walls clenching around his fingers.

The sudden tightness and wetness sent Tyler over the edge as well, his hips jerking involuntarily as he spilled his release into your grasp. The world outside the car was still and quiet, the only sounds the erratic thumping of your hearts and the soft whimpers escaping your mouths.

For a moment, you both sat there, panting and trembling, the aftershocks of your shared climax resonating through your bodies. The reality of what had just occurred washed over you, and you slowly opened your eyes to find Tyler looking at you with a mix of awe and vulnerability.

The silence was deafening, the unspoken question hanging in the air like a heavy fog. What did this mean for your friendship? What path had you just ventured down? But in that moment, all you could do was look at him, your breathing still uneven.

With trembling legs, you managed to exit the car, the night air brushing against your flushed skin as you stepped out onto the sidewalk. Your hand lingered on the door handle for a brief moment, giving Tyler a chance to come to terms with the raw intimacy that had just unfolded.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to face him, the intensity in his gaze made your pulse race, and you hoped he would read the unspoken invitation in your eyes. You took a deep breath, biting your bottom lip as you leaned against the car door, watching him closely.

The silence stretched out between you, filled with the promise of what could come next. Without a word, you turned and began walking towards the house, your hips swaying with a newfound allure that seemed to beckon him to follow. Each step you took felt like a silent dare, and as you reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, the anticipation building as you awaited his decision.

Tyler's heart hammered in his chest as he stumbled out of the car, his legs weak from the intensity of the moment. He watched you saunter away, your hips swaying in a way that seemed to beckon him closer.

His mind raced with the possibilities of what could happen once you crossed the threshold of your house. The chemistry between you was like a live wire, crackling with electricity, demanding to be touched again. He took a deep, shaky breath and followed you, his legs moving almost of their own accord.

Each step brought him closer to the door, closer to the promise of passion that was unfurling in the air. His hand reached out, brushing against your lower back, and you turned to face him, the door to your house open and inviting. Your eyes searched his, looking for the same desperate need that had taken over your body.

The moment Tyler stepped into the house, the air thickened with anticipation. He closed the door behind him, and without a word, you found yourself in his arms, your bodies colliding with a desperation that had been simmering for too long.

His hands cupped your face as his mouth claimed yours in a fiery kiss that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire being. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your tongues danced together, exploring and claiming each other.

His hands roamed down your body, finally landing on your waist, and with a gentle yet firm grip, he lifted you up and pushed you against the soft cushions of your couch. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, drawing him closer, and you could feel the insistent pressure of his hard cock against your wet pussy.

The fabric of your clothes was the only barrier between you, and it was a barrier that felt as flimsy as the line that once separated friendship from desire. Tyler's kisses grew more urgent as he slipped between your legs, his hands exploring the soft skin of your thighs, the heat of his palms leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

The world outside your entwined limbs ceased to exist as you became lost in the intoxicating maelstrom of passion that had been unleashed.

With a gentle touch, Tyler trailed kisses down your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His lips found the soft mounds of your breasts, peeking out from your bra, and he took one into his mouth, teasing the sensitive peak with his tongue.

You moaned softly, arching your back to give him better access as he unhooked the clasp and let the fabric fall away. His kisses continued downward, his hands working to unbutton your blouse, exposing your stomach to the cool air.

Each new inch of skin he revealed was met with a soft nip or a gentle suck, setting your body alight with need. The sound of your own gasps and his hungry growls filled the room as he peeled away your clothes, revealing your nakedness inch by inch. His eyes never left yours, the heat in them burning as brightly as the passion that flared between you.

Finally, he reached the waistband of your skirt, and with trembling hands, he slid it down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your damp underwear. His gaze took in the sight of you, sprawled out before him, vulnerable and open. With a flick of his thumb, he pushed aside the fabric and kissed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the anticipation building as his mouth drew closer to your pussy.

The touch of his lips was like a brand, leaving a trail of fire as he kissed and licked his way to your center. Your legs tightened around his neck, guiding him closer, and when his tongue finally found your clit, you cried out, your body jolting with pleasure.

The taste of you was intoxicating, and he couldn't get enough, his tongue circling and flicking as you squirmed beneath him. The room spun with desire, and all you could do was hold onto the edge of the couch, your body quivering as he devoured you.

With a feral growl, Tyler's mouth found your center, his tongue plunging into your wet heat with an intensity that left you gasping for air. He lapped and sucked at your clit with a hunger that seemed to have been building for an eternity, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just enough to make you squirm.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, holding you in place as you bucked against his face, your hips moving in a silent plea for more. He was relentless, his mouth working you with a finesse that spoke of his desperate need to bring you to the brink and watch you shatter.

Each flick of his tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, and every suck was a declaration of his craving for you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, your breath coming in pants and whimpers as he feasted on you. Your climax built with every stroke, coiling tighter and tighter in your core until it was all you could feel, a delicious pressure that demanded release. And when it came, it was like a dam breaking, a flood of sensation that had you screaming his name, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm.

Tyler drank in every drop, his eyes never leaving yours, the look of pure triumph and adoration on his face only adding to the intensity of the moment. He kissed your thighs softly as you came down from the high, your legs trembling and your heart racing.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm subsided, Tyler looked up at you with a fiery gaze that seemed to pierce through your soul. You sigh out his name, bashfully covering your exposed breasts with your hands, feeling a mix of vulnerability and satisfaction that washed over you like a warm wave.

His eyes remained locked on yours, a silent conversation passing between you that needed no words. With a gentle smile, he placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh before rising to his feet, his erection straining against his pants.

He reached out a hand, helping you to stand on wobbly legs, and led you to your bedroom, the anticipation of what was to come thick in the air. Each step was a silent promise of the passion that was about to unfold as you stepped into the sanctum of your desires. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight that filtered through the curtains, casting shadows that danced across the walls as you approached the bed.

The mattress dipped under Tyler's weight as he sat on the edge, his hand reaching for the button of his own jeans. With trembling hands, you watched as he revealed himself to you, his cock standing proud and demanding your attention. The sight of him, so open and eager, made your pulse quicken, and your own desire grew stronger with every beat of your heart.

You stepped closer, dropping your hands from your breasts, allowing him to see all of you. His eyes roamed over your naked body, a look of awe and desire that made your knees go weak. And in that moment, as you both stood there, the air charged with the electricity of your newfound love, you knew that there was no going back to the way things were before.

This was the start of a journey that would redefine everything you thought you knew about passion and connection.

With a sense of empowerment, you sank to your knees before Tyler, his cock bobbing in front of your face. You took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the pulse of his need against your palm.

Looking up at him through your lashes, you leaned in and kissed the tip gently, tasting the salty precum that beaded there. His eyes closed, and a soft groan rumbled from his chest, the sound sending a thrill through your own body.

You took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before you began to take him deeper, inch by inch. His hands found their way to your hair, guiding you but never forcing, as you found a rhythm that had him panting and his hips moving in time with your mouth.

The feeling of him in your mouth, the sound of his moans, the way his muscles tightened with every stroke - it was intoxicating. You could feel his cock swell even more, his body tensing as he approached his peak.

You took him deeper, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth, and watched as the pleasure played out across his features. When he finally came, it was with a roar that echoed through the quiet room, his hot release filling your mouth as your eyes remained locked on his.

You swallowed, licking your lips clean, and took a moment to bask in the power you held over him. With a gentle yet firm tug, Tyler pulls you onto his lap, your naked body straddling his. His cock, still hard and pulsing, presses against your stomach, leaving a trail of wetness from your juices. You feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the beat of his heart a rhythmic drum that matches the pulse between your legs.

His hands glide over your hips, guiding you closer to his erection, and you can't help but rock against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your core. He kisses you again, his mouth demanding and possessive, as if he's trying to claim every part of you.

His grip tightens, and with a soft moan, you lift yourself slightly, aligning his cock with your wet entrance. The anticipation is almost unbearable as you hover there, feeling the warmth of him against your slickness. And then, with a gasp, you lower yourself onto him, feeling him fill you up, stretching you in the most delicious way.

Your bodies move in unison, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with your desperate moans and his guttural groans. Each thrust is like a declaration of a newfound love, a silent promise that you're both ready to explore this uncharted territory of desire.

The world outside your embrace fades away as you become lost in the rhythm of your lovemaking, the only thing that matters is the connection between you. You lean back, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, head thrown back in pleasure, his eyes hooded with lust as he moves inside you.

The headboard of your bed thumps against the wall in a steady rhythm that matches the pounding of your hearts. This moment, this perfect union of bodies and souls, is a testament to the unspoken truth that you've both been dancing around for so long.

As Tyler fucks you with an unbridled passion that resonates through every fiber of your being, he buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your skin. His teeth graze your neck, sending shivers down your spine as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tightly against him.

Each thrust is punctuated by a muffled groan against your flesh, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. His hips drive into you with a fierce intensity that matches the pounding of your hearts. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, the roughness of his stubble against your sensitive skin, the possessive grip of his hands - it all combines into a symphony of sensation that threatens to overwhelm you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you hold on tightly, riding the wave of pleasure that builds with each stroke. The intimacy of this moment, the raw, unfiltered need, solidifies the unspoken bond that has been forged between you. His teeth graze the skin of your neck, and you feel a soft pinch as he marks you, leaving his brand of desire in a place that no one else will ever see.

Your breath hitches, and you whisper his name again, a plea for more, a declaration of your own need. The world outside the cocoon of your entwined limbs fades away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by this carnally beautiful dance of love and lust that has forever changed the landscape of your friendship.

As Tyler's hips piston upwards, driving himself deep inside you, you feel the coil of pleasure in your core tighten to the point of snapping. His eyes, filled with a fierce love and lust, bore into yours as you both reach the peak of your climax together. Your body convulses around him, muscles clenching as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

His own orgasm hits like a storm, his cock pulsing with every beat of his heart, filling you with his warmth as he groans out your name. The room seems to spin around you as you cling to each other, the intensity of your shared release echoing through the night.

You collapse against his chest, both of you gasping for air, your hearts racing in perfect sync. As the tremors subside, he kisses you softly, his breath mingling with yours as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

The aftermath of your passion leaves you both drenched in sweat and satisfaction, the stickiness of your melded bodies a testament to the depth of your connection. The silence that follows is no longer filled with tension but with the quiet understanding that you've crossed a threshold, leaving behind the confines of friendship and stepping into the uncharted territory of love.

Your legs, still wrapped around him, don't want to let go, and he makes no move to pull out, savoring the feeling of you clinging to him. The world outside seems to hold its breath, waiting for the next move in this unscripted play of desire that has unfolded between you.

But for now, you're content to stay right here, tangled in the sheets and in each other, forever changed by the raw, unbridled passion that has claimed you both.

He nuzzles his head against your neck, kissing and worshiping the soft, sensitive skin with a renewed vigor. He whispers between kisses, "God, I can't get enough of you..."

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gor3sigil · 2 months

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Trans drag performers deserve better.

Okay so since y'all seem interested, here we go.

[This is about MY experience as a “former” transmasc drag king, in my local scene. This isn't representative of the drag scene as a whole because drag is a wide, huge scene with pretty much any type of people in it. I have never done paid gig. I only performed a couple of times before deciding to stop.]

I discovered drag with RuPaul like a lot of people, and for a long time, I only knew about drag queens. It’s when I learned about an initiation to drag king happening in my town that I decided to try it. I did a bit of research before the event took place and that's how I learned that drag king is widely undocumented, compared to drag queen. A bit disheartening but I was excited to do something new and especially to get back in my local queer community after 2 years or so of “no contact” with it because trauma (see my post about my first T4T relationship to understand why).

First surprise when I got there, I was the only transmasc present as an attendee. The organiser and person who teached us is agender and go by he/him, and his at the time SO is a transmasc enby but appart from them, I was the only trans person. Most of the others were cis lesbian women. Makes sense. The initiation weekend went really well and we ended up performing in an open scene at the end. I can't count the amount of times I got misgendered by other kings during this weekend and I have to say, it pissed me off so fucking bad because I was the only one getting consistantly misgendered. But I brushed it off and had a blast.

My drag persona is more of a dragula king, really goth, and I did a lipsync performance on a Black Dresses song. I loved it and had a blast. A year or so later, we decided with other drag kings to do a little group to perform together.

Once again, I'm the only trans person.

And that's when the shitshow kinda happened. From all the drag kings present, I was also the only one who wasn't already part of a collective. So the group we had was composed of people from 2 collectives who would basically cheer each other out at every show, and it's great !! But I wasn't being integrated into the group, and I felt defeated. One of the main reasons why I didn't go to drag shows was because I was FLAT BROKE. I couldn't attend these events as they were always or in a bar so you have to at least buy a drink, or had a fee, and I couldn't afford that.

We started doing rehearsals and I set up a discord server for us all to use and organize the said rehearsals. It soon became apparent that they weren't really serious about this group, that they were more involved in their own collectives and it was HELL to have at least one rehearsal a month. But we had a show scheduled for september, and half of the kings weren't ready, didn't know their texts nor songs. I knew it was going to be bad. Also we were confirmed that the gig was going to actually happen 3 days only before, because the people who said they were going to do the visuals NEVER DID and we had to fumble something quick so the event was promoted very fucking late and we weren't sure we could even afford to do it, because not many tickets were sold.

During the rehearsals I got singled out for everything. My voice was dropping because of the T (I had started 8 months prior) and I tried to do my best with the singing parts but got told a few times that my low voice would sound “weird” amongst the sopranos. Also, one of the solo part a king was going to perform was on a very upbeat music and he said we could join IF WE WANTED.

I said I'd pass since it wasn't my style at all.

And when we got to the venue, the venue didn't have any backstage and I had my solo part just after that, so I couldn't just stand there on stage and do nothing. The others in my group KNEW IT as they had performed in this venue BEFORE but just told me “oh, too bad, improvise something” when they were the same ones who told me that taking part in the number was not mandatory.

Regarding the other artists, man, I hated everything. I got misgendered constantly IN KING LIKE - I'M A DRAG KING FFS. Even by others in my group.

When I corrected another performer, a cis gay dude, he laughed at my FACE and told me “but you're trans aren't you like, against gender or something ?”. As I was pre op and still early in my transition I was basically outing myself everytime I told my pronouns and I got so many cis performers ask me invasive questions about my sex life, or being like “yeah I have a trans friend who goes by X but I knew them as Y so it's Y to me but it's not in a disrespectful way you see”.

So yeah, I didn't have a great night. :)

The cis kings called me “girl” or “sis” because “I'm one of them” even after telling them time and time again that I wasn't comfortable with that.

And after this quite disastrous experience, the same ones who called me “girl” and me got into an argument because they wanted to change a song about forced toxic masculinity which is an INCREDIBLY POWERFUL AND BEAUTIFUL SONG into lyrics to talk about femininity. I said that we could use another song then, because there's so few cis men singers who sing about being forced into toxic masculinity and virility that I found that a bit disrespectful to take this important message and make it about women and femininity. There's plenty of songs about that that we could use.

And now guess what ? I was a MEAN MAN who wanted women to NOT TALK ABOUT THEIR ISSUES because I was a very MANLY DUDE DISGUSTING MALE.

The same people who couldn't gender me correctly and called me “sis” a WEEK BEFORE.

So yeah, I got the fuck out and gave up.

I really wish I can perform again one day, but it'll be in another scene.

So PSA: book drag kings, because they are so underrepresented it's disheartening, RESPECT trans drag performers, don't but bioessentialism in drag for the LOVE OF GOD IT'S DRAG. Like imagine being transphobic as a DRAG PERFORMER. Learn the history. And fucking do better.

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delusional-day-dreamer · 2 months

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Last Friday Night - p.b

‣ paige bueckers x reader!

‣ nika's version of this fic

‣ wc: 1953; sorry this is so short and lowkey not that good?

‣‣ synopsis: you and paige have kept your relationship on the dl for a while now, but what happens when your inebriated selves slip up on kk’s live? pretend the ncaa's lift on cannabis for athletes happens before the start of the 23-24 season!

‣‣‣ a/n: guys i'm so sorry for the utter lack of content but I just got back from camp and i am ready to feed y'all, i got a lot of ideas cooking up and i'm really hoping i can post a lot more while i have the time. also for the multiple versions, i genuinley couldn't choose who to write this about, so i just did both!

8:42 am

To say that you and Paige were in trouble by the events of last night was a little bit of an understatement. Both of your phones were blowing up by your respective coaches, teammates, close friends, and all of your social media accounts.

As you scrolled through your tiktok, text messages, instagram tags, and just about everything else on your phone while laying next to Paige's sleeping figure in her bed, it only reaffirmed one thing in your head.

You and Paige majorly fucked up.

12:07 am; where it all went wrong

With your volleyball season and Paige's basketball season being in their respective peaks during this time of year, you had barely gotten a chance to spend time with your girlfriend alone. The two of you were either travelling for away games, at practice, in class, hanging out with your friends or teammates, or busy studying. Needless to say, you missed Paige. A lot.

Which, combined with the weed pen you were hitting periodically, loosened your inhibitions to a whole new level inside of Ted's fairly crowded bar.

It wasn't jam-packed, but there was a decent crowd of older college students for a Friday night in October, especially since Halloween was soon to be approaching in two weeks.

Normally, you and Paige weren’t big on PDA, at most you would hold hands or give small pecks around the team, considering the fact that the two of you kept your relationship very much on the down low, not so much a secret as very private. You never denied any allegations but basically never posted together on your own, unless the two of you ended up in the background of someone else’s pictures.

Social media had a lot of speculation, edits, rumors, etc, surrounding the two of you, as you had no connection to the team as a volleyball player yet still hung out with them regularly. But either way, you and Paige always just minded your own business and kept everything very hush hush. Except for tonight.

Paige was sort of sober, she had done two shots with some of the other girls while you mostly just smoked a few times, not wanting to get super high, but just enough to let the tingly sense of giggly euphoria wash over you.

Yet one thing you failed to consider when choosing weed over alcohol for tonight was the fact that it made you incredibly horny. That, combined with the fact that you and Paige hadn’t spent any time together in the last three weeks, let alone have sex, were the leading factors of tonight.

The rest of the basketball team was spread throughout the bar, some were at a table not far from the two of you, messing around on KK's live, while others were dancing, drinking, or mingling with their other friends.

Which left you and Paige alone, squished together in the corner of the bar top. You were leaning with your back against the wall, standing in between Paige's spread legs from her position facing you atop the stool. Her hands were holding onto your bare thighs, occasionally removing her left to take a small sip of her drink before dutifully returning to your legs.

"I'm just saying P, we could definitely sneak out without anyone noticing, everyone's too busy doing their own thing," you attempted to convince your stubborn girlfriend, sweetening the notion by rubbing your hands up and down her jean-clad thighs.

As D1 athletes, it was obvious that the two of you had toned and muscular bodies, but one of Paige's features you found most attractive were her muscular thighs she built from her time in the gym and on the court, especially the way they would wrap around your head while eating her out.

"We'll leave soon baby don't worry. Besides," Paige leaned into your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "I already promised I would make up the last three weeks to you tonight yeah? What's another hour ma?"

You bit your bottom lip as Paige pulled back, thudding your head on the wall behind you as your eyes trailed over the small smirk Paige held, now using her fingers to draw small circles on your thigh.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy like this Paige," you reached your right hand over to the bar top, desperate to take another hit of your pen to ease the influx of horny thoughts running through your mind.

Before you could bring the vape up to your mouth, Paige grabbed your waist and pulled you into her, and despite her sitting position, you still only had a good two inches over her.

"You're not gonna share baby?" Her teasing eyes gleamed up at you as she licked her lips in anticipation.

You immediately knew what she meant by that, the two of you doing it all the time whenever you're smoking or vaping together (let's be frl, they're college students, it's NORMAL).

You smirked at her suggestion, leaning into her before taking a deep inhale of the weed, allowing as much of the smoke to enter your lungs as possible before using your left hand to grab Paige's jaw, pressing your open lips against hers to shotgun the smoke into her mouth.

You didn't even wait to finish exhaling all of the smoke and taking another breath before enveloping Paige's lips into yours hungrily, eagerily gripping her waist with the hand still holding the vape.

You kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as you slipped your tongue into her mouth, the mixture of the rum and coke she was drinking earlier and the earthy taste of weed making your head spin.

You continued to make out for a few minutes, gently pulling away while tugging her bottom lip with your teeth, gazing down at her closed eyes and blissful expression.

"You finally ready to go home P?" You teased, licking your swollen lips at her finally needy expression.

"We're getting the fuck out of here, right now," she rushed out, flagging down the bartender to pay off her tab and the second she got her credit card in hand, interlocked her fingers with yours to drag you out of the bar.

Completely unbeknownst to the two of you, KK and her live had been at the table diagonal to you the whole time, and while her body covered the two of you behind her while sitting, the only shield you had quickly disappeared when she stood up, leaning over the table to steal some of Ice's food when it had been set down, completely exposing you to her two thousand viewers, who were no doubt screen-recording.

The camera clearly caught your lips against Paige's blowing smoke into her mouth before leaning in to kiss her, and despite the two of you being on screen for less than a minute, it was enough to cause an internet commotion.

KK's eyes scanned over the comments as she sat back down, blocking your frames as she shoved a few fries in her mouth. Her eyes widened at the sudden influx of comments about you and Paige, leaning in to figure out what was going on.

"I, what? There's no way y'all," she whispered to the table of Nika, Ice, Carol, and Jana. Aubrey leaned in from KK's right side, trying to figure out what had happened.

Covering the camera slightly, KK, and everyone else, turned around to witness you and Paige's little makeout session ending and the flirty whispers exchanged.

"Unfortunately tonight's live is gonna have to end here girly pops, and if you think you saw something, no you didn't!" KK exclaimed as she quickly turned off the live, the table erupting with laughter at the situation. The whole team had placed bets on how long it would take you and Paige to fumble, and half of them had just lost a hundred dollars at your shennagains.

The walk back to Paige's apartment was brief, filled with flirty touches and short pecks to tide the two of you over until you finally entered home, Paige immediately pushing you up against the front door, moving her lips down your neck and around your collarbones with gentle grazes of her teeth and soothing licks.

"P please, stop teasing," you breathed out, grasping Paige's hair tightly from her scalp with your hand, pulling her face up to yours to gaze down at her with a pleading expression.

"Aw, my poor baby," she cooed, mocking your horny desperation for her, but thankfully Paige wasn't that cruel.

She led you over to her bedroom, slamming her bedroom door behind her as she pulled your shirt over your head, unfastening the bra clipped behind your back all while reconnecting your lips as she laid you down onto the bed.

You moaned into her mouth as her long fingers bunched your skirt up by your waist, rubbing gentle circles on your clit through your panties.

Before you even had the chance to ask for more, she slid the fabric to the side, running her fingers through your slick before inserting two of her fingers, curling them up into you as you let go of her lips to throw your head back, moaning loudly at her ministrations.

"Oh my god Paige, right there baby, fuck," your leg wrapped around her waist tightly as you clenched around her fingers, bucking your hips up to match her movements. Your hands making their way around her neck and back, pressing her body firmly up against yours.

Normally you wouldn't be so close to finishing within a few minutes, but the weed from earlier created a delirious fog that clouded your brain and with the way Paige's fingers were both pressing into your g-spot and rubbing your clit, your orgasm was quickly approaching.

"Fuck I'm so close P, please just need a little more," you whimpered into her ear, moving your lips down to nip at the sweet spot under her ear.

Her other hand responded quickly to your begs, twisting and tugging firmly at your nipple as she mindlessly muttered every dirty thought that crossed her mind, knowing how deeply her praises affected you.

"Doing so good for me ma, always such a good girl. You gonna be my good girl and come for me? Just let go for me baby."

Her words were the final thing to push you over the edge, the tight coil in your stomach snapping as you immediately arched your back into Paige, an endless string of moans and curses falling from your mouth as you let your orgasm wash over you fully.

"God Paige, I don't think I can even feel my legs right now," you giggled in her embrace as she slowly eased her fingers out of you, sucking the remnants of your orgasm off them before wrapping them around your waist, laying you over her as she laid onto her back.

"Hm, fucked you that good huh?" She smirked, using her clean(ish) hand to brush the slightly sweaty strands of hair that had fallen in front of your flushed face.

"I don't know why you're getting so cocky Bueckers, haven't even had my turn with you yet," you teased, running your fingers over her stomach, tugging at the remaining fabric on her body.

"Thought you just said you can't even feel your legs?"

"Good thing I don't need them to fuck you then yeah? Don't you think my fingers and mouth will be enough for you P," you retorted, shuffling your body down the mattress so you could finally have your way with Paige.

9:13 am

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monarchberrysblog · 1 month

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UNDER THE STARS ⋆⭒

⋆｡°✩ part two to: NOTHING BUT TROUBLE

credit to: @mar_marOu on Instagram & @/marmarOu on X and Tumblr!

✭ 🔞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✭

✭ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: sometimes, a hero and a vigilante need a break from the hectic city environment.

✭ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃. miguel and the reader are in an established relationship, brief mentions of kleptomania, exhibitionism (both of y'all literally don't give a fuck but seriously, don’t do freaky stuff outside), cumplay (?), cum eatting (we are going there too), uncircumcised peepee 🤭, hard? dom! miguel, assertive behavior from the reader, cunnilingus (f! receiving), unprotected p-in-v (please go to your local planned parenthood to educate yourself), and heavy breeding kink. (he scrambles your eggs 😝)

✭ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: +1.6k words 🤭

✭ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Nothing But Trouble blew up overnight! thank you for your undying support! it means a lot to me 😭 if there are errors, i do apologize, it's been a month since I looked at this. I'm slowly getting back in the groove.

here’s to my followers! y’all live in my basement now 🐈‍⬛ 🩵

The low clouds in Nueva York cascaded onto the ground, creating a murky environment in now empty streets. It was a quiet night, even for Nueva York. Within the apartment buildings of the hustling city, many were home, sheltered away from the smog air. Some were fast asleep in bed with their blankets, and others were cooking a warm meal for the evening. But for you, you were dragged out of your soft, cozy bed past the window edge decorated with many potted plants and small trinkets. You were now climbing the fire escape, wearing your pajamas and a simple black sweater.

The cat dragged you out into the cold environment, away from your warm, cozy bed. You yawned as you climbed up, swiftly up the fire escape, feeling the now wet bars against the palm of your hand.

The memory of seeing a text message from Miguel immediately came to mind when your slipper fell off your foot, causing you to shoot a web at it to retreat.

The "I want to see you real quick" text meant nothing but trouble from him. He was always up to no good, leaving a little mess behind, like a cat playing with a ball of yawn, only for the poor creature to be tangled in its consequence with big, teary eyes.

Nonetheless, you continued your climb up, finally reaching the rooftop.

The cold air nipped at your skin, piercing its cold air needles through your sweater and pajamas. Bringing your hands close to your mouth, you exhale warmly to your freezing digits, rubbing your hands, seeking friction to warm your dead, lifeless fingers temporarily.

You stand idly, waiting for his arrival.

A puff of smoke escaped your lips while you yearned for your return to your warm bed and away from the cold weather. Then, your vision darkened. A pair of large hands shield your eyes from the skyscraper lights of Nueva York. "Miguel!" You squeaked, reached to grasp his hands, and forcefully attempted to pull them away from your face. "Seems like you're happy to see me." He croons against the shell of your ear. His voice vibrates against your eardrums, reverberating down to your core. "Tell me why you're here...!" You finally pull his hands away from your eyes and turn around to see him.

"I can't see my favorite person in the whole wide world?"

"No, no, you can't."

"Ouch, I'm hurt." He feigns pain, placing a hand against his "aching" chest cavity. You chuckle, delivering a punch against his shoulder, and sigh. "Really, why are you here?" He chuckles at the question, his palm rubbing away the aching punch that blossomed under his skin. "I have something for you-"

"Did you steal it?"

He frowns at the question. Sure, it was a given that he tended to snatch the next shiny thing in sight, but this time, it was... different.

"No...!" He hisses. "I bought it with my own money." He reaches down to his toolbelt and grabs a drawbag. He opens the tiny draw bag and retrieves a small royal blue box. "It's for you." He tosses the box to you. The little box jumps around your hands before it settles down on your palm. "I hope you like it." He huffs a bit of his cheeks while watching closely.

Your hands move independently, opening the tiny container. The velvet plush container revealed a heart-shaped necklace; the midnight blue stone glistened in the moonlight, shining independently. "Miguel...?"

"Now, don't get sappy on me." He scoffs, displaying a frown. Behind the frown, a smile waits to be displayed. He browsed at multiple boutiques, hoping to find something that was meant to be for you. Something that stood out from the rest. Simple, but it was made for you. "You got this for me?" You pout and soon retrieve the necklace from the velvet box.

"Do you like it?" The question felt boyish, even for him. But it was such a cute action coming from him.

"Yes! Oh my god! Help me put it on!" You bounced on the balls of your feet, ready to be climbing on the walls. "Put it on me, put it on me!" You repeat the phrase as a mantra, handing him the necklace to help you put it on. His frown breaks as he chuckles and assists you put the necklace on. "Do you like it-" He repeats and immediately gets jumped into an unsuspecting embrace. "Stop asking the question! Yes, I love it!" Your laughter fills the space as Miguel's hands work to get a proper hold of your bottom. Your laughter filled the space before the slowly descended to soft giggles and sighs.

His nose nudges against the tip of your nose, slowly creating a gap of silence between you. "Hi..." you whisper, nudging your nose against his. "Hey, " he croons as he nuzzles closer, planting a gentle kiss against your lips, molding your lips perfectly. You hum at the contact and enable the soft kiss. His fingers dig into the plush of your bottom as his claws sink deep into your skin.

Soft suckles and sighs fill your personal bubbles before pinning you down against the ledge. Your hands grasp Miguel's bicep before his chuckle greets your ears. "C'mere..." His hands move to hold onto your hips and drag you closer to his hips, rubbing himself against you at a slow, agonizing pace. "Even when it's cold out, you are warm."

You turn to look down, seeing the hustle and bustle of the streets, the lights looking nothing but a speck of light. "No one is gonna see us." He hums before he nuzzles his way to the crook of your neck, slowly placing soft kisses and trailing them back to your lips.

"Are you sure?" You push the question and lean closer to the soft butterfly kisses against your skin. "It's dark, no one is going to see." He rubs his straining member against your aching core, fluttering and waiting to be penetrated. His hands tug away at your sleep shorts, desperate to cease them off your body.

The thin line of arousal builds up against the gusset of your underwear, the slick, clear arousal clinging against your folds. "Let me get a taste." He pulls away the gusset, his fingers feeling the warmth and heat against his digits. "Look at that; you were already preparing for me..."

He kisses his way down to your core, almost moaning at the scent. You were his catnip, the temptation luring him to you, to roll his tongue at the liquid, sticky ecstasy, to drown in it.

His nose budgets against your clit as his tongue laps at your entrance, collecting the taste. The cold air, accompanying his warm breath, nipped at you as your walls clenched around nothing. You are opened up to him like a blooming flower, exposing more of your now sensitive clit. “You are too sweet…” His voice is muffled thanks to his tongue licking your entrance from the bottom to the top.

Your eyes shoot open when you feel his middle finger linger at your entrance, tracing the opening slowly. Your breathing catches you, also as if you were sprinting in a marathon. He pulls away from the intimate kiss from your lips, his lips coated in your mess. "C'mon… let everyone hear you." He purrs and pushes two fingers in, feeling you clench against his digits. "Easy there, quierida." He keeps at a steady pace, immediately hearing the wet slaps. "There we go, there we go..."

The small whimpers evolved into full moans, your moans only audible to him but immediately drowned out by the sound of honking cars and noises in every other corner of the gloomy city's lively life. "Let me hear you, let me hear..." He slurps the sticky discharge before he is immediately shoved into you by your hands. You wailed out, squirming about before he pinned you down. "Open your mouth, now." His demands muffled, not daring to move away from your puffy folds.

You did as he said and screamed out an orgasm, nearly waterboarding him. He pulls away from your puffy folds and is wholly doused. You croak out a noise, ready to say something, but get stopped. “Just keep your mouth open.” He pulls down the zipper of his suit before he frees the strained tent between his legs.

Not earning a warning on time, he spits into your mouth, giving you a taste of your cum. The strong tangy taste and substance stayed in your mouth as you kept your mouth shut in shock. "Swallow it." He heaves before he reaches down between the two of you and lazily pumps his aching cock. You reach down and pull back at the foreskin gently, allowing to see the mauve tip peek out from the extra skin.

You grab his cock, pulling him close to you and pushing him into you. He groans softly at the sensation as he rocks himself in and out of you.

You swallow your cum and bounce on him, following his lead and feeling the familiar pressure between his tip and G-spot. You flutter against his length, trying to create a consistent rhythm, but the rhythm comes out staggered and messy. "You've been working on your kegals? You little slut." He hisses while pushing you down on the ledge.

"You're getting there. I can feel it." Strands of hair begin to stick to his forehead, and sweat soon drips down onto you, landing on your blouse and occasionally on your face. "Together now, you can do it. Hold it, " he demands as the pace increases. You look over at him, mouth agape and eyes pleading. Your hands grasp his exposed bicep, fingernails leaving crescent indents and red streaks.

"No, I know what you're thinking. Not yet." You pull him close, feeling your lower stomach bubble like a witch's cauldron. He leans down, planting you a harsh kiss, his tongue creeping its way to yours. You eagerly oblige, still tasting yourself on his tongue. "Now, go ahead." He rasps, rubbing his thumb against your clit. With one final thrust, you splash the two of you, your mess landing on the floor beneath the two of you.

"There you go, I'm so proud of you." He leans in to kiss your temple and nuzzles close. He slowly pulls out and looks at your pully walls. Not even a moment later, his cum spills out of you, dribbling down past your swelling folds. "Hold on, nena." His fingers gather his cum and push his cum back into you slowly.

He pulls his fingers out, residue lingering on his fingers before he licks the mess off.

"Don't waste a drop."

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rhaenyratargcryen · 2 months

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i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment.

This man will not take a fucking hint.

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one.

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him.

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.”

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom.

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is.

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers.

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go.

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work.

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes.

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own.

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight.

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me.

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent.

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further. “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation.

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up.

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel.

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure.

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face.

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck.

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat.

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care.

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there.

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

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tonixe · 10 months

Text

goverment hooker..

a/n: I'm back again, there is no surprise. I'm feeling devious so I might post again, wowzers. Also, the sped-up version of the government hooker sound so fire, like it feels like I'm in one of those edits, anyways lemme stop rambling. I hope y'all enjoy, reblogs, and comments will be also appreciated.

warning: smut, penetrating, p in the v, unprotected sex, creampies. proofread (?)

pairing: Young!Coriolanus Snow x reader

word counter: 1.4k

What appeals to you to most men, maybe it was your cute antics, your siren eyes that attracted anyone toward you, or your body, sculpted with your delicate curves, and a perky bosom to match the appeal of your young face that can lull a man to sleep.

Or was it how you talked, deliberately making a slur of your words, with your ribboning voice, that can make anyone feel safe and warm with you. You fooled some powerful men, their hearts were already tainted and covered in greed, easy to control someone with their needs. You were in command of it, you made them your pawn, you played the cards, and made a charade of it.

Every time you talked or did anything, you automatically moved your chess piece forward never back. But..what were you doing in a low district as a 'prestigious' woman like yourself, doing in the slum like this. Well, these 'slums' they would call, these 'desperate streets' were your home, even though you won't admit with your own mouth, your words, it still was your home...

Trying to lift yourself from the slums called your homes, to a place where it is much safer than here, maybe to Capitol, but you would need a ticket in. They wouldn't allow just anyone, would they?

But here you were standing in a speakeasy, in a tight little red dress, with a lacey red lining. It was odd to see polished women like you in a bar in District 12, you looked like you were for the Capitol, but all things you see and hear aren't what it seemed. Drinking up on the cheap liquor they offered, looking at the scene in front of you with the happy and dancing couples on the floor, as live music played. The 'Covey' they called them, and the main star, Lucy Gray. Staring at the stage, as she sang into the mic, playing her guitar.

She was familiar to you, the only reference you saw was when she was fighting in the Hunger Games, it was a surprise seeing her still living, breathing, and standing up there, but needless to say, she was still good at what she did. You waving your body to the relaxing music, fixing yourself on the stool, swaying to the music. "What is a lady like you sitting in here" You turned your head to the gentleman talking to you, staring at him.

"I'm just sitting here, enjoying the show," You said, taking a sip of the alcoholic liquid, "How about you" you tilt your head to the side.

"Just enjoying my show" He gestured to your form, and you giggled at his compliment as he sat on the stool beside you. You really got to see the man that was next to you. He had a handsome face and a chiseled face, he wore a blue open-collar shirt and a blondish-white buzz cut, He seemed like one of those Peacekeepers lurking around the district. "Do you do this every girl you see?" You were amused by the blonde man who sat beside you. You wouldn't lie that he was indeed attractive in your eyes. Scanning his frame, his body, his face. "Not to every woman, but to the ones that look beautiful like you my dear" You couldn't help to smile at him, "━And your not bad-looking as well" You admitted, crossing your legs together. As you deliberately lean towards him, revealing a white lacey bra.

Pouting your lips together, "An attractive man indeed" giving him a sultry look, with your eyelids drooping down slightly. "So, what is your name, handsome" You took a sip from your drink, "Coriolanus.." He took your hand and kissed it, "Y/N" you smirked taking your hand gently away from him,

"Should we..take our business elsewhere for a private scene?" You whispered into his ear with a suggested look on your face.

Your hands were with his as you walked in the night street, your body already feeling hot. "Where are we going?" He was amused with your antics, as you batted your eyes at him, "A place, special" you gave him a smirk, your heels clicking down on the wet cement road. A neon sign coming into view, a little motel still opened near the bar. As you opened the door, walking down the lobby of the motel, the clerk managing the reception, "A room for one" The clerk nodded his head, and gave you the keys, "room 9" He said, as you walked away with his hand with yours. Your hips sway sensually, your heels stepping into the room and opening it.

Turning yourself on your heels, stepping closer to the man, "So..what are we going to do?" You pouted, your eyes dilating feeling the feeling of being aroused.

Feeling his hands on your lower bottom, as you hoof your legs around his hips, wrapping your arms around his neck, as you both leaned into a kiss, feeling his hands groping your body. Feeling him moving, as he withdrew from you, your chest heaving. "You do know how to make a man crazy, don't you" He groaned, Feeling him putting your body onto the bed gently,

His body touching you recklessly, his hands going under your dress, slowly taking off your red lacey panties, discarding it on the floor. Biting your lip down in excitement, crossing your legs together covering yourself. Staring at him, taking off his pants and his boxers, feeling yourself getting aroused, as your cunt pulsed.

As his dick sunk into you, the pain writhing through your body, feeling the pain in your lower abdomen. Feeling your cheeks getting flushed, as you groaned in pain. His hips push into you, slowly before increasing his pace.

The bed rocked with your back on the bed, your skirt flipped and your legs being held up with his arms. Your sinful moans came out of your lips, his cock splitting your open, as you bit your lip down. His hands massaging your waist down, "F-fuck" stuttering out of your lips, your lipstick already messed up, smeared on your cheeks.

Your skin felt sticky, your lacey dress sticking onto your skin. "C-corio—" You were cut off from his hips smacking into your pelvis, your hands gripping on the sheet, holding down for support, leaning back in pleasure and relief, feeling a rush of pleasure.

Your slick lubricating his dick, makes him slip inside you easier. Your face burning up, fixing your legs on his around his waist. Your cunt clenching down around him making him groan in your ear. Feeling lips and your crashing into each other, into a hungry kiss. His tongue abused your mouth, making you moan against him, before you withdrew for air, your chest heaving, up and down.

Feeling his cock reaching to your cervix, "Hmm" You whined, your eyelids getting droopy in the process, feeling his slender fingers rubbing the nub of your clit, your legs wrapping around his waist tighter, "Corio, I'm sensitive" You whined, his hips grinding onto yours, with his unrelenting pace, arching your back. His hands on your hips tilting up, plummeting into you.

"Don't be greedy, darling" He asserted, harshly rubbing on your clit, making you scream in bliss. His body leaning toward you, his dick still throbbing inside of you, making you go crazy. His mouth sucked onto your flesh, as the blooming mark left your neck.

Your body getting overstimulated, as your body trembled, skin prickling and your cunt dripping out.

Feeling a wave crashing down on you, clenching down around his cock. The pace of his hips getting slower, feeling his hands on your waist, gripping down making you wince. "I'm close" He groaned into your ear. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs, "Inside" you mewled, feeling his hips stuttering against yours. His dick pulsed inside of you, as he thrust into you one more last time, painting your walls white, as your cunt fluttered around him. Your body feeling tired.

Falling down on the bed. Feeling his warm essence leaking out of you, feeling himself still inside you. "Don't leave...please" You whimpered, feeling his soft lips on your lips, before he withdrew, looking at him, pursing your lips gently. His hands lift your chin up, "I have to.." He looked at your lips, scanning your face. Taking your appearance from your smeared lipstick to your ruined makeup, before he drew you into another kiss, a longer, more passionate one. For the first time feeling your heart swell with a man you slept with once at a bar, "Please.." you said, breathlessly.

"I'll be back" he gently traced the shape of your lips with his finger, his voice was tender to your ears, lulling you to an endless abyss. As drowsiness took over your body, your eyes shut and closed.

#coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #tbosbas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #president snow x reader #president snow #coryo snow #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas movie #tbosas #tbosas x you #tbosas imagine #hunger games x reader

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darylssunshine · 3 months

Text

Ride a Cowboy

genre: almost smut but like technically not

non-apocalypse au

can be imagined as any era!

word count: 1.4k

summary: Daryl has fun with you on a bar date.

Glasses clinking and joyous conversation filled the air of the club while you eyed Daryl down his fourth shot of vodka, barely grimacing as it went down his throat.

“How can you do that? I've only had two shots and my mouth tastes literally disgusting right now.” You chuckled at the tolerance of your boyfriend, sipping your sweet tea to get the taste out of your mouth.

“Years of practice, sweetheart.” He retorted, leaning his elbows on the bar in front of him and flicking a piece of hair out of his eyes.

Daryl had been wanting to take you on a date for a while, and it was his choice for the location this time. So, of course, you and him had ended up at a southern style club a couple miles into town. It was very old-fashioned, with all wooden furniture and brick walls, adorned with framed photos of the owners, along with iconic landmarks of the surrounding area. The lights, however, were colorful and energetic, flashing along with the beat of the music at times. The bar area took up half of the building, while the other half housed a mechanical bull that was currently inactive.

With your attire being black skinny jeans, a band tank, and a black cowboy hat you stole from Daryl, the regulars could tell that this wasn't your scene. Juxtaposed with Daryl's rugged dark red flannel that fit his biceps just right thrown over a v-neck and blue jeans, you two were a sight to see.

You were broken out of your thoughts by a man over by the bull with a microphone, his voice loud enough to be heard over Low blaring over the speakers. You snapped your head over to his direction, your boyfriend's head moving slightly slower than yours.

“Alright, y'all! Bessie over here is finally up ‘n runnin’ and ready for a ridin'! Any of you folks wanna give ‘er a ride? Show ‘er a good time?” The man in the beige cowboy hat gave a wink and a few women sitting at surrounding tables shouted and whistled.

“Oh my God, Dar, can we? Please??” You gasped, eyes gradually lighting up as you shook his bicep, signaling your excitement.

He chuckled in response. “(Y/N). Really? Ya wanna ride the bull?”

“Yeah it'll be fun!!”

A raised eyebrow was all you got in response.

“If you do it with me, I'll pay for your tab.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled lightly. He then suddenly downed his fifth shot and placed it down on the bar harshly. “Aight. Fuck it. Le’s go.”

You immediately beamed and jumped off your barstool and basically pulled Daryl off of his, stumbling slightly from inebriation and the sudden incoordination. Daryl could only kind of keep up with the pace of your speed walking.

“Us! Us! We will!” You shouted, dodging a few groups of casually dancing club goers.

“Oh, we've got some volunteers!” A few patrons that were paying attention whooped and applauded your bravery. “Step right up!” He announced, motioning to an opening in the inflatable, cushiony material that surrounded the bull to avoid injury. “You better hold on, little lady.” the announcer said quietly to you, followed by a wink. You smiled and rolled your eyes while walking across the inflatable floor to the bull.

The bull was slightly elevated, so you were having trouble mounting it, and Daryl could tell. He let you try and struggle for a few moments before lifting you by the waist and placing you on the bull, the sudden gesture causing you to giggle and grip one of the bulls ears for balance. You felt the bull jostle and then settle, signaling that Daryl had hopped on behind you. You blushed at the feeling of his hands holding your hips.

“Y’all ready?!” The announcer shouted, talking to you and Daryl, but also everyone else in the bar, including the small crowd that surrounded the bull. You grinned and gave a thumbs up in the announcer's direction. “Alright! Hold on, you two!”

The bull then whirred to life and rose a couple inches higher than it already was. You kept both hands secured to it’s ears in front of you, thanking whatever deity that was listening that Daryl had agreed to go on with you.

Then, it began to move.

Startled, you gasped and moved your hands to the handle in front of you for more balance. You slowly got used to the up and down diagonal movement, even taking one of your hands off the handle to raise it above your head, only to return it a couple seconds on a particularly deep downward slope. Meanwhile, Daryl was calm, barely reacting to the movement at all, instead choosing to keep his hands firmly planted on your waist to ensure your security. He softly chuckled in your ear at your inexperience.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure ya don’t fall off.”

You felt your blush grow impossibly bigger. What does that mean?

He started by stealing back his hat, placing it on his head and returning his hand to your shoulder and squeezing it. His hand then snaked to your throat, engulfing it with his large fingers and making your head lean back. Your eyes widened and your breath hitched.

“Dar we’re… we’re in public.”

He bit your ear lobe in retaliation. “Ya think I care?” Your airflow was then slightly restricted, and you sighed in pleasure.

“Yeah. Ya like it, ya dirty little slut.”

He then took a hold of your hair and pulled, continuing to leave your neck exposed, and cockily put the other hand in the air. Your eyes had closed and your hands had migrated to his knees.

The patrons surrounding the bull cheered and whooped at Daryl’s action, a few women squealing.

“Everyone's gonna know who ya belong to.”

Your head was then tugged to the side and his lips were hungrily latched to your neck, sucking hard and adding a good amount of teeth so that when he pulled away, there was a decent sized purple mark left in its wake, growing deeper by the minute. You let a small moan escape your lips and Daryl huffed.

He then had an idea.

The brunette let you and the crowd calm down a bit, riding the bucking bronco how it was intended. He waited until the bull moved diagonally downward, then he strategically flung himself to the front of the bull and moved his legs on top of yours, earning another cheer from the crowd. You, on the other hand, were absolutely stunned, staring at him with your mouth agape. Your heart was going a million miles a minute, and he could tell. He loved it.

“Wha’d I say, darlin’? Years of practice.”

The sporadic thrusts of the bull now had a new intensity to them, Daryl’s bulge clearly being felt through your thin jeans. You steadied yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders and looking at him with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. Daryl smirked, leaned down to your ear, and grumbled, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Thought ya was worried ‘bout bein’ in public.” He bit your cartilage for extra measure and continued to smirk down at you, proud of the needy little fuck doll his actions have created.

Daryl’s lustful gaze along with the thrusts of the bull and the cheers of the bull were all too much to handle, so you shamelessly latched your lips with his with intensity, something that he gladly returned. Both of you barely even registered the roar of the crowd while your hands were tangled in his hair and his hands firmly held your torso.

Right after Daryl had drunkenly and fervently introduced tongue into the mix and was already winning the battle of dominance, an especially quick jolt of the bull had you falling off the side. You tried to stabilize yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders again, but that just caused him to fall as well, ironically, right on top of you.

You both gazed at each other longingly for a few moments before finally registering your surroundings. He stood up first and held out a hand to help you stand as well. The crowd was wild, some of them waving their cowboy hats in the air in excitement. Daryl snicked. He wrapped a heavy arm around your shoulders and used his other hand to take his hat off and return it to your head. Almost like he was showing off a shiny gold trophy that he had just won for his performance.

The announcer beamed. “Holy shit! We haven’t seen that level of ridin’ in a while, literally.”

Daryl looked over at you and winked.

You and him will definitely be returning soon.

#daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #drunk daryl dixon #im keeping the small and helpless trope alive im SORRY #he's the reason i now find cowboys attractive #this was solely inspired by a tiktok i saw

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simpforrooster · 1 year

Text

heard it all.

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x f!Reader

summary: reader vents to mav and penny about her feelings for a certain mustached fighter pilot. a/n: my take on a request from @kpopgirlbtssvt. i latched on to one part of the request and took off. i hope you still like it!

"What's going on in that head of yours?" the low voice of Maverick pulls you from your thoughts.

"Hmm, I don't know what you're talking about," you reply, continuing on without another thought.

"You've been wiping down that same spot of the bar for ten minutes."

Maverick and Penny, your boss, exchange a knowing glance. You look at the rag in the hand as if seeing it for the first time.

"I think it's plenty clean, y/n," Penny comments, winking at Mav.

Placing a hand on your hip, you stare the two of them down. "What are you two silently saying to one another?"

Penny shrugs a shoulder. "Oh nothing." You can see it in her eyes though. She knows exactly what has your brain all a-mush.

More like who.

Bradley Bradshaw.

The Hawaiian shirt wearing aviator.

The hot Hawaiian shirt wearing aviator.

He captured your heart the first day you met him. Sure, his looks were what drew you to him initially. But he was so nice. Like green flags all around.

You shake your head at the two people who have become a pseudo family to you. Tossing the rag onto the counter, a sigh escapes your mouth.

"Y'all just give it up. We're just friends." Your voice breaks on the word friends, and your eyes squeeze shut to hide your embarrassment.

"Come on," Penny starts.

Holding up a hand, you stop her. "Penny, please. It already hurts enough. He's the nicest, sweetest guy I've ever met."

Your chest heaves as you breath through your emotions.

"I have never met another man like him. He makes me feel seen. He makes me feel beautiful."

Maverick makes a move like he is going to say something, but Penny lays a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"And as if the silly little age difference isn't enough, he only sees me like a sister." A tear falls along your cheek, surprising you. Of course, you've grieved the non-relationship before. It isn't out of the norm to sob into your wine glass with Phoenix.

It's the first time you've ever cried in front of Penny and Mav.

The sound of a clearing throat has your spinning around.

Rooster looks at you, his brows knit together. You can't read the look on his face, but it can't be good. It tells you everything you need to know.

He heard it all.

And he doesn't feel the same.

Reaching up to sloppily wipe your tears, you tried to step around him, mumbling something so incoherent you can't decipher the words.

Rooster's strong arms reach out and stop you in your tracks.

"I can promise you I do not see you as a sister," he says, his voice low.

Not that you try, but words refuse to come out your mouth. How could they? The way he's staring at you has your heart beating in overdrive.

"Did you really mean all that?" he asks. His eyes roam over your face, searching for something. It takes you a second to realize he looks a little scared.

Scared of being rejected.

Bradley doesn't like you back. There's no way. He's had plenty of opportunities to make a move and hasn't.

He takes one step closer to you, the soles of your shoes meeting.

"Of course, Bradley." The sentence comes out barely a whisper, but he heard it. His hand snakes around your neck and settles into your hair. "Why wouldn't I be madly in love with you?"

A delicious groan escapes from his mouth before he closes the space between you. His lips meet yours and suddenly the Earth moves beneath your feet as the planets snap into alignment.

Bradley's lips are finally on yours, and it feels every bit as right as you imagined.

He pulls back so his mouth is feather light against yours. "Sweetheart, I am wildly in love with you." The words fall on your ears in soft whispers. Your eyes fall closed to relish in the way all this feels.

Bradley brings his mouth back to yours, pulling you tight against him. Your height difference has never been more apparant that right this second.

"Okay, okay, get a room," Maverick calls, followed by a, "Oof," as Penny's arm comes into contact with his solid stomach.

masterlist.

a/n: i hope y'all enjoy this one! i've been struggling with a little bit of writer's block.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw #bradleybradshaw #bradley x reader

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knightofthesevenfandoms · 1 year

Text

Bee fell first, Gabe fell harder

I've seen it described the other way around, but I really believe this is how it happened.

Okay, so.

Bee fell first.

That first meeting, at the bar in Russia (?)

Gabe seems annoyed to be there. He's disinterested, doesn't know why he's there.

I don't think either is particularly interested in the other at this point. But it DOES start here. Well, it builds on something that happened at the airbase. Gabe realizes he has an equal who understands the frustration of being held accountable for all of Heaven, and so does Bee, with Hell. It's a strange feeling of camaraderie neither of them has felt before. Which is why Gabe gets flustered by the "Arma-bloody-gedon" and starts to joke about it. And Bee NOTICEABLY perks up when he's being a goofball about it.

Gabe then quickly shuts it down, with the "pity we'll never speak again." I think he's genuinely saying that. It's a shame he won't feel that camaraderie again, since obviously the war is still going to happen. Or so they both believe.

The next meeting. This was a HUGE jump. They went from "we're ready for Armageddon 2.0" to "how about no" in one meeting. Obviously we're given to assume that more meetings than we've seen have taken place. Gabe shows up at the bar and launches into his plan of no Armageddon. I think at this point he's intrigued by the way he feels when he's with them and if the war happens, he doesn't get to explore that more. Bee, on the other hand, is GONE for him at this point. The way they EAT UP his no-Armageddon plan immediately, and the way they're smiling at him?!

AND. The most important bit. When they explain the music to him. They do it SO GENTLY. Bee, the demon who's usually yelling, usually insulting everyone around them. They explain the music to help him understand. And he's receptive to it, maybe not necessarily enjoying the song itself, but enjoying it because Bee likes it. Bee's enjoyment makes him happy.

And the way they look at him when he says that. Head over heels.

I would still argue that at this point, Gabriel is still merely interested in exploring all these new feelings he gets when he's with Bee. He's taking this much slower than Bee. But then he invites them to go look at his statue. Does he understand how vain that is? Probably not, but the fact that he invited them to see something that makes him happy? He took a big step here. Maybe bigger than Bee realizes. This meeting has no pretense, no motive like the previous ones did. Those were "we need to talk about the war" meetings. This one is PURELY for the purpose of meeting up with each other.

And how sad Bee looks when Gabe is talking about how much he enjoys looking at the statue? They want so badly for him to look at them like that, but I don't think they realize that he's almost there.

How could they? They probably have feelings of doubt, of low self worth, because this is the Supreme Archangel Gabriel, they're a demon. He couldn't possibly reciprocate what they're feeling.

Could he?

But then they get their answer, at the pub, with the miracle. This is the angel who frowns upon frivolous miracles, thinks it's a waste of holy energy. He miracles the song to play for them. For no reason other than Bee. To make them happy, to see them smile. And smile they do.

Gabe fell harder

Beelzebub jumped in to their feelings with both feet, but Gabe was more hesitant. He did have a lot more to lose, I'd argue. Bee has already fallen, Gabe probably assumes he could fall for being involved with a demon. Especially since Heaven is probably intensely watching for that after, you know, that other angel and demon. Which is a terrifying prospect, I'd assume, for the angel in charge of everything. And he's vain, he loves himself, loves being righteous, loves the authority of Heaven. So of course he's more hesitant. But he leaves all that behind when he admits to himself that there's something worth more than choosing Heaven.

Y'all. Not only was he ready to fall, he welcomed it. He didn't want to spend another minute in Heaven without Bee. Look at his face when Metatron says he's going to remain an angel. He's SO DONE.

We're lead to believe that falling is the worst thing that can happen to an angel, and Gabriel is willing, no, insistent that he fall.

He wouldn't be falling because of Bee, he'd be falling for Bee.

#ineffable bureaucracy #beelzebub #gabriel #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #long post #analysis

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heyftinally · 4 months

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Y'all are going to like this one.

SWIFTIES DON'T TOUCH THIS POST WITH A TEN FOOT POLE, I SWEAR TO FUCKING HELL-

So my friend sent me this article, and I'm going to tell you why I think it's complete bullshit.

1) wishing us a happy Pride month is the BARE MINIMUM. As someone with her presence in the media and social influence, she could - and should - be doing SO much more than just wishing us a happy pride four days in.

2) "the singer has been an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community" not a good one. She seems to only remember us when it's convenient or benefits her in some way. Case in point:

2018 - "When it comes to feelings and when it comes to love and searching for someone to spend your whole life with. It's all just really really delicate. You know?" Taylor then performed her song "Delicate."

2023 - It’s painful for everyone, every ally, every loved one, every person in these communities.

In the first example, the intentional song reference comes off as extremely tacky. This is people's LIVES you're talking about. People are MURDERED for who they are and who they love (or don't love). This isn't an appropriate time to pull out the "oh-so-quirky" act and be cutesy.

In the second, the fact that she can't even center queer people in their own experience is so, SO telling. I promise, however painful it is for allies, it's 1000x worse for us to LIVE it. Allies don't have to wonder "am I going to get hate crimed wearing this?" before they leave the house - we frequently do. To not acknowledge that shows me that everything she says is performative at best.

3) I wouldn't call what she does "advocacy". She mentions us every now and then when it's convenient for her, profits off of us when we fit her marketing plan, and I've yet to find where she actually apologized for the homophobia in the original version of Picture to Burn. Also, she's real good friends with Travis Kelce's dad, who is a raging transphobe (and I bet his kids are, too). You don't get to call yourself an ally if you willingly allow the people around you to be violent bigots.

4) "always" is a strong word for someone who seems to show her support situationally at best. The full quote was "The way for that to happen is for us to continue to keep pushing governments to put protections in place for members of the LGBTQ community. And I promise to always advocate for that." Yet she doesn't do that.

5) what she speaks out, I've noticed that it's nearly always in the states that primarily agree with her. We don't see a whole lot of her "inspiring ally" speeches in places like Texas or Florida. But I've seen plenty of them come out of already notoriously queer-friendly places. If you aren't willing to face the heat of the difficult places along with the comfort of the easy ones, you don't get to call yourself an ally. Allyship is not easy. Anyone remember when Lady Gaga advocated for us in Russia, under threat of arrest, and her response was "arrest me, Russia! I don't give a fuck!"? Yeah, I've never seen even half that level of true commitment from Taylor.

6) STOP. MAKING. STRAIGHT GIRL SONGS. "GAY ANTHEMS"!!!! FFS it's such a slap in the fucking face of REAL, ACTUALLY QUEER ARTISTS that y'all keep calling these piss pathetic straight girl over produced crap songs "anthems". Fucking stop it. If they aren't queer, they don't qualify to be a queer anthem or icon. Start supporting ACTUAL queer artists with ⅛ this energy, for the love of FUCK. This bullshit pisses me off. Do you need a list of queer artists? I'll make you one by hand if you promise to stop trying to label Raylor Swift's straight girl shit songs as "gay anthems".

7) rainbows and gender subversion are not exclusively nor inherently queer. If that's our bar for "gay anthems", the bar is so low Lucifer himself needs a damn Webb Telescope to just barely see it from hell.

#anti taylor swift #taylor swift critical #anti swifties #swifties dni #SWIFTIES I SWEAR DO NOT TOUCH MY DAMN POST

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chiisana666 · 2 months

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strangers in the night

synopsis: a red-haired captain stumbles into the bar late one night, and out of your bed early the next morning.

warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, shanks x barmaid! Reader, no use of y/n or shanks’ name, yes he has one arm, alcohol consumption, dubcon? (they’re drinking but not trashed), unprotected p in v, brief anal fingering, creampie

wc: 2107

a/n: sorry if this is trash, i have had no motivation to write these past few months. credits for dividers here. hope y'all enjoy <3

“And another for you, sir?” The once-vibrant aura of the bar had long since quelled, mirroring the calm ebs of the bay of which the establishment overlooked. It was half past midnight, and you were multi-tasking between closing duties and entertaining the lingering drunken seamen and women.

The man you were currently occupied with had long since been weaned off alcohol, none the wiser to you substituting the vodka for water; he will thank you in the morning, though. He tosses a couple Berry across the bar top, slurs out a ‘thank you’, and stumbles out into the night. Only one more hour and then you’ll be home, free to tear off the corset that had you cinched for the heavens.

You held out hope that the patrons would disperse sooner rather than later, perhaps you could close a little earlier tonight.

But all faith quickly disappeared, fleeting in rhythm with the hoard of footsteps bounding down the board walk and right to the bar’s doorsteps.

It was a small but rowdy crowd, and a vaguely familiar one too. You had seen a few of their faces before, but never so late and never on such a quiet night. You approach the bunch as they seat themselves at the bar, adorning your best customer service smile despite the evident exhaustion tugging at your eyes.

“Evening,” you start, less chirpy than you typically are, but a sultry undertone remains. You had learned quickly during your time as a bar maid; men are so easy and will lay down all their Berry for you, if you know how to talk to them.

A low whistle rings, courtesy of a man with thick, dreaded lock, and the others do little to hide their satisfaction at the sight of you.

“Good evening, indeed,” Another drawls between puffs of the fat cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. His face and arms are littered in scars and his long gray hair is slicked back from the salty sea air.

They waste not a moment requesting several bottles of sake. As you flitter around scrounging up what remains behind the bar, you can feel a pair of dark eyes training on you.

He is tall, and broad, with a black cloak slung around his shoulders, obscuring his left arm. His crimson hair hangs languidly atop his head and does nothing to hide the three scars carved across his face. He is undoubtedly handsome, definitely higher ranking amongst the many faces you have seen come and go during your time here. In the past, a lucky handful of men and women were blessed to share your bed following a late-night shift. But those were still few and far between, and you could feel a familiar itch start to creep into your core.

They moved to whiskey once they had polished off your remaining supply of sake, and by then you had lost track of time, completely engrossed in their company. You didn’t know their names, didn’t really care to, but they made good conversation.

They rotated in tandem, sharing stories of their adventures in an obvious guise to impress you, the pretty barmaid keeping their glasses full. The red-haired man threw a wink or a lip bite your way whenever your eyes connected. You had seen the desperation that months at sea could bring someone, and typically it was repulsive. But there was something so smooth about this one.

“-until our good ‘ole captain here led us straight into the line of fire!” One of the men howled, slapping the red-haired man across the back so hard that he aspirated on his whiskey, dark eyes bulging from their sockets.

“Captain?” you giggle in genuine surprise. Most of the captains you had come across were egotistical, narcissistic, and made their status known from the moment they enter the establishment. A cheeky smirk tugs at his peachy lips, coupled with another thigh clenching wink. Your heart flutters and you return a coy smile, “I never would have guessed.”

Perhaps it was the liquor, or perhaps you were just that funny, but regardless your quip left the group keeling over in laughter. You tuck a stray hair behind your ear, face flushing you’re your own fits of giggles. You turn to grab an unopened bottle of whiskey, the small clock hanging on the wall behind the bar catching your eye. You gasp, noticing it was almost 3AM; you should have closed an hour ago!

“I’m sorry boys,” you turn back, whiskey bottle in hand and offering an apologetic smile, “But you’ll have to take this one for the road.”

The men groaned in protest, but understood when you nodded towards the clock. The captain plopped a fat pouch full of Berry of the bar, watching as his men filtered while you began collecting their glasses.

A throat cleared from behind, startling you, “Mind if I give you a hand, darling?” He was already bringing over the other glasses left on tables by previous patrons.

“Oh, that is very kind of you Captain but-“

“Please allow me, you must be eager to get home.” And who were you to argue? Although you had enjoyed the time spent with his crew, he was absolutely correct. So you both work silently, him wiping tables and sweeping the floor while you wash and dry all the dirty dishes and refresh the bar for the when it opens again later that day, thankful to be off for the next few days.

He insisted on walking you home, tension blooming with every brush of his right arm against your left, every bump of your hip against his. The dim streetlamps perfectly illuminated your figure, and he could not help but stare, entranced by your beauty. In all his time at sea, with all the women he had crossed paths with, none of them measured to you. None made him feel so weak with a simple smile.

An unusual pang of sadness struck him when you turn down the boardwalk, now in a residential area of your small seaside town, his heart growing heavier as you approach your quaint cottage. For some odd reason, he was dreading this goodbye, dreading to already part with the beautiful stranger he happened to stumble upon in the bar that night.

So he could have not been quicker to blurt out a “yes!” when you invited him in for one more drink.

And one drink turned to two, three, four, any hint of reservation dissipating as the alcohol coursed through your veins and warmed your body. You’re overcome by a new-found boldness, and perhaps that is how you end up straddling the captain, arms lazily slung around his shoulders, fingers curling into crimson hair, lips meshing in sloppy, wet kisses, hips dragging across his.

His toned hand paws at your hip, bunching up the fabrics of your skirts so that your panty-clad cunt can grind against the bulge of his cotton trousers. Deep groans spill from his mouth into yours, tongues prodding at one-another in an intimate wrestle.

A hand awkwardly tugs at the laces of your corset; a string of saliva droops from your lips as you pull away from him, making quick work to undo the garment, moaning at the relief, and carelessly tossing it across the small living area. He follows suit, unsnapping the buttons of his white shirt so it can slip off his shoulders, his black cloak having long since been discarded. Your eyes flicker to the stump of his left arm, a small gasp escaping, absentmindedly reaching to run your fingers over the scarred skin.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it sweetheart,” he mumbles between sloppy kisses to your neck, “is just an arm, m’dick still works perfectly well.”

His lips meet yours again, a twinge of yearning persisting with each wet smack. Your hands trace up and down his bare chest, committing to memory the dips and curves of his impressive abs. He tugs at your thin chemise, pulling it over your head, exposing your pretty tits.

A giggle escapes you as his eyes widen at the sight of your breasts but is stifled by a moan when he takes one nipple in his mouth, expertly circling and flicking at your sensitive bud with his soft tongue, spurring you to grind your wet panties harder onto his groin, undoubtedly leaving a damp spot of his trousers.

Your face down, tits squished into your plush bedding and ass in the air as he ferociously pounds into your weeping cunt. His fat balls smack against your swollen clit with each thrust, obscene squelches echoing off the walls.

Your moans muffle into the pillows, his penetrating the air, shameless groans of oh baby… ohhh fuck… s-so fu-uckin’ good…

A loud smack and a piercing sting of your ass cheek sends shockwaves straight to your core, causing your pussy to clench and spasm around his cock. But it is followed by a soothing rub, kneading your round cheek like dough, and spreading it wide to see your pretty puckered hole.

“Eeeek!” You screech, instinctively pulling away when you feel a fat glob of spit land right on your hole; and he chuckles, thumb circling his saliva around, his brutal thrusts never relenting.

“Easy love, relax f’me…” A few gentle prods and he slips his thick thumb in, easing down the knuckle, massaging your walls; your seeing stars and your trembling thighs about give out beneath you, hips bucking in an uncontrollable convulsion.

“Shit baby… don’t run from me,” he groans, popping his thumb out of your tight asshole and pulling your hips still, the mushroom tip of his cock bullying your cervix. You can feel it coming, toes curling, cunt clenching, eyes rolling as he drives you further up to the crest. And if the wavering of his once steady pace is any indication, he is nearing too.

Your crimson-haired lover falls atop you, sweaty chest molding into the curve of your back, arm reaching under and around your neck, large hand caressing your jaw to turn your head. Puffy lips find yours as his hips falter, fucking into you like a mindless wanton manwhore. His hand reaches down to your mound, ferociously rubbing your sensitive bud.

“Ohhh f-fuckk, right th-there!” You moan into his kisses, pushing your hips back into his, sinking his cock impossibly deeper.

“Yeah? That good darlin’? Mmm,” he pants into your ear with hot breath, dragging his tongue across your cheek and sucking on your sweet lips, “So fuckin’ perfect, fuckin’ obsessed with this pussy.”

The coil in your abdomen winds tighter and tighter with each thrust, each rub of his fingers to your clit, each kiss of his lips, before finally snapping, a screech of ecstasy tumbling from your lips. White-hot heat electrifies your body, fisting the sheets tightly as your eyes roll back and cunt spasms around his dick, sucking him in with violent pulses. You lose yourself as waves of euphoria wash across you, trembling wholly, sending your lover over the edge. His thick cum fills your needy pussy in fat spurts, haphazard thrusts plunging it deeper into your womb before mercifully slowing, slowing, stopping.

You lay there for a moment, finding your ground in reality while the man atop you grows heavier, less conscious of his weight bearing down on you. His hand gently strokes your belly, soft kisses pressing to your shoulder and neck while he too chases his breath.

Eventually, he pulls his softened cock from your achy cunt with a hiss, rolling off and plopping onto the bed next to you. You stretch your legs out behind you with a groan, fully relaxing onto your stomach. A soothing hand reaches over to rub your back, and you finally open your eyes to meet his, vision still slightly blurred. He greets you with a content smile, one you return when he leans over to kiss you once more, far more sensually than before.

“Alright, love?”

“Mm,” the only response you can elicit as you’re overcome by drowsiness, but it is enough for him. You curl into him, feeling a final press of his lips to your forehead before succumbing to sleep.

You are not surprised to wake up to an empty bed, although a part of you hoped he would have stayed. Another part hoped it was just a dream, that the strange yearning for the red-haired captain that your heart and body are overcome by is nothing more than a fabrication of your mind.

Until you see it, a small, torn piece of parchment on your nightstand:

I’ll be back someday.

-Shanks

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #shanks x reader #shanks smut #red haired shanks #red haired shanks x reader

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