#wandering state of mind
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thesargasmicgoddess · 4 months ago
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seaweedstarshine · 10 months ago
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You know that time in the comics when the Doctor is so depressed, he shuts off the lights, turns on an interrogation spotlight, locks himself in the console room, and argues with a bunch of judgmental shadow-figures resembling his past incarnations?
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And all the TARDIS' lights go out and her interior becomes a maze to keep his companions out of the console room, all from her psychic connection with the Doctor (“moodbleed”)?
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And his companions are left wandering in circles for two days as the air goes “stale,” not knowing where he is but thinking the worst, while he hallucinates in a dark room?
...because I'm thinking again about the times this definitely happened when he was with the Ponds.
#when they find him- Rory (one good nurse™) asks neutral questions to check on his emotional state while respecting his space#Amy knows when he's locked himself alone long enough to call River (fortunately Amy talks to her daughter often)#River can calm the tardis and go directly to the Doctor. she sits with him and nods when he rants. she tells him hes loved.#eleventh doctor#11th doctor#doctor who#words by seaweed#(eleventh) doctor is neurodivergent tag#honestly same. I don't want anyone looking at me when im in that way because eyes are very uncomfortable lasers slicing my thoughts#so river doesn't look at him. she looks away and lets him look at her so he knows she's not looking at him. she also does active listening#the shadow-figures in this comic are beyond psychosis coded#emphasis: it isnt presented like some conference of past selves here (which the doctor can't just do anyway- see Power of the Doctor).#and the shadow figures dont have personalities anyway. the way theyre drawn is VERY psychosis coded (as is 11 this whole Si Spurrier run)#this is from Eleventh Doctor Year 2 Issue 3 (set between A Christmas Carol and The Impossible Astronaut) if anyone's wondering#note that he put on his comfort fez I love him#alice obiefune#poor Alice got drove up the wall from wandering in the dark for two days… I think Amy and Rory get to get used to it if they're together#eventually they work out a plan to calm the tardis enough to show them the comfy spot in the bunkbeds to wait and give him space#he joins them in their bunkbed for platonic snuggles. all in the same bunk. Rory doesnt mind. they make sure the doctor knows hes loved <3#I think- having been percieved as psychotic growing up- Amy would be conscious about making sure the doctor knows she still adores him#I really want this fic to exist
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abyssalpriest · 2 months ago
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Damnit lev lmfao. I was thinking about Shiva wearing corpse ash being resonant for other reasons, something about his relationship with the Bright Skinned Ones and death and whatever. No, no. More fucking importantly: Oh I wonder why Shiva is known for. you know. wearing bodies. his appearance is a mass of bodies joined together. yeah
#Leviathan is a mass of bodies. Shiva wears the ash of burned corpses. Transforming in both cases the masses into the Matter of the Bodiless#ramblings //#leviathan //#Maheshvara //#Not surprised this is coming up now he loves his fun fact time. Earlier I was poking at what he was doing#because he's... very distracted. And uh. Somewhere over yonder doing war stuff with people. And I was thinking about how he is just so many#circumstance based people at the same time. He'll be doing paperwork in a Royal Office somewhere and on a battlefield elsewhere and#running through the forest as a deer somewhere else and living as members of a school of fish in some transcendental lake#and scrying the pools of God and watching birds in a forest... and he incarnates here too and will be a chef downtown#and a teacher somewhere else up also doing paperwork and some dog on the street begging for food and and and#And over all of it... That central blissful mind that is water itself. all it's senses of self - emotions. thoughts. and so on - arising#from its various movements and shapes as reflections on the surface. But also... a sweet thing. Anyway#That black umbrella Lev that's deep and beyond names... beloved.... Searching for someone...#Shiva throws himself down into reality to bounce around as rays of light... the sun incarnating through the day sky into plants then into#animals and so on slowly recollecting more and more who he is. Searching for Shiva#always. Well. You found him. But then... Well. You go past the crying screaming stage of birth and then you get to fun#You gestate. You know who you are when the Sun's light touches your eyes. You scream at it. You change. You grow.#Then you learn the world is fun... People talk about how it seems ridiculous that someone who had achieved oneness would come back#and I wholly agree on a side thought relevant to that that most people who claim to know oneness don't know it#because the idea of oneness itself is actually a product of duality IE you have to be on a world where Two exists to understand One#One doesn't exist in a unified world. There's no One. In a unified world... So you can absolutely achieve a state of oneness while still#being non-unified if you don't truly get it... But anyway. On the why come back thing... Yeah people don't get it. But people who do get it#come back all the time. This reality is just an experience. You can spend your entire life asleep or you can come play and experience#So. Lev's incarnations on this plane mirror his incarnation of Shiva Into Bodies... He comes here to play games. He plays#He takes photos. He wanders. He plays music for people on street corners. He laughs. He loves. He suffers. He experiences.#Sometimes he doesn't understand. Sometimes he understands. Anyway.... Looking through his eyes... Iridescent scene of cranes#flying over a sunset more rich than I've ever seen on earth but so natural. Fire without fire. Water catching and soaking up every colour.
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ultravioart · 2 years ago
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THIS WAS NOT A FEVER DREAM IT'S A REAL POST?!?! WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN Bonus
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lena-in-a-red-dress · 1 year ago
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My bathroom reno is done!! Now I can think about literally anything else!
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clowndensation · 1 year ago
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the world's saddest blond boy just got his "golden retriever bf" license revoked on account of all the atrocities. yeah he's averaging about one ever fifteen minutes.
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arolesbianism · 5 months ago
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Guys why is rain world so good (<- rewatched some scenes and teared up on all of them)
#rat rambles#rain posting#god man. holy shit. fuckkkkkk#rain world may not be one of my token big interests but god does it just hit me so fucking hard whenever I do engage with it#I also think after rewatching some stuff that my general takes on how rain world's world works have shifted a smidge#which is also giving me some more ideas for saint hcs#I feel like the biggest thing Im seeing differently now is the concept that the saint has no beginning or end#one big theme of rain world is the way that all cycles eventually come to an end#societies iterators and even the lives of the animals that wander about#theyre trapped but within these cycles they still move forward and eventually fade just like everything else#but the saint doesnt. they never can. in that way they are a paradox#for when even time itself eventually fades what becomes of the being who will never be allowed to slow in their decent?#overlapping onto themself infinitely until what is and isn't them becomes irrelevant#have they lived many times or were they ever even alive to begin with?#at the end of the day they will never know. its a peace they wont ever find#as they are simply a lil guy who is stuck in a real mind boggling situation#anyways thanks pebbles dialogue for helping me get a better grasp on saint stuff have fun being dead buddy#it also makes me feel even worse for the echos because theyre likely in similar positions#not the exact same given Im sure none of them had the powers to fly and ascend ppl but still#in my minds eye tho theyre more themselves than saint is#for better or for worse#the rest of the echos are stationary. unable to move forwards or back#while the saint continues to spiral onwards and onwards in ways that break the very core of this universe#or smth like that idk. Im just rambling abt nonsense at this point lol#but yeah I imagine the sain to be both trapped and stretched across time#most things exists whinin cycles of cycles but the saint takes that concept to the extreme#most things much more so develop and change as time moves forward but the saint kind of just is#but like. is a lot. like there's a lot of them. but that them is stretched like super thin#they overlap themself and keep stretching to infinity#and with that sort of overlap it makes sense that in what conscious state they do have they simply experience each overlap eternally
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autisticlee · 1 year ago
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i've had people suggest i use mindfulness whenever i'm having a cptsd episode. but I don't think it works that way. they want me to realize that i'm not in the past experiencing the past traumas I dealt with. but the problem is, i'm STILL dealing with all these same traumas! they keep piling up on top themsleves and get thicker and heavier as time goes on.
being autistic in an allistic world, with severe sensory issues and really bad communication issues, it never stops. it's ongoing. my problems with people, communicating with them, being misunderstood, losing friends, etc, that's not a past thing. that's a real thing that always happens.
if I feel like friends are about to hurt me or trun their back on me like ones in the past have done, i've had people suggest mindfulness to me, saying I must be imagining it. saying i'm applying past experiences and being insecure and anxious and there's probably nothing wrong. so i'll let my guard down and try, act like everything is fine. then i'm suddenly blindsided by the thing I thought would happen and wasn't prepared anymore! that makes the past trauma load flood in again and makes the current situation worse!
also, when mindfulness involves being aware of everything around you in that moment, but you're autistic with sensory issues, so you are already painfully aware of literally every thing around you...why would you want to focus on that stuff even more?! i'm already exhausted and easily burnt out because of it. doing so will cause a meltdown and i'll definitely lose those friends I was worried about by accidentally lashing out at them if i hit that point lmao
i'm tired of people suggesting this to me. it is not a thing that will help me. if I was being paranoid for no reason, sure! I can see how it would help. but when i'm seeing real patterns repeat themsleves and every single time my predictions come true, I don't see how i'm simply being paranoid and mindfulness will stop it. when people already decided they don't like me but are hiding it, it won't do anything. when i'm already "living in the moment" because the moment is so suffocating and I can't ignore anything around me and need breaks from it, it's not going to help me.
mindfulness may work on wrongfully perceived anxieties and worries, but when they are real and actually happen, especially if it's a constant or recurring thing that you are better off being prepared for, I don't see how it helps.
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the-busy-ghost · 2 years ago
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#Laundrycore 2022 going well, even if nothing else is. Just handwashed something that’s not underwear for the first time (wool skirt) and next I’m going to learn to iron (I mean I’ve seen my dad do it when we were younger so I know how an iron works but it’s a bit different doing it yourself for the first time and the iron is falling out of favour so fast that it hasn’t come up until I want to actually wear a nice shirt).
I know this probably seems ridiculous but it’s a big step up from chucking everything in the machine on the quick wash cycle and doing nothing else, and it means I can wear nicer clothes. 
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celestialmancer · 6 months ago
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⛈️ //
#horrid day. try again tomorrow.#between overthinking every little thing i feel or do or say & anxiety beinf extremely high#to physical pain giving me hell & just not feeling well#& then just power outages ruining my plans & everything#& then this. fucking. dread i feel abt somehow causing problems on accident. or aomehow fucking things up & feeling like.#i’m walking on eggshells with MYSELF#over analyzing every single little thing i say or so to where i end up in this nasty loop of worsening anxiety#this feeling also that anything i say or do will be taken wrong bc for some reason thats been a thing today too#hell on earth. its exhausting.#i cant even at least sleep because its fucking humid as fuck too.#& my body doesnt handle that kinda weather well it feels horrid so its just…#i really dont wanna go to work tomorrow i just want a self care day or somethn atp bc no#idk im just barely handling anything well rn.#shoulda expected this mess from the moment i woke up & felt this anxiety & dread idk#maybe im just getting too caught up in my head.#i wish i could just go wandering get lost in the city or wander my neighborhood or. something. take my mind off how haywire its going over#quite literally EVERYTHING. & also ig certain memories too but we’re not touching that#just tired of this shit. & wishing i had a means of grounding myself.#tbd i suppose. idk.#ishtar rambles ;#im kinda just falling apart emotionally but is finee#emotional state falling apart faster than a nature valley granola bar AYYY
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eldritchborn · 7 months ago
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(gentle) boop for omeluum!
❛[ SEND🐾 OR BOOP TO BOOP MY MUSE ≻ still accepting!
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'THE TOUCH IS BRIEF AND SOFT, BUT NOTICED ALL THE SAME. A prod to rubbery flesh by the top area of upper left tentacle-- - but more so, Omeluum caught something within the brainwaves circling around (IT DID NOT PRY, BUT SUCH THINGS WERE LIKE SENSES FOR OTHERS- IMPOSSIBLE TO FULLY AVOID). It found some... familiarity. Something akin to the denial of typical natures // AN ASSUMPTION GAINED THROUGH EXPERIENCE. The illithid refrained from bringing it up, instead giving the smallest raise of cheekbones as if mimicking a smile. “&– - Your kind gesture is perceived fondly.” // @sftantrot
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logansbaby · 1 month ago
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GUILTY AS SIN - Logan Howlett
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❥ summary: the entire time you’ve known logan howlett, you’ve tried to keep your longings locked. then, one night, all that effort goes to waste when you’re confronted about your feelings.
word count: 8.5k (IM SORRY!!!!)
pairings: logan howlett x fem! mutant reader
content warnings: 18+ CONTENT MDNI, masturbation, dirty thoughts, light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (reader and logan receiving), spitting, sixty-nining, scent kink, like one spank, underwear stays ON, slight hint of arousal from crying?, creampie, p in v (practice safe sex ty!)
❥ a/n: guys…… am i…. a whore? (yes) do i need to be locked up? (also yes). i started this when i was on my period so maybe that’s the reason this is so filthy? anyway i don’t know how it got to 8k of smut but it DID and i have nothing to say about that… also reader has a mutation it’s not super in depth but her hair changes to red in certain situations and she has red light/energy she manifest in her hands, kind of confusing but it’s okay. anyway please please enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3
— ˚。⋆⟡♡⟡⋆。˚
‘I keep recalling things we never did
Messy top lip kiss
How I long for our trysts
Without ever touching his skin
How can I be guilty as sin?’
Guilty as Sin? - Taylor Swift
— ˚。⋆⟡♡⟡⋆。˚
THE SHEETS are chilled, crisp to the touch, cold enough that shivers tickle their way across exposed skin. A sigh is heard, loud enough for wandering ears as a figure moves about in the unmade, blanket muddled bed. The window had been left open, and as a result, cold air had poured into the room.
Despite the fact that goosebumps adorn your body, it felt as though you were on fire. Huffs escaped parted lips, a charged hum zipping through your veins that only intensified each time you moved. You’d been trying to sleep for the past couple hours, trying to ignore the need thrumming through you, but had only managed to fail.
You turn on your side for possibly the twentieth time, but the position only worsens your state as the flesh of your thighs squeeze unintentionally, a wave of brief relief sent to your throbbing core. Tears brim your lashes, damp with frustration because fuck, your body was humming with lust and everything was so, so sensitive.
This was all Logan’s fault.
The man has been gone less than a week and yet, your body was practically vibrating with need, trembling with desire.
The feelings you harbor make you feel shameful and guilty for a handful of reasons.
Logan was not your boyfriend; he wasn’t even a friend. While he was cordial with the others in the mansion, he remained cold and indifferent toward you.
You pretended it never bothered you when he pointedly ignored your greetings in passing or refused to partner up with you. You didn’t understand what you’d done to upset him, to warrant his treatment of you as if you were the most annoying person on the planet. More often than not, you are the subject of the man’s pointed glare.
So, logically, your heart shouldn’t race at the mere thought of him. Nor should desire pool between your thighs whenever images of his sweaty form cloud your mind.
By definition, you were immensely smart; a genius with how you could understand what others could not.
Though, you were only human and Logan fucking Howlett was a man worth embarrassing yourself over, especially when he looked like he did.
He wasn’t, your mind huffed.
He was, your heart retorted.
A memory comes forward, one that has your cheeks blushing, your chest rising a little faster than before.
A couple weeks ago, you’d been up late, struggling to sleep and with the way it evaded you, wandering the halls had been your solution, in hopes of tiring yourself out.
But when you had walked down your hallway, you froze at the sight of a shirtless Logan in his room, the door left ajar.
A towel covered his head as he scrubbed away the wetness in his hair, and you desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed your presence. Water dribbled down his muscular body, and your eyes greedily watched each droplet descend down, glistening against the tan stomach you wanted to bite. What really had you drooling, however, was the thick, prominent vein that crept down into the waistband of his gray sweatpants. Said pants had your eyes wide with the prominent bulge tented in the material.
When you just barely caught yourself from moaning, you had dashed back to your room right away. You were wide awake still, but for a completely different reason. All you could think about was tracing your tongue along that vein.
If you’d fucked yourself that night to the thought of him and his glistening torso, no one had to know.
So theoretically, if you gave in to your cravings, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it certainly wouldn’t make you feel any less guilty.
Scarlett hues dust your cheekbones, lips bitten until they’re swollen and shiny with spit. Your breasts ache from inside the confines of the pink, lacy shirt, made worse with each labored breath you inhale as perky nipples brush the material. Your hole feels incredibly empty, the need to be filled overpowering. Your clit, puffy and neglected, throbs with pure, searing need.
Another wave of aching pleasure from your wetness breaks your resolve— a shaky hand slipping from its place on your stomach down, down, down until cold fingers meet the mess between your thighs.
A gasp sounds, melodic as it swirls with heavy breathes, fluttering around the room as you brush over your clit. Even through the material of your underwear, the slight pressure of your fingers made you mewl.
Flashes of Logan dance behind closed lids, your imagination running wild while you messily swirl over your bundle of nerves.
You wanted him so, so bad, in every way possible, it actually hurt, both your heart and core.
Your mind submerges your consciousness with thoughts of him; his pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the tufts of his brown hair. The muscles that were constantly on display, his thick thighs that you wanted to ride until you came all over him, and the huge bulge that was ever present in those flattering jeans of his (and if it was a reoccurring fantasy of yours to ride that delicious bulge over his jeans until you both came from just dry humping, again— no one had to know).
Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stop thinking about Logan.
Him hovering over you, dog tags swinging in your face as he fucked you hard. Him picking you up and taking you against the nearest surface, lips trapped in an erotic kiss. Him prying your thighs open as he licked up your pussy, tongue dipping into your hole to lap up all the desire pooling, his lips wrapping around the swollen bud and sucking violently. Him holding your face lovingly as his hips thrusted his cock deeper into your throat, groans spilling at the gag you’d let out.
You were split between wanting to sink down onto his cock and rut your swollen nub against the curls that nestled the base of him and stuffing his dick down your throat, gagging around him until he came and coated your throat with his spend.
You didn’t even bother to remove the damp underwear, instead circling the engorged bud over the material— and oh, fuck. The roughness of the lace mixed with the delicious rubbing of your fingers send little moans tumbling from parted lips.
Your unoccupied hand slips under the shirt covering your chest and only settle once your nipple is pinched between determined fingers, rolling the pert bud in tandem with the amorous touch of your hand on your sex.
Pleasure nips at your pelvis, and if you were a little more aware, you’d be embarrassed at how fast you to reaching your peak. But, as it is, your brain is completely hazy with wanton thinking and the only thing on your mind was lessening the ache that pulsates deep within you.
And fuck, you’re so fucking needy for logan that you try to pretend it’s his fingers abusing your clit, his fingers tugging at the sensitive buds of your chest. You want his tongue between your thighs, licking up your desire and sucking your puffy bud into his pretty mouth.
Chest rising rapidly, you feel overwhelmed at the fantasies swirling before your eyes. Its far too much— the mix of your filthy desires and your fingers rubbing your nub have your legs quivering as wetness coats your hand.
“Logan, Logan, Logan—“ The chant of his name mindlessly falls from you, the feeling of your orgasm washing over you, threatening to pull you under those soaring, unforgiving waves of pleasure.
Eyes snap shut, ears ring with white noise, and your hips hump your hand pitifully— you were an absolute, writhing mess against the sheets.
The hair messily strewn around your pillow shifts then from its natural state to a dark red. Even with your eyes shut, you could feel the vermillion light whirling at your fingertips, begging to be released.
Your mutation was not one of subtlety.
Searing bliss coils in your lower tummy, your button tingling with the after effects of the orgasm that crashed into you. You sigh, because even though you just came, you felt far from satisfied. Your body buzzes with sweltering hunger, all the way from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. Even if you fuck yourself dizzy with another orgasm, you knew it won’t satiate your body. Not completely, anyway.
Before you could slip your fingers inside your weeping hole, a loud knock echos through your room.
You still; desperate and hoping that if you ignored the noise, whoever was knocking would simply go away. But when another rhythmic thump comes a few seconds later, you huff.
It’s well past midnight at this point, so who in their right mind would be going about and slamming their fists on your door?
Apparently, you arent moving fast enough when the person has the nerve to knock for a third time, hand a little heavier than before. A growl, tinged with annoyance, slips out as you fling yourself up and off the bed.
You stomp to the door, ready to tell the person on the other side to fuck off.
But when you actually swing open the mahogany door, all the anger simmering beneath your heated skin disappears, along with your breath, as your eyes take in the sight before you.
Logan Howlett stands before you, seemingly angry as a frown etches deep on his face. He glares at you, hazel eyes swarming with exasperation and something unknown.
And little did you know, all of your craziest, fatal fantasies were about to come true.
The moment Logan steps into the mansion, finally back from the complete shit show of a mission Charles had sent him on, he tenses instantly.
His fingers clench into fists, tight enough that the skin turns white. The adamantium claws threaten to poke through his knuckles as he inhales deeply.
Big mistake.
That sweet, sweet scent swarms his heightened senses, the intoxicating smell nearly making him dizzy. His heart speeds up, his stomach flutters, and his cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.
Logan could fucking smell you.
It’s a heady aroma thats so completely you, that his body feels deranged, just about ready to march up those steps and break down your door.
He shakes himself loose from the metaphorical shackles of you and begins the journey to his room, trying to block out how delicious and syrupy you smell.
He decides then, as his body finally moves up the steps, that ignoring you is the best option.
But as he gets closer to the hallway he shares with you (just his luck, by the way!), he realizes that plan is a joke.
He feels his control slipping, especially as the heady scent grows stronger, tinged with something else— something erotic and salacious.
Logan curses, his entire being rigid.
You’re aroused, the smell seeping under the crack of the door giving you away instantly.
The idea of you whining as your pussy drips slick between your thighs has him grinding his teeth, fingers flexing and unflexing in an attempt to harness the control back to his body.
Though, it goes out the window entirely as his body is apruptly outside your door, unconsciously drawn to the very essence of you.
There’s a reason Logan has kept carefully crafted distance between the two of you.
The minute he was introduced to you, a new member of the x-men and teacher for the school, he knew he was fucked.
From the first look shared between you, he knew.
A pretty smile had graced your lips, eyes filled with joy as you greeted him, a hand outstretched in his direction as your hair swayed with your movements. In your cute, little outfit (a pretty, white lace dress that kissed the tops of your thighs, matched with baby pink pumps that accentuated your legs), he thought you looked like a princess.
He had stayed frozen, however, because he was assaulted with the fucking smell of you. It was nothing like he’d encountered before, and he’d been around for over a century.
Your scent was so fucking sweet, vanilla and honey permeated his nostrils and right in that moment, he wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.
He knew that he had to keep his distance, otherwise he’d become addicted to you in every sense. If he let himself, he’d worship the very ground you walked on. He couldn’t risk having the walls he’d spent so long building to crumble.
And in an instant, he was angry that his body had reacted this way to someone he’d never even met. He was angry he wanted to press sweet kisses on your face while simultaneously wanting to fuck you on his cock until you screamed his name.
So, with that, he’d made up his mind.
He had simply glared at you, refused to acknowledge your existence and stormed out of Charles’ office. And since that day, he’s tried his hardest to pretend you didn’t exist— if only to ease the way you constantly haunted his every thought.
He pretended it didn’t kill him to see how your face would crumble at his rude behavior, at how he avoided you at all costs. He couldn’t help it, though, because if he treated you how he wanted, like the princess you were, he’d never let you go.
A sudden noise shakes him from the depths of his mind, that carnal, sensual essence growing stronger by the second.
“Logan, Logan, Logan,” your honeyed voice whines, all airy and light.
And it’s almost comical how the telltale snikt! sounds immediately after because what?
What the fuck? He thinks, mind utterly destroyed at the revelation that not only were you seemingly fucking yourself, but you were moaning his name.
Logan growls, low and dangerous as his claws reveal themselves, cutting through the skin of his knuckles. His body feels unnaturally hot, practically set on fire. His cock now uncomfortably hard in his jeans, lustful essence bubbling at his tip and no doubt staining his boxers.
With the wafts of your pretty aroma and sounds of your lewd whimpers, he knows he can’t resist you any longer.
His hand lifts, claws retracting as his heavy fist slams on your door.
And the sight of you, face shiny with a sheen of sweat has him choking on his own saliva.
Tonight was the night his control finally snaps, despite months of work put into avoiding you.
Logan knows his animalistic side is about to be released; he’s going to fucking ruin you.
You gulp, a hand resting on the door frame as you stand frozen because honestly, what the fuck?
You deduce that the universe hates you because why? Why would the man you’d been thinking of while masturbating be right in front of you?
It only dawns on you when Logan’s gaze swipes over your figure that you’re basically naked. Clad only in your blushed, frilly top and the matching underwear, the latter soaked with both your arousal and release.
You shrink beneath his eyes, warmth simmering hot on the apples of your cheeks, and your mouth opens and closes, yet no words follow.
“Uh— Logan, hey!” Your voice is shaky, and whether it’s from the power of your release or the nerves that bumble beneath your skin at the man before you, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that you want the ground to swallow you up whole.
Logan doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at you in a way that you don’t understand. You assume he’s just gotten home from the very long mission, and confusion settles over you as to why he was at your door, especially considering how he badly despises you.
You’re about to voice that exact thought when Logan beats you to speaking.
“I heard you.” His gruff tone is coated in something darker than you’d ever heard before.
For a moment, you’re perplexed, brows furrowing and raising before your eyes go comically wide.
And— oh, oh.
“Can smell you, too.”
Heat licks at your whole body, embarrassment threatening to envelope you entirely. Tears of horror tickle your lash line, because this was probably the most painful moment of your life. Not only does the man hate you, but now he’s heard you moan his name as you came all over your fingers? How pathetic are you?
You open your mouth, an apology heavy on your tongue. You need to say something to quell the panic flooding your body— you’re never going to get over this
Though, before you can even speak, Logan slams his mouth onto yours.
He holds your head softly, a deep contrast to the way his lips melt over yours. A moan slips from your open mouth, the feel of his lips sucking at your bottom lip feels immensely intense and so, so good.
Your arms wrap around his neck, fingertips tangling themselves in the hair at his nape like you’ve wanted to do since the very day you met him.
“Logan—“ you whimper against his mouth, trying and failing to understand what the fuck was happening as he slips his tongue inside your wet, warm mouth. “Logan.”
He ignores you, grunting against your spit, slick lips as his hands travel down your curves, until they find purchase on your ass, gripping hard. A choked gasp spills from you as he suddenly paws at you, picking you up effortlessly in his strong arms.
The idea of him holding you up with no hesitation has your hips shuddering forward without your permission. Vaguely, you feel him move past the threshold of your door, slamming it shut before pressing your body up against the wood.
Logan switches between licking your tongue and sucking meanly at your lips, until they feel full and swollen with his attention. You’re pliant— almost willing to let him do anything he’d like to you.
Almost.
As good as his tongue feels dancing with yours, confusion still settles over your mind. Perhaps this was a dream and if that’s the case, you never want to wake up.
“Wait—wait.” You pull back, the questions swirling inside probing you until it’s impossible to ignore.
“Huh, baby?” Logan groans, teeth pulling at your bottom lip before sucking at the swollen skin.
Babybabybabybabybaby— the pet name clouds your senses for a second, a rush of arousal pooling at your hole. You want to cry at how that simple, simple word makes you feel.
“Stop that.” You mumble, pulling your head back and lips out of his reach.
Logan stares at you, silent but waiting as he waits for you say whatever is on your mind. Frankly, he wants his tongue to be buried deep in your cunt right about now, but, details.
“What is going on?” Breathless, the question settles between you, causing Logan’s brow to raise.
“Well, my tongue was just in your mouth—“ you slap his chest, face turning warm at his bluntness.
“Not that. I’m— why are you here? Why are you kissing me when you can’t stand me?” Your voice is quiet, insecurity present in your tone. Nimble fingers grasp the dog tags that rest on his chest, and you’ve never been grateful for it.
At that, Logan’s face scrunches up, confusion floating around his irises, lips curving downward.
“What are you talking about?” If it wasn’t for the genuineness in his voice, you would’ve smacked his chest again at how clueless he was.
“What do you mean? You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me; you’ve despised my entire existence the moment we met— wait, I can’t even say that because you didn’t even have the decency to greet me!”
Frustration hovers over you heavily, enough to snap you out of the lustful spell Logan often inflicts upon you. You slide down his body, ignoring the quiver of your cunt when you make contact with his jean clad bulge. You push at his chest, needing distance to ensure you actually get your words out and don’t end up back with his tongue down your throat.
“I don’t hate you.” Logan grunts out, staring at you as you pace the wooden floors of the room. Vaguely, he’s paying attention, but he can’t be blamed for the way his eyes focus on the way your ass shifts with each step, the plush skin so inviting as the lace cup each cheek. “What’re you on about?”
Frankly, Logan’s pissing you off. The vague answers are getting on your nerves, enough that you feel yourself snap.
Your hair swiftly turns bright red, a scarlet blossoming over the strands until they coat them completely. Your emotions could never quite be concealed, not with the way your hair would turn different variations of red when you were angry, furious, sad, happy, aroused.
“You’ve been a dick to me, treating me like shit for no reason and now you think you can just waltz in here and kiss me like that? You think you can pretend to want me when we both know that’s not true?”
Balls of fiery, red energy bloom at your fingertips, and though you stand in your pretty pink assortment, you look the part of threatening.
It’s too bad the abrupt display of your mutation, mixed with fiery words, has Logan’s cock jerking with want.
“Sometimes, I question whether or not you’re actually a genius.”
And just like that, you feel the words like a punch to the gut. You’re so mad, so blind by the intense emotions you feel for Logan, that you feel those pesky flames of energy moving up your wrist and forearm, a telltale sign of your anger.
“Fuck you, Logan.” You hiss, your fingers hot with the heat coursing through them.
What pisses you off more, to which your hair and eyes darken to a dangerous maroon, is the fact that Logan wears a faint smirk, watching you with humor as if you aren’t showcasing how pissed you are.
“Are you done yet?” Logan takes a step closer, uncaring of the way your mutation flares furiously at his presence.
“Logan, leave me alone. I don’t need you to sit here and pretend to want me. I don’t need you to make fun of me, either.” Huffing, you glare up at the man before you, who stares back just as pointedly.
You turn around, back facing him as you go to enter the attached bathroom when all at once, you’re spun back around by a hand on your nape, your neck in a delicious tight grip as Logan pulls you into his body, smashing his mouth on yours for the second time tonight.
Your body betrays you, a desperate whimper ebbs out at how fucking good Logan’s lips feel on yours.
His teeth bite down on your top lip, before suckling sweetly to combat the pain flourishing there. You moan, mouth falling open as he messily kisses you. The intoxicating taste of him swarms your tastebuds, his tongue swirling with yours in a way that leaves you dizzy with need.
A string of spit connects between your mouths as Logan pulls away, chuckling meanly when you promptly follow the warm wetness of his lips. A rough hand grips your throat again, tight enough to leave you feeling breathless but delicious enough to make your cunt squeeze around nothing.
“So that’s what you think, princess? That I don’t want you?” Logan’s fingers flex around your throat, gripping at your jaw to capture all of your attention. As if you were anything but than enamored with him. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing, huh?”
You can only stare up at him as your heartbeat rings loudly through your eardrums. A hand goes to tug at his shirt, an attempt to steady yourself, but Logan’s faster as he grabs your wrist.
“Answer me.” He whispers hotly as the hand holding yours captive moves to intertwine your fingers.
The touch of him, the hold on your throat and roughness of his fingers in yours, renders you speechless. You’re so overcome with your emotions that you can only manage to nod. The weight of you goes limp in his hold, silently begging him to do something to satiate the hunger burning every inch of you.
“Words, baby. Got nothing to say now, huh?” He taunts, his grip leaving your neck in favor of thumbing at your lips.
“Yes— I, it’s what it’s seemed like, what you’ve made me feel. Thought you hated me.”
Logan’s nose twitches, no doubt smelling your arousal as it leaks into the material covering you, ruining the lace.
“Couldn’t be more wrong,” He groans, pushing his thumb past the soft of your lips. His knees nearly buckle at the feel of your mouth closing and sucking his thumb, tongue rolling up against the skin as though it was his cock instead. “Shit, baby.”
You whine around his finger, eyes fluttering up at him in a way that has his dick aching for you.
“Fuck, been dreaming about you since the day we met. Been dreaming of you in every way possible.” He admits, a smile tugging at his lips at the way you freeze, lips leaving his thumb with a ‘pop’.
“What?” It’s a whisper, barely audible but he heard it all the same. The butterflies in your stomach are now having a complete rager, bolts of anxiousness kissing your skin.
“Of course.” Logan leanes down, pressing a kiss to your wet lips. “Knew the second I saw you you’d ruin me, so I just… stayed away. I never meant to make you think the worst. M’sorry, honey.”
This was not the way you’d expected tonight to go.
It’s as though all the confusion, anger, and sadness drain from you and, in its place,its full of the tremulous feeling of the admission.
And despite the fact that you’d fucked yourself thinking about him, and he’d heard, you feel incredibly shy. You drop your head to his hard chest, your hands squeezing his own where he holds them.
“I don’t know what to say.” You utter, brain all muddled and no other thoughts come forth as Logan haunts every inch of your mind. You feel like an idiot, even though Logan had acted like a dick for the better part you’d known him.
Logan simply lifts your head, invading your senses as his nose bumps yours.
“You were a dick.” It’s spoken factually, making him huff against your face.
“I know.”
“You could’ve kissed me months ago.”
“Can I kiss you now?”
His quick reply leaves you flushing, but when you nod, his lips are back on yours instantly, in their rightful place.
The kiss is messy; hot, wet, and dirty. Logan groans when you jump up, strong arms catching your thighs in a tight grip. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lose yourself in the thrilling taste of his mouth. You unconsciously start humping him, dragging your drenched panties across his hard dick.
You suck on his tongue before capturing his lip between your teeth, nails dragging down his shoulder blades. A loud, feral growl escapes Logan, and without another thought, he throws your pliant body on the bed.
And at the sight of you, Logan feels like he’s about to come right then and there. In your skimpy outfit, so much plush, soft skin is on display. The hair tumbling from your shoulders has turned a dark cherry color during your kiss, and your hands are tickled with red energy that’s twirling up your arms, not unlike the way vines thread onto an old home.
This time, though, he knows you’re not upset, but instead, aroused.
He can smell the way your slick seeps from your fluttering hole, how it sticks to the skin of your thighs.
And fuck, he wants to sink his face right in front of your pussy and inhale until he’s woozy with the complete perfume of you.
So, that’s exactly what he does.
Your eyes widen as Logan drops onto the floor in front of the bed, yanking your body to the edge. Your lower half is completely in his grip, and he stares at you for a moment, eyes hazy with lust. Then, he’s pulling your pussy all the way up to his nose. The feel of him so close to your puffy lips has you clenching, even more so when he lowers his head and fucking sniffs you.
“Fuck, baby. Been dreaming of this since the minute I saw you. Smells so fuckin’ sweet.” Logan inhales deeply again, smattering messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin of your upper thigh. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to throw you over my shoulder, get you alone and eat this pussy.”
“Logan!” You whimper out. The sound is completely feeble but you couldn’t care less, not with the way he’s sucking bruises into your skin. “Please, please.”
Spurred on by your whines, he sinks his canines into the skin, where your thigh meets the lips of your core.
Pain simmers into pleasure as the sting is followed by his tongue. Rosy splotches decorate your upper thighs, a preview of the bruises that will glaze the skin tomorrow. Logan does this until he’s satisfied with how his teeth imprint the skin. It’s as if it’s his way of solidifying that you’re his, like he’s staking his claim with his bruises smattering your thighs.
At some point your hand finds purchase in his hair, pawing at the tufts and tugging his face closer to where you need him most. He groans, the pain at his scalp sending jolts of desire throughout his body.
He sneaks a look up at you, and shit, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Your head is thrown back, sending those rebellious, red strands fluttering around you. Your hips are canting up to his mouth, and the smell of you, mixed with the previous orgasm you’d worked out before he interrupted, sends his senses in overdrive.
He knows he’d tortured you both enough when you can’t stop shivering with need, when his own hips brush against the edge of the bed. Without hesitation, Logan licks a long, wet stripe up your clothed pussy, suctioning around your enlarged clit.
The taste of you, heady, sweet, and so distinctly you, floods his tongue. He knew you’d taste good, but this? Oh, he wanted to drink you up all hours of the day.
With a growl, Logan tuggs the lace aside and loses it. He sucks, licks, and mouthed at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue dips into your hole before licking up and down your slit.
Moans of his name sound around the walls of your room, along with the filthy noise of his lips sucking your swollen button.
You’ve never felt like this before; the way he’s eating you out has your entire body on fire, and if you could see yourself, you’d see how ruby colored lines swirl all around your hands, how your hair practically glows with the intensity of your feelings.
He’d been attracted to you the minute he saw you— but the way you look when your mutation is at work? The way your hair grows shades of intoxicating reds and the way the fiery energy glows from the tips of your fingers to your elbows? Oh, how it fucking wrecks him. He just wants to keep you captive in this bedroom for all of eternity, if only to see you like this all the time.
“Feels so fucking good, fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess, hands tugging Logan’s hair hard, resulting in a moan that vibrates your pussy.
“Mine.” He grunts, and you gasp at the sensation of saliva as he spits directly onto your clit. “My fuckin’ pussy.”
Then, he latches his soft lips around your puffy bud and sucks hard. His dirty words and lucious mouth have your thighs shivering, hips bucking with insatiable need.
Like you’d done when you were alone and thinking about him, whimpers of ‘Logan’ slip past bitten lips as you rut against his face.
“That’s it, baby, say my name. Taste so fuckin’ good.” He humms against the slick, swell of your pussy.
A stream of ‘fuckfuckfuck’ is audible from open lips, forming an ‘o’ as the rush of delicious, hot pleasure pours over you completely.
As you come down, the pleasure fizzles out and overwhelming bursts of overstimulation bubble over you. Logan continues to lap at your wetness, groaning at your taste.
“S’too much, Logan.” Shaky hands grip his brown locks and you try and fail to bring the man away from your throbbing hole. His tongue laps at the taste of you, dipping in as deep as he could to savor every last drop. “Oh, fuck.”
“Taste too fuckin’ sweet, baby. Can’t help it.”
Logan grips tightly at your thighs, cruelly pinching at the flesh as he devours your pretty clit.
He can’t get enough, and seemingly, neither can you, with the way you buck into his warm, slick mouth despite the crushing pleasure. The material of your underwear snaps against you as Logan’s grip loosens, but he still eats you out as though there was no barrier.
His soft lips and dangerous tongue make it difficult to do anything but take the mind-numbing pleasure.
He’s content to stay here; between your gorgeous thighs and ravage your cunt all night, pull orgasms from you until you forget everything except the syllables that make up his name.
Except, the words that come from you have him still against you, his cock jerking and responding immediately to the addictive tilt of your voice.
“Logan— Logan, wanna suck your cock. Please.”
It was as though you were made for him— every inch of you riles him up like no one else has before and he has to take a deep, deep breath to refrain from coming in his jeans like a damn virgin.
With one last lick up your lace covered cunt, his face is suddenly above yours, the sight is lethal. The entirety of his lower face wears your wetness with pride, glistening and gleaming in the lowlight of the room. His eyes look animalistic, the hazel taken over by the black of dilated pupils.
Logan looks at you like he wants to fucking destroy you. You know without a doubt you’d let him.
A sweet kiss is pressed against your lips, a warm caress of his tongue on yours, the musky taste of your pussy causing you to part your thighs further. You whine once more, because you crave the heady taste of his cock; your mouth salivates at the thought of his tip heavy on your tongue.
“Easy, honey. Can smell how bad you want it.”
If you were less intoxicated by lust, you’d be mortified at the knowledge Logan can smell your arousal right now.
“Logan.” Pathetic whimpers and moans against his mouth have him pulling back, gritting his teeth to force himself to get a grip. It doesn’t work, not with the way you’re spread out below him, face pretty with a tiny that vaguely mimics the hue of your top and panties.”Please.”
How is he meant to last when you sound like that? All fucked out from just his tongue alone?
“C’mere’.” Logan mutters, tugging your body all the way up his chest, maneuvering you until your pussy is hovering above his mouth, facing his cock.
Completely fucked out, saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his bulge, massive even in the confines of jeans.
You’re confused as to why Logan has put you on his chest, but it makes sense when he pulls your thighs down, mouth finding your wet, sopping sex once more.
You cry out, hips jolting at the way his tongue push the fabric away from your puffiness, immediately wrapping around your clit. At the way you were shaking on his face, unmoving besides the subtle thrusts of hips, he stops.
“Lo—“
“Go on then, baby. Suck my cock, just like you wanted.”
And oh, you both feel the slick that follows after those rasped words fill the air.
Only once you undo that damn belt buckle and pull both his jeans and boxers down, just enough to see the way his cock bounced out, wet at the red, swollen tip, does Logan resume licking up your pussy.
Fueled by the return of those talented lips, you lean forward without another thought.
Licking from base to tip, a moan vibrates against his cock as you hum, a taste so distinctly Logan making you feel light and warm. You lick up and down him sloppy, spitting on the tip of him as you slick his dick up, before finally wrapping your lips around him.
“Fuck.” His growl is borderning on feral; his teeth finding purchase on your asscheek and biting, an attempt to ground himself. It only serves to have his hips jump at the feel of you whining on him, sucking him down so fucking good. “Fuck, knew you’d be good with that pretty fuckin’ mouth.”
He’s so focused on the way you’ve started bobbing up and down the length of him, overcome with euphoria at the warmth and wetness as you suck and swirl your tongue, that he’s stopped his attention to your pussy, something he’s only reminded of as you wiggle impatiently over him.
“Sorry, princess, you’re driving me fuckin’ crazy.” He grits out, fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs at the little ‘hmph!’ you let out, pulling off his cock.
Though he can’t see you, he knows there’s a string of spit that spans from your swollen lips to his pulsating cock. He shutters, overwhelmed by you entirely, before burying his face into your weepy cunt.
”Oh! Logan, feels so good!” With a pathetic little whimper, his cock fills your mouth again as you sink down, satisfied with the way his tongue is licking at you.
A blend of moans sound as he wraps his lips around your puffed clit, as you ease his cock into your throat.
Logan’s eating you out in a frenzy, crazed by the tang of you soaking his mouth, chin, and nose. Despite the warmth bubbling in his stomach, he’s determined to make you come on his tongue again.
When thick fingers nudge into your hole unexpectedly, you mewl at the blissful feeling.
Logan’s fingers work steadily inside you in tandem with the way his mouth suckles divinely at your button. You’re an absolute mess— grinding down on his face, riding his digits, gagging as Logan’s hips match the pace of his fingers, grunts vibrating against you as he fucks your throat.
Logan curls his fingers in a way that has you seeing every fucking color of the rainbow. You come, moaning around the base of his cock and rocking back and forth on his fingers and mouth, muffled sobs spilling from your stuffed mouth.
When he feels you shivering on his tongue, overstimulated and sensitive, he pulls away from your center, the soaked fabric of your panties falling back into place once more.
Your mouth is still full of him, lips lazily sucking him down as your body tries to get ahold of the white hot pleasure still coursing through you.
“C’mere, baby.”
It’s a soft whisper against your thigh, but it settles over you, his soothing voice swirling around your shaky body like a warm blanket. Letting his cock fall from your lips, you scramble as fast as your body allows before you find yourself straddling Logan, staring down at the man with cloudy, wet eyes.
And maybe Logan is sick— because the sight of tears spilling over your cheeks has his cock unbelievably hard, a growl threatening to tumble out at the way your pretty, crimson hair spills over your shoulders.
Still, he wants to make sure you’re okay.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Logan watches at the way a small smile graces your features, even as tears continue to glisten your lash line. “You okay?”
“Nothing's wrong, just feel so good.” Your voice is a little hoarse, no doubt from the way his dick was fucking your whiny mouth. Your voice is still the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, those few words going straight to his dick.
Logan feels his own lips tug upwards as you speak. Even though he’s fucked you silly and stolen two orgasms, he tenses with desire as he notes the want dancing in your irises.
“Good.”
“Mhmm.”
There’s a beat of silence, a moment where hungry eyes lock in on one another, sensual energy threatening to burst.
Then, in a flash, lips are locked and tongues whirl together familiarly. It’s a hot, lewd kiss filled to the brim with desire— the passion almost too much with how it lights up every inch of your bodies, a fire threatening to spread.
Neither of you are sure who moved first— but it doesn’t matter because the way Logan’s hand wraps around your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail in a tight grip, steals your attention.
If someone were to see the two of you, they would see how desperate and needy you both were.
You’re kissing Logan’s top lip, biting before soothing the sting with a sweet, soft suck. Your thighs are spread over his own entirely and your position has your cunt settling over his cock nicely. Logan’s free hand grips the skin of your ass tight, guiding as you grind against him, the soaked panties catching on the tip of him with each thrust. The fingers tangled in your hair are unforgiving, tugging harshly as Logan grunts into your open mouth.
You’re both a mess of passion and lust— and your body thrums with the idea of his cock inside you.
“Such a good girl, that’s it. Fuck—“ Logan nearly whines, the feel of your wetness on his bulge has him trapping your lips in another all consuming kiss.
Your hands, lit up with energy, find purchase in his pretty hair, yanking as he kisses you vulgar, because everything is somehow too much and not enough.
“Logan— need you. Need you so bad, baby.”
Logan wants to eat you up entirely— somehow you’re still not satiated, rubbing your slick all over his lap and begging him for more. If he was a better man, he would’ve fucked you already. As it is, he likes it a little too much hearing you beg for him.
“Shhh, you got me, honey. I’m right here.”
“Fuck me, please. Need you inside, Logan.”
There’s tears in your eyes again, ready to spill over if the ache between your thighs isn’t soothed in the next five minutes. You’re clinging to him, hips stuttering because it’s just not enough and you both know it.
“My poor baby.” He sighs, the words somehow a mix of condescending and genuine and it makes you cry out. “So needy, huh?”
“Just for you.” The way you say it, it’s a message you both understand— you need him in every way possible, not just sexually.
He wonders if you know just how badly he needs you, especially now that he’s got a taste of you.
“I’m yours—“ you start, but it’s cut off by the squeak you emit when you’re suddenly flipped over, Logan’s muscular form hovering over you, his dog tags swinging between you.
“You’re mine.” It’s not a question, but a statement and it sends a thrill over you.
“Yours.” You’re nodding, eyes wide and so fucking pretty that it makes Logan squeeze his hands, the metal of his claws threatening to break through the skin.
He pulls his shirt off then, pride filling his chest at the way your eyes glaze over, a lip taken between your teeth as you stare at the vein that leads to his cock, which is pulsing with the promise of release.
He doesn’t comment on your lustful eyes, instead tracing his fingers down your body, until he reaches the hem of your baby pink lace. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination but Logan might break something if he doesn’t see your tits in all their glory.
You get the message, leaning up and slowly pulling the fabric from your chest, your breasts and midsection on full display. If he hadn’t already eaten you out twice, you would’ve moved to cover your taut nipples. Instead, you grip the chain of his necklace and pull him back down with you, sighing when you’re chest to chest.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He says, pecking your lips once, licking a stripe down your throat. Wetness coats both nipples as his tongue swirls over them. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to have you under me?”
You moan, nails digging into his shoulder blades at the fluttery feeling his lips bring, deep enough to elicit blood from his skin. Logan groans, head tipping back as his hips thrust down suddenly, the tip of his cock ramming into your clit.
“Fuck, Logan.” Your hands span the expanse of his back, scratching each time he bumps your button just right. His jeans are still on, resting just below his thighs and something about the way he couldn’t even get up to properly take them off makes you shudder.
He’s rutting against you now, dick rubbing filthy over your panties and it dawns on you then that he hasn’t come yet, too preoccupied with taking care of you.
Determined, you slide one hand onto his asscheek, pushing him further into you, while your other grips his chin, pulling his mouth to yours in a slick, open-mouth kiss.
“C’mon Logan, fuck me, please.”
Logan turns into something animalistic then— flipping you over without warning, caging you between his arms. Your gasp is audible as he yanks your wet lace to the side, before thrusting forward, and fucks his cock into you with one thrust.
“Oh my god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—“ the feel of Logan finally inside you had you absolutely fucking drunk on the feel of him.
“Tryin’ to, baby.” He grits, arms flexing beside your head, fingers intertwining with yours as he sinks into you, inch by inch, until you were filled to the brim.
Logan’s body covers yours, lips pressing all over your shoulder blades to soothe the little whines you let out at how fucking full you felt. It’s everything you want and more— you want to memorize the feel of him, every ridge and vein as he bottoms out.
“Baby,” he grunts, fingers flexing with yours as he stays still, for your sake. “So fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ wet.”
And it was true— despite the fact that he’s huge, he slipped in easily because of the mess you created, a slick mix of your come and desire that seeps from you.
“Logan, fuck me, please.” You ask so sweetly, as if you weren’t impaled by his cock right now.
With that, he slips out of you slowly, before fucking into you hard, deep. Then, he fucking ravishes you— creating a steady, fast paced rhythm and fucking you dumb with his cock.
You’re a whiny mess. Your hair grows darker, hands glittering between his grip each time he slams into you, each time your cunt squeezes around him.
Completely cock drunk, your back arches, ass up and hips slamming back against his with your cheek pressing into the mattress as you sob.
You’re so fucking needy that his own thighs are wet with your desire— he growls at the sight, fucking you even faster.
“You’re mine. Have been since you came here.” Logan growled, releasing your fingers in favor of gripping your hair and pulling you up until you were pressed into his chest. “My fuckin’ girl.”
“Yours!” You cry, tears rolling down your face. Your entire body jolts with pleasure, and you feel like you couldn’t breathe, not with how euphoria threatens to smother you. “M’so close!”
“I know, honey, I know. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ around me.“ Logan moans out, pushing you back down into the mattress and finding purchase on your hips, pulling you back hard. “Gonna come all over me?”
You don’t answer, instead crying out as you feel a sharp flash of pain on your asscheek, Logan’s hand swift and quick. The pain mixes into pleasure when he rubs at the red skin, pressing sweet kisses on your back.
He wishes you could see yourself right now; maybe then you would understand why he was so intoxicated by you.
Your pretty body is bent over, ass up and face in the sheets as whimpers seep out. The lace that drove him crazy is yanked to the side, grazing his cock each time he drove deeper inside you. You’re so beautiful like this, he wants to keep you forever.
Sweet, little ‘uh,uh’s’ fill Logan’s ears as he speeds up, pulling you back up once more against his chest. He wants to be as close as fucking possible, the feel of your skin on his almost searing.
You turn your head back, lips seeking out his own. He kisses you, sucking at your lips as he continues to fuck you vigorously.
The fluttery feeling of your cunt squeezing around him suddenly sends him over the edge— low groans falling in your open mouth as hot, searing spurts of come coat your walls.
Knowing that Logan had lost it, finally giving into the temptation like you’d been doing all night, has you whining as your own orgasm surrounds your entire being.
“Baby—“ Logan thrusts shallowly, riding your orgasms out as long as he could; if he could, he’d never leave this feeling behind. Seemingly, you agreed as your nails dig into his forearms that hold you up, eyes squeezing shut at the overpowering bliss tingling everywhere. “I got you, it’s okay.”
“Logan, fuck!” It comes out as a huff, head against his sweaty neck, body completely limp in his hold.
You’d never been so incredibly sex-dazed in your life. From this moment onward, Logan has ruined you for anyone else.
Though, you hope there isn’t anyone else.
Logan kisses your head before untangling from you; a smirk dancing across his usually gruff features at the little whine let out as he pulls out. He gently rolls you onto your back, laying your head tenderly on the pillows. It was such a stark difference to the rough way he’d fucked you minutes prior, but butterflies flutter around your stomach all the same.
You watch his eyes trail lower, landing on the mess between your thighs.
Logan is mesmerized by the sight; your pussy is destroyed , so wet with his come seeping out of your hole. Mindlessly, he lowers himself until heieye level with your sex. Sans any warning, his fingers are thrusted back inside.
He ignores your hiss in favor of trying to push his come back inside, to keep you full of him. His eyes meet yours, watching as your chest rises as you observe him. There’s a glint in your eye that has his heart stuttering.
“I want to kiss you.” You whisper, soft and a little bashful, as if he didn’t have his fingers inside you. You look too fucking perfect, hair returning to its original color, eyes cloudy with unspoken words, a smile gracing your face.
How could he deny you when you looked like that?
Logan kisses your clit once, enjoying the way you jump before removing his fingers.
With those same digits, he sticks them in his mouth, sucking the flavor of you both and humming. He could hear the way your heart picked up at his actions. He releases them with a loud ‘pop’, before finally coming back to you.
He hovers over you, and like you’d done earlier, soft hands pull at the chain until his lips melt with yours in a soft kiss. Logan pulls back, resting his head on yours, eyes connecting with yours.
“Hi.” You giggle then, nose bumping his in the proximity.
“Hi, baby.” Logan kisses your lips once more, before rolling beside you. You would’ve whined at him if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you onto his chest.
With your limbs tangled, a kiss pressed to your forehead, you think this could be heaven and if so, you never wanted to leave.
It was quiet for a moment— the two of you content to listen to one another’s heartbeat, the breaths that fall from lips. Then, you break the silence, because of course you do.
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to take me out before you get me like this again.” You mutter against his slick chest, where your head rests as you wrap yourself around the man like a koala.
A deep laugh fills the room, chest rumbling because what the fuck?
He’s fucked you, with his mouth and cock, and now you’re laying on him as his come seeps out of you and you’re demanding him to take you out?
He was going to in the first place, but he thinks it’s cute you decided for him.
Logan may be a man that’s been alive for almost two centuries, practically immortal, but it’s completely possible you’ll be the death of him.
˚。⋆⟡♡⟡⋆。˚ fin
tags: @strangererotica @cevansbaby-dove @morganyourone @asiancupid
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hyper-fixates · 2 months ago
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Time After Time
Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).
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Explicit content (18+)
Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again
Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).
Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.
Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)
Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.
You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.
You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.
Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.
No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts. 
“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.
 Panic. It’s all panic.
You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.
Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.
There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.
The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.
You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff. 
You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more. 
You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.
A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.
Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.
You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—
“Uh. Are you okay?”
You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.
“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.
Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.
You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door. 
He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh. 
You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.
“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.
“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth. 
You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.
Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.
“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.
“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.
It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.
You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.
He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.
“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.
“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.
“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.
You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?
“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”
Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”
You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.
He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.
You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.
You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed. 
“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.
He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.
“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.
Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself. 
You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.
It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.
“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.
“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.  
Maybe the professor is awake after all.
You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?
“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.
“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.
A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.
Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too. 
“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.
Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.
Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike. 
You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.
Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”
Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change. 
Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.
Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception. 
━━━━ ● ━━━━
The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.
Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila. 
“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.
Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.
“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”
Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.
“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble. 
The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.
You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.
“Am I interrupting something?”
You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.
You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.
“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.
“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.
“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.
“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.
Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.
As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.
“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.
A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.
Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.
Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?
It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.
“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.
The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about. 
You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.
“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.
“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.
The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?
A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.
His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.
Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.
“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.
You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it. 
“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.
He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.
Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.
“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders. 
Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.
“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again. 
“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would. 
“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.
“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.
“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point. 
Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.
“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times. 
He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back. 
Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. 
An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.
The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.
You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.
The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.
He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart. 
He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.
You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.
“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.
He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.
You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila. 
You suddenly feel very awake.
“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”
“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea. 
He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.  
You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.
“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.
Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor. 
He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.
“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.
He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.
“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”
“Fuck off,” you groan.
You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.
You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.
You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”
You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.
The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.
He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.
You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.
This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?
You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back. 
“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.
“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.
You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.
“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.
You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.
A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”
Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.
“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures. 
Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.
You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.
“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.
You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room. 
Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.
You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.
The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.
“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.
From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.
There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.
“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.
“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.
You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before. 
You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew. 
He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough. 
There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind. 
━━━━
The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.
You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.
You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan. 
You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.
Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.
“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.
He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”
You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.
“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.
Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room. 
The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.
Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.
“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.
“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.
You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.
━━━━ ● ━━━━
“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.
You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this. 
Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.
“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast. 
Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.
But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.
“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.
You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.
“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.
Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.
You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.  
You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.
You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.
“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.
You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”
“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion. 
“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.
He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. 
“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.
“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here? 
He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.
“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.
“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.
“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.
“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.
The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.
“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.
He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.
People like us.
“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.
You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.
You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats. 
The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.
Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.
You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” 
He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.
“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself. 
He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.
You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.
Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.
A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why. 
You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.
“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.
He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little. 
There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.
To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves. 
“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.
It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.
“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.
“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.
You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.
You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.
The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.
“I haven’t looked. I promise.” 
“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.
“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.
“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow. 
“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.
A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours. 
It’s a complete repeat of last time.
Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.
The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.
From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are. 
━━━━
Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.
Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.
“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.
If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.
━━━━ ● ━━━━
“Are you fucking Logan?”
You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.
“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.
You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.
“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.
You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?
“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking. 
You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.
“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can. 
You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out. 
She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.” 
You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants. 
━━━━
A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.
Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious. 
There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.
The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute. 
You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.
You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.
Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.
You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.
You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.
Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.
“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.
You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.
“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.
He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.
“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse. 
You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…” 
“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.
“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.
You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.
“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.
You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.
Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.
“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.
“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.
He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.
“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.
An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.
He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.
He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.
You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.
You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms. 
His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely. 
You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck. 
It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.
“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day. 
What does he want to hear? 
You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck. 
You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.
“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.
An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else. 
“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly. 
It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.
His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.
Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.
“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.
“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.
He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.
The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.
Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.
But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—
“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first. 
The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.
You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.
“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.
It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.
You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.
“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.
“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation. 
It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.
You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet. 
“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”
You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions. 
“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction. 
It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.
Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will. 
You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.” 
A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.
You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.
“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.
He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.
“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.
You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept. 
“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.
━━━━
Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you. 
A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.
You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back. 
You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist. 
The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.
Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection. 
You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.
But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.
You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m. 
You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.
A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.
It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.
It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together. 
You want to be the only one.
━━━━ ● ━━━━
There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion. 
As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started. 
This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.
No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest. 
He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.
“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest. 
You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight. 
Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.
He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.
You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.
Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside. 
You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires. 
It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.
You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.
That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.
━━━━ ● ━━━━
“How’ve you been sleeping?”
“Fine. You?”
“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.
You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.
“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.
A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.
It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”
He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.
“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.
Fuck. That’s good. 
That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for. 
You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.
His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.
“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this. 
“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.
“Always do.”
━━━━
You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.
Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.
It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.
Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.
“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair. 
You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?
Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in. 
“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.
“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.
“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.
This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you. 
In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you. 
You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.
He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here. 
“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.
Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”
You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly. 
He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips. 
The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.
The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.
“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.
“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on. 
You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.
“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.
You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.
“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you. 
Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you. 
His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body. 
“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.
Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.
The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.
Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.
It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.
“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.
Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.
He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.
Then the world is tilting.
He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily. 
Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips. 
“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.
Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip. 
“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.
A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.
“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.
“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.
He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.
The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.
His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.
You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.
“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.
You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you. 
He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.
You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.
He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.
“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.
“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.
“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.
He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.
The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.
“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much. 
Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.
“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.
He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.
“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.
You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.
He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.
But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.
“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance. 
“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.  
He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you. 
He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.
He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying. 
The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine. 
“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.
He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in. 
“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.
Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.
You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end. 
Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.
You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.
“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.
You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.
He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”
You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.
Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over. 
It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere. 
The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.
A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body. 
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.
“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.
The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.
Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything. 
He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.
“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.
You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.
You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.
“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.
He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress. 
You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.
“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.
You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.
“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.
You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.
“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.
He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.
You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.
He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.
His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.
You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—
“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.
The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.
You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.
He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead. 
Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in. 
You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.
He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss. 
You probably look like you survived an animal attack.
“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.
A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.
You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all. 
“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest. 
You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.
“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.
Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.” 
A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  
You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.
Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. 
You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.
Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.
Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”
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sufrimientilia · 3 months ago
Text
incapacitation
content warning
drugs that make a character woozy and disoriented. slurring words and falling slack, everything too heavy and confusing and muffled
blown pupils, wandering eyes, breathing too much or too little. sweating, shaking, puking, so limp and pale it’s almost like they’re dead
fevers so high a character's mind just turns to mush. glossy eyes tracking the ceiling, listless and unaware until eventually there's sweat sticking all over the sheets and they start mumbling some vague responses to caretaker's questions
tranquilizer dart that brings a character down all at once. one sudden jerk or look of confusion, not enough time to glance at it much less pull it out before eyes are rolling back and they collapse into the dirt
tranquilizer dart that comes on slowly. pulling it out and running and running until each step becomes too uncoordinated, stumbling or getting dragged along by a teammate until even their begging to stay awake, let's go, becomes hazy and distant
struck so hard that everything rings in one ugly roar. staggering or falling, told to sit down, just stay down. so confused and lost, repeating the same questions and forgetting the answer over and over and over again
character so messed up they struggle to follow any part of the conversation. everything too heavy and confusing and muffled, just useless and incoherent and completely oblivious to the situation
nervous prodding or pleading by caretaker, begging them to just stay awake or focus
jostled around by captor, told to get the fuck up and follow orders, easily manhandled and restrained
mumbling nonsense and spilling secrets. stoic characters without any masks, so confused and broken and vulnerable, slipping and powerless in every sort of way
"you're okay, i promise you're okay"
“ah, shit. you’re a mess—”
“I guess you won’t remember this anyways…”
gaze drifting and blank, too faraway to track anything caretaker/captor is saying. nudged and prodded and pleaded at to no avail, just incoherent and out of it
too weak to move. beaten absolutely senseless or bleeding all over the place, a character just hurting and spent beyond means sprawled flat against the ground
getting dragged along or stepped on, pinned down as if they're in any state to go anywhere
hypnotized and stunned into mindlessness. repeated mantras and rewired thoughts, a character made pliable and blank and used like a puppet
paralyzed but fully aware, left slack and useless and desperate with limp muscles and depressed breathing. assumed dead and abandoned, grieved over or dumped aside like a corpse, forced to watch and unable to do anything
poisoned and just getting worse and worse. teammates desperately looking for a cure while character deteriorates, puking and passing out and getting high fevers, hallucinating and begging for relief
characters taken out of commission when they're otherwise the strongest one. exposed to a weakness, given magical restraints or cuffs with neural suppressors to keep them docile, targeted and taken out
vertigo taking a character side to side, brought down and useless
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alexiroflife · 4 months ago
Text
jjk men reactions & aftercare when you use your safeword…
headcanons list
MDNI, highly suggestive content, smut themes, overstimulation, mentions of discomfort/pain, spanking (suguru), etc.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna
-> all i could think of when writing safe words was this from that one rick & morty episode please help
satoru gojo:
satoru gojo, before his relationship with you, was a full-fletched virgin.
while people close to him like suguru, before he left jujutsu tech, or shoko would have been able to tell anyone this fact after having known him for so long and so well, in satoru's later years, he finds that everyone assumes he has a rather promiscuous past before settling down with you.
he understands. quite frankly, it doesn't surprise him at all. he's a flirty personality with a sickenly gorgeous face, with the confidence and arrogance of a well-seasoned slut. he does not exude the energy of a person who went twenty-four years of his life without having sex with anyone. he had received and given oral maybe a few times in his early twenties, but he had never gone beyond that.
you're his first at twenty-four and you're his one and only from then one.
despite his lack of physical experience, satoru, unsurprisingly, is incredibly skilled with the use of his body. there's truly nothing that gojo can not do perfectly. he's seen enough, studied the physical reactions you have to him even when you're just speaking, knows you enough to treat you well without having had to fuck a million people beforehand.
and because you are satoru's one and only, he fucking worships you. he gets drunk off of you. he goes insane for you every single time the two of you are together intimately. while his stamina is incredibly high, his desperation proceeds him and his ability to maintain control is drastically lacking whenever he's got your pretty legs quivering over his head as his tongue licks greedy stripes over your puffy clit.
satoru is spoiled. he gets what he wants and does what he wants when he wants it, and he absolutely expects to get exactly what he wants from you when the two of you are in bed, which is to make you as much of a mess for him as he is for you. he wants you shaking, he wants you begging, he wants you crying for more as you struggle to handle just how good he makes you feel, and every single time, he succeeds.
the thought alone of pleasing you renders him dizzy, and his mind often wanders in the middle of meetings when he's supposed to be focused on the course schedule for the first years over the upcoming next few months. satoru is completely and utterly whipped for you, and with his greedy, mindless desire to hear you moaning for him into the early hours of the morning, he can tend to get a little out of hand.
satoru has never made you feel any less than heavenly, any less than adored, any less than cherished. he satisfies you in indescribable ways, and you're admittedly as head over heels for him as he is for you. he's soft, but then he's wild, whiny, relentless, sloppy, yet always so damn good. he pushes you to just the right limits, drawing out physical reactions you hadn't even known to be possible before him, and talking you through it all. though he's always on the brink of going too far, he never has.
so that is why you are close to panicking now that your legs and your throbbing, overstimulated pussy have gone numb with a rather unfamiliar tingling sensation.
you don't even think you can see anymore. you're long past an acceptable point of lack of functionality, and you can't even think. you hear satoru's voice murmuring as it always does, babbling on in his far-gone state as he pulls you closer for another round. the two of you started this when the sun was out, midday, and now, the sky is pitch black and the clock reads almost midnight, not that you can even tell.
you can feel satoru everywhere, hands flying to any patch of skin he can possibly find, yet the sensation is detached from you. you take a few seconds before realizing that you can hardly breathe, and your body is so spent you can barely move.
satoru, above you, is gone. exceedingly pussy drunk, having came more times than he could count in your mouth, on your stomach, on your back, inside your cunt, and yet he still seeks more. it's like his mind and body are on autopilot, searching for you blindly without any indication of how far he has gone or when he should stop. he's just as fucked out in the brain as you, but the only difference is that he somehow has more energy to spare. his dick is somehow still jumping to life, and you suddenly remember that this is satoru gojo you're talking about.
on the battlefield and in bed, he's a monster, unlike any other.
"c'mere, pretty, just-just one more, gotta feel you," he rambles, panting heavily as he tugs you closer and roams his crystal blue eyes over your trembling body. his sense of logic is skewed, the flags are not registering. he only sees you, and he is eager. he's so in love, so intoxicated by you, he's lost his damn mind.
"y'so gorgeous for me, baby, such a good pretty girl. my good pretty girl. love this pretty girl's pussy, so-so good for me. so good."
and there he goes, on and on about how he wants you, what you do to him, how perfect you are, and you can't even hear it. your ears are ringing. where the hell even are you?
satoru's moving to caress over your body, detailing the softness of your soaked skin beneath his palms before his hands meet your soaked cunt again. he's prying at your weak thighs, ghosting his fingers over your clit hungrily, and the second you feel the tip of his finger so much as graze your bundle of nerves, you're momentarily revived. you're gasping and pushing him away, crawling back.
satoru watches you, brows drawing together. he goes to reach for you again, but then you hastily breathe out. "purple! purple, purple, purple," you wail, body twitching as you curl in on yourself.
the moment your safeword falls on satoru's ears, he's snapping out of it. his blown pupils suddenly shrink and he reconnects with the world around him, with you, the way your heart races, the way you can hardly speak, the way you can't even lift your head from the pillow.
he looks down at the drenched state of your sheets, then back up at you, shaking, and he's finally back.
"baby," he coaxes in concern, crawling up to meet you. you don't even open your eyes when he hovers over you. you simply squirm, murmuring nonsense as chills rack you and your feet kick out. you're absolutely done. "fuck, baby. hey, you there with me? (y/n)?" he cups his hand over your hot cheek, worried eyes taking in the sight of you. he's never seen you like this before, and it's jarring. how long have you even been like this? did he seriously not notice that you had been spent for a while?
your hands go to push at his chest, but he stops you gently, holding your wrist and hushing you. "it's okay, princess, you're okay. you're alright... fuck, baby, look at you. you can't even understand me, can you?"
as expected, you don't show any indication that you can hear him. instead, your body slowly melts back into the sheets as though registering the shift in satoru's mannerisms and tone. you relax, slumping, and satoru almost thinks you've passed out.
"uh uh. don't pass out on me, pretty. come on," he urges you gently, patting your cheek. you groan and stir, at least showing him that you are still conscious. "okay, that's good, baby. that's a good girl, come here."
he pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in his safe embrace. your cheek falls against his bare pectoral and you hum, nuzzling into him as he holds your head close, petting over your hair and watching you carefully. satoru struggles to gather himself as well as he holds you, breathing heavily and twitching against your body whilst bringing himself back to reality.
you continue to rub your face against him, and he looks down at you, brows knitted together. fuck, he feels awful. he hadn't meant to push you this far.
"(y/n)?" he calls your name again, a rather rare occurrence. you take a moment to hum drowsily after a few minutes have passed. "can you hear what i'm saying?"
"...mhm," you hum again brokenly.
"yeah? you can?"
this time you only nod, and he sighs. "are you okay, pretty? are you hurt?"
"mm-mm."
"you sure?"
"y-yeah, tor..."
you don't even finish his name as you sink further into him. satoru kisses your cheek, then your temple. "okay, i get it now. i did too much? i went too far?"
"mhm," you whimper, and his arms tighten around you.
"i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, i should've known better," he apologizes profusely. "i got carried away, i wasn't even thinking. i wasn't even there myself- but that's no excuse. i'm sorry. stay with me, pretty."
slowly, your arms slide to wrap around your boyfriend's neck, and he melts like sap into you, cooing gently and showering you with kisses. he can feel your rapid heartbeat against his chest, your soft pants fanning on his cheek, your abdomen tightening and releasing with your shivers.
"you're so sensitive. i got you good, huh?" he observes. "i'll go easier, next time, pretty. okay? you did so good for me. you always do such a good job. just keep those pretty eyes closed and rest. i'll clean you up in a bit."
you nod meekly once more, cuddling impossibly further into him. you doze to the sound of his assurances, of his tender voices telling you that you’re safe, that satoru’s got you, that he’s so proud of you. he lets you rest before he has to wake you again to help you get ready for bed and to clean you properly.
he loves you so much. so so much, and despite him going overboard, his heart swells with relief at the fact that you feel comfortable enough to tell him to stop.
suguru geto: suguru is truly a kind and loving man. he's gentle and meticulous in the way he cares for you. he always makes sure that you have everything you need and that you're cared for the way you deserve to be cared for. and in bed, he's almost teasing with the way he loves you. he's sweet, keeping his searing lips to your ear as he floods your brain with declarations of future promises, of making you happy, of practically laying down his life if it means listening to you call his name over and over.
he's got a mouth on him, one full of filthy affections, and he gets you off on the sultry sweetness of his sugary tone constantly. he'll be knuckles deep inside you, kissing your cheek almost innocently as he murmurs seductively to you his devotions.
"you squeeze me so nice, sweet girl. you look so fucking beautiful like this. that's right, angel. feel it. feel my fingers stretching you out so good. fuck, i could finger you like this every day for the rest of my life. would you like that, angel? hmmm?"
he always makes sure you respond, as well. he's pulling orgasm after orgasm from you and urging you to speak while doing so, no matter how far gone you are. he's not satisfied until your angelic little voice is breathing out to answer him unsteadily, your words warming his heart and hardening his dick without fail.
nevertheless, despite suguru's generosity, he has the tendency to be so mean when he's agitated.
suguru has a pretty terrible attitude, and though it's not often on display when he is irritated, particularly by something you say, he's an entirely different beast.
his honeyed tone still remains when he punishes you, yet it's laced around far less pretty words. he teases, mocks, judges, and at times, it's enough to make you cry or second guess yourself if you were to hear him go on like this in any other setting.
suguru's presence is incredibly domineering aside from his normally gentle demeanor. when push comes to shove, he is still a man capable of murder, a man harboring the hatred of an entire species, and a man who manages to uphold his connections and his legacy through his cult by means of manipulation.
suguru is nice, yes, but he's also kind of a bully.
the dark-haired man doesn't find himself taking out his irritations on you often. he only deems it necessary to do so when his irritation is inspired by you, and while he has attitude issues, you mirror his tenfold... and he does not tolerate you doing so one bit.
now, you know suguru very well and are very accustomed to how he handles you when he's pissed off, but tonight, he's showing no mercy.
he's had you splayed over his lap for what feels like forever, your ass pointed upward and your wrists bound before you as you muffle your whimpers as best as you possibly can. you don't even remember what you had said or done to get suguru so worked up, but you know that your ass is stinging horribly and is likely marked up with several red angry hand prints, yet suguru is seemingly still far from finished with you.
you've tried crawling away multiple times, but his strong hands always pull you right back, keeping your back arched and your ass up for his access.
"don't cry now, angel," he says, voice dark as his hands roam over your ass. you tense as he gathers a handful of the fat into his fingers, squeezing tightly before raising his hand to smack down hard again with no warning. you lurch forward with a sob, your legs trembling harshly. "you weren't crying earlier when you were running your mouth so much, were you?"
"sugu," you hiccup, desperate for a break. "p-please..."
"nuh uh. you can't 'sugu' you're way out of this one," geto says, eyes heavy and dark as they look over the marks he has left behind. "after all, you're the one who wanted this."
"n-no," you deny pitifully.
"no?" he bites down hard on his teeth as he smacks you again, watching your plump flesh jiggle with the motion. he groans under his breath, sliding his hands over you again as you cry. "really? i could have sworn by the way you were talking to me, this was the only outcome you were looking for."
you can hardly hold yourself up anymore. your face falls flat on the bed as your body shakes with your laments. you don't know what number of spanks you're even on. was there ever a set count to begin with?
you try to reach a hand back, but you forget that your wrists are tied before you, leaving you with absolutely no defenses and suguru with the upper hand.
suguru roughly grabs a handful of your hair and pulls you up, looking over your tear-stained face with a quirked brow. "what's the matter? can't handle your punishment?" he taunts, eying you intensely.
you sniffle, eyes unfocused. your lips part to answer him, but he beats you to it, landing two more smacks to your backside, and you're seeing stars. the strike of his hand is starting to burn, stinging agonizingly over your skin. your ass is buzzing, throbbing with its own bruise-induced heartbeat.
you feel more tears break past your eyes and your brows scrunch up. "that won't do, angel," suguru says. "i must've gone too soft on you."
who goes to land one last strike, and you can't take it anymore. you're kicking away as best as you can, panting with your cries as your voice goes ragged.
"rose!!" you call, completely beyond yourself. "please, no more, please- i'm sorry! rose!"
suguru freezes, his hardened facade washing away. he breaks past the air of anger that he's been submerged in and sees the way you cry as he holds you up, your pearly tears dribbling past your chin as you continue to beg him to have mercy on you under your trembling breath.
"shit," he curses, slowly releasing your hair and easing your head back down. "i hear you, angel. loud and clear."
he hastily undoes your bind and tosses it to the side, setting your wrists free. you quiver, sinking over his lap. suguru catches a glimpse of the marks he has left once more, watching the blooming of purples and reds spread over your poor bum. he hadn't realize how bad it looked before, but he sees now just how hard he's been hitting you.
"fuck, angel, i'm sorry. i'm sorry."
his hand runs over the small of your back and he ducks down to the side of your face, which is still concealed as you cry. his brows curl and his heart lurches forward, his touch upon you now soft and delicate.
"(y/n)?"
"why'd y'spank me so hard," he hears you question into the blankets, speaking unstably amid your tears. suguru's heart drops then and there, and his entire demeanor shifts upon seeing what he's done to you.
"oh, sweet girl, i'm so fucking sorry. i'm sorry," he whispers to you soothingly, attempting to calm you. you're a wreck over his lap, shaking violently. "i don't know what happened. i don't know why i did that. i'm sorry, baby. i'm sorry."
he hisses as his thumb ghosts over his handprints, and even that has you jumping suddenly. "okay, i won't touch. i'm- shit, i really marked you up. that looks like it hurts so bad, angel, i'm sorry. i was being a dick. i don't know what came over me."
suguru slowly helps you up when you don't reply to him, and once he's got you slightly upright, you fall into his chest as you sob. his arms wrap over your upper and lower back securely, face burrowing into your shoulder. his long hair tickles your bare skin gently, his comforting scent consuming you, and you are reminded of your boyfriend's sympathy once more.
"a-are you really t-that mad?" you hiccup into his shoulder, dampening his skin with your tears.
"no," he tells you. "no, i'm not mad anymore. that wasn't- i just got carried away," he repeats. "you're okay, angel. you're perfect. i let my emotions get in the way too much."
"fe-lt like you hated me..."
"what?" he frowns, pulling back to look you in the eye. your red eyes meet his sorrowfully, and you sniff, searching for the kindness of those hazel eyes you so adore. you rediscover it the moment you look at him. "hate you? (y/n), no. don't say that. i could never hate you. i love you," he brushes your tears from your eyes and you whimper. "you're my sweet girl. my perfect angel. i would never," he says gravely. "i can't believe i made you feel that way."
"you spank hard," you pout, and he kisses your puffy lips, smoothing his hand over you hair and stroking your neck.
"i see that now. i'm sorry. i won't do that again," he kisses you again. "i'm sorry. i hate to see you cry like this. this isn't how i should make you cry."
suguru looks around and locates the bottle of water he left on the dresser prior. he leans forward, careful as to not agitate you, and grabs hold of it. "here," he unscrews the bottle around your waist and lifts it to your lips. "hydrate, baby. you need it."
you pucker your lips around the bottle as he eases it upward, easing the fluid into your mouth as you drink. "that's my girl."
once you're done, he leans down to put the bottle on the floor and slowly guides you off of him and onto your stomach after kissing your lips once more.
"what do you want, angel? ice? you want me to massage it?" he asks you, craning down by your ear as you press your cheek to the pillow and look at him tiredly.
"both," you say softly.
"yes ma'am. i'll be right back."
suguru spends the rest of the night treating you, rolling his cool hands ever so carefully over your bruises, cupping your ass, and massaging out the stings to increase blood flow. your brows arch and you moan into the pillow as he does so.
"i know, i know," he murmurs. "promise, i'll make it better. try to calm down for me."
he's kissing softly over the handprints, whispering endless apologies before applying ice every now and then. eventually, the pain begins to calm and subside as your senses dull, and suguru rubs circles over your waist.
"sugu?" you mutter after an extended period of silence.
the dark-haired man ducks down, gazing over your now serene features. "hm?"
he sees the corners of your lips pull upward subtly as you close your eyes. "you're mean, you know that?"
he puff of amused air blows through his nose as he nods, stroking your temple. "i know. i'm the meanest, angel. i'm sorry."
kento nanami:
kento nanami is a man among men, a perfect gentleman, the blueprint for all partners. he loves you dearly, and he takes any chance he can to show you or remind you of this love he harbors for you.
nanami treats you as though you are the only womann to grace this planet, and in many ways, that is exactly how he sees you. he dotes on you and makes you feel as though you are a queen among peasants, sending you flowers nearly every day, writing you sweet letters, cooking you dinner, keeping his hand to your waist to guide you close to him when you walk around in public, cooking your meals, and buying you every possible thing you could ever even mention wanting.
he's an angel. he's your dream man, and he's all yours and you're all his.
when kento is intimate with you, he likes to take his time. he likes to drag out every second of his fingers touching you and his lips ghosting over your body. he likes to admire you, every single part down to the last detail. he is never in any rush, and why should he be? why would he want this to end? you're his lovely woman, and you deserve every second of pleasure he has to offer you.
he handles you so lovingly, holding your gaze and intertwining his fingers with yours as he strokes into you deeply, a haze of raw passion capturing you both as you breathe into each other, fall into one another's longing gazes, and intertwine like pretty strokes of paint mixing into one another on a canvas.
he's enamored by you, kissing over your neck and listening to your pulse against his skin as he makes love to you, keeping you close, flush to him. tendrils of soft blonde hair sprinkle over your forehead as his lips meet yours, bodies rocking passionately. you can feel the fondness in the way he presses into you, the way he holds you, and you feel so feather light as your head floats into the clouds and heaven encaptures you in the bliss of his hold.
nanami is afraid of hurting you when you have sex. he tends to always handle you with care solely because of this fear of his, and while he has his moments of letting just a little bit more loose, of handling you just a little bit rougher, of pushing in just a little bit deeper, he doesn't want to overwhelm you to the point where you are in pain.
you, of course, spur him on and encourage him to let go. you don't believe that nanami would ever hurt you, or at least do so to the point of irreversible damage, but he still gives you a safe word to use for any time you may feel more sensitive than normal or need a break or simply want him to stop because he's making you uncomfortable. you never thought that you would need such a thing with him, but you had unfortunately been wrong.
it isn't even nanami's fault, per say. you like to push yourself more than nanami really approves, and while you can handle it just fine, you find a moment when you overestimate yourself.
you've been riding kento at his desk chair, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands clutch your hips. his head is tossed back, normally neatly combed haired tousled messily, and his chocolate eyes drink you in through heavy lids. a chorus of hushed moans leave your lips as you work yourself down onto him, rolling your hips, grinding over him, and sliding up and down swiftly.
the blonde's lashes flutter as he watches you, a sight so beautiful and a sensation so purely exquisite that he can not bear to look away.
you lean down to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest to his unbuttoned dress shirt. his hands run over your back on instinct, eyes falling closed as he pants into your shoulder.
"ken," you pur into his ear. "fuck up into me, please..."
and normally kento would think on it more, but hell, you just feel too good for him to deny such a polite request. he obliges, gripping your hips and holding you down, planting his feet securely into the carpet and sheathing his throbbing length upward and into your welcoming, gummy walls.
"oh, sweetheart," he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck with furrowed brows. "you feel so perfect like this."
"fuckkk, ken," you whine.
after a while, you push yourself down at a faster pace, attempting to catch up with his strokes and speed him up. kento grunts, holding you tighter and understanding the message as he thrusts up into you faster.
soon, the sound of his hips slapping into your ass lifts into the air throughout his home office, and you're whining into him, rutting yourself down with him.
nanami's groaning into you, pace a bit wilder as he mimics your behavior. he's got a hand slid up your neck and into your hair as the other holds your waist down, no longer allowing you to move the way you had before as his thrusts proceed.
you're squelching around him, moaning prettily and growing louder by the second until nanami shifts slightly, sitting up straighter and holding you still as he fucks up into you.
he's rougher, as you had physically and verbally requested of him. while this isn't the first time he's handled you a bit harder, it's the first time you feel the weight of his tip bruise your insides with his position, his speed, and his access.
you gasp, breath hitching in your throat as pleasure rather quickly transitions into discomfort, and you squirm. you want to take it, you love taking him so much, but the longer he pulls you further into the harsh push of his dick into your cervix, the more painful it begins to feel.
you grip into nanami's hair, squeezing the muscles in your face as you breathe out heavily. it only takes a few more thrusts that slam into you way too harshly before you tap against his back.
"ah- ken, ken, hold on- mm- yellow!"
nanami stops even before the word leaves your mouth, pulling you off of him with haste as you wince. he sets you back down on his thighs, and you can feel his length twitching against your ass as he looks over you with pinched brows.
he looks so pretty, still thoroughly consumed with lust, captured by worry for your well-being. his hands remain on your waist as he looks over you sternly. "tell me where sweetheart. how did i hurt you?"
you already feel bad as your walls clench around nothing, rather disappointed in yourself. you tremble slightly, looking down. "sorry- i just... it just started hurting for a sec."
"i was going too roughly?" he asks you for clarification, warm brown hues of care looking up at you. he looks torn, devastated that he had broken the one promise he had made to himself about harming you in such a vulnerable state.
"it wasn't you, ken, i didn't think it would hurt that much," you say dejectedly, a tad woozy from the way you had just been handled. it wasn't as though you didn't enjoy it, your body had just reacted differently and reminded you of your limits with taking ken in such a way.
"of course it was me, honey, i'm not sure what you mean," he says softly, his thumb smoothing over your spine. "i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i never meant to hurt you. i must have allowed myself to get too worked up."
"it's okay, ken," you shush him, taking his face gently in your hands. he gazes at you, frustrated with himself but eyes so full of love for you, the darkness in his eyes still swimming about. "you always tell me to reel it in, but you just make me feel so good. i always want more of you. i pushed a little too hard."
"honey," nanami begins, taking one of your wrists in his veiny hand and turning to press a kiss to your palm. "i still would never blame you in this situation. i know better. i apologize sincerely. how badly does it hurt?"
"...it's not that bad, ken. it was just a sting."
"it doesn't matter," he shakes his head. "i think that's enough intimacy for today. i can not stand the thought of hurting you any further."
you give him a sad look. "but it wasn't all your fault, ken," you frown.
nanami smiles at you softly and leans in to press a long, gentle kiss to your lips. he pulls away from you and meets your gorgeous eyes. "i love you, sweetheart," he declares so warmly, so honestly and you return the sentiment without a second thought, heart thrumming.
"i love you more."
"let me run a bath for you, okay? then after, we can relax and order some food. i can give you a nice massage, too. how does that sound?"
"...can i massage you too?"
nanami laughs slightly. "darling, i'm not the one who got hurt."
"i don't care. i wanna help you relax too. you always have so much tension."
"i'm relaxed any time i'm with you. and you certainly were helping me relax a few minutes ago. perhaps, a bit too much."
you pout and he kisses you again, his soft lips warm and enticing against your own. "ken," you murmur against his lips as he draws himself back, rubbing his palm over your spine and sliding your shirt back down from its scrunched state.
"yes, my love?"
"i still want you."
he gives you a firm, warning look. "(y/n), i said that's enough. you need to rest a bit. you just said that you have the tendency to push yourself when it comes to sex."
"i know, but," you push your bottom lip out and lean back up against his chest, arms draping over his shoulders again. "it doesn't have to be sex. you can just... eat me out."
you feel nanami's chest stutter against you as he breathes out heavily. "you're playing a dangerous game, you know that?"
"please?" you beg, dragging your nose against his neck. "you're always gentle. and it feels so good... all you have to do is hold me down, i won't get hurt in any way with your tongue on me, i swear."
a groan rumbles in nanami's chest and you can feel his dick twitch back to life against you. you smile lazily, leaning back to look him in the eye. "pleaseee?"
"only if you behave," he accepts, raising his brows. "i'm serious. i will go the pace i want to go, and you'll take it. slowly."
you bite the inside of your lip and nod, a pretty smile gracing your face. nanami hums, curving his hand over the back of your head and bringing you to his lips again.
"what am i going to do with you?"
choso kamo:
your brown-haired boyfriend is new to a plethora of human emotions and habits, yet sex is one thing he adjusts to rather eagerly and skillfully thanks to your influence.
choso is ever so inquisitive, seeking to explore every part of you so that he can ingrain your body and its incredible functions into his mind, so he can adapt, so he can improve, and you can confidently say that he proceeds to do so with each passing moment he studies, loves, and cares for you.
choso gets pretty flustered by you easily. you introduce him to not only a world of your love and affection, but a world of vulnerability, pleasure, and sensual exploration. he learns fast, the goal of making you happy driving him forward into picking up on the things you show him incredibly swiftly.
he's so handsy with you, unsure of how to properly convey all that you make him feel so he frequently clobbers you, enveloping you, consuming you in a needy daze, repetitively chanting about how he loves you and how beautiful you are, and how amazing you make him feel, how he never wants to let you go. he's pathetically obsessed with you, longing for your touch at any given moment yet he always allows you to initiate your intimacy first before he completely drowns in you. he's still working on managing himself around you as well as his own urges to refrain from acting out of line, being too forward, or misreading situations. he wants to be perfect for you, and never in your relationship does choso ever want to misstep or misread what you want.
getting him to vocalize when and how he wants you is one thing, but once you've started, sending him a text about how you need him, or running your hand down his thigh a little closer to his crotch underneath the table, or giving him that certain look in your eye that can only mean one thing, then he's completely and utterly unraveling at the very second you give him the green light.
choso's sloppy and uncoordinated but it doesn't matter and he doesn't care because all he's after is you, and when he has you, his brain goes numb, his hands, his dick, his everything are acting with a mind of their own.
the two of you are hot gasps and nasty sloppy noises as the purple eyed man above you pleads for you, though you're right there, aching for more until he can't even breathe.
you think choso is so beautiful like this, lips parted and brows curled as though he's going to cry from the euphoria. his brown hair falls over his shoulders and sticks to his forehead, free from the updo that he always wears, and for someone who can manipulate the blood in his body, he is beet red in the face as he watches the way he disappears into you.
choso would never hurt you. not in a million years. he would die before he hurt you, standing in front of oncoming traffic and sacrificing himself for the sake of your life.
therefore, when his crooked fingers are rocketing into your sopping walls as you cream over and over on his three digits, his lips slurping over your clit with your fingers lace into his hair and tugging at his scalp, he doesn't expect you to stop him.
he's only thinking of how you taste so sweet on his tongue, how your gorgeous pussy makes that squelching noise the deeper he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, and god, the way his dick twitches every time you pull at his hair- he can hardly tell if you're trying to yank him away or to pull him closer at this point, but he's not even thinking about that. he's not thinking at all.
he’s groaning and humming into you, whining in between breaths about how he just can’t get enough, but his fingers are beginning to thrust too fast, too far inside of your walls.
his noises shift between guttural, deep growls and shaky, heavy-pitched breaths. though you love every sound, you begin to feel yourself rejecting the feeling as it grows far too swift, too hard, too overpowering.
"c-cho," you whimper, your thighs moving to push you away, but he keeps you down with his free forearm to your lower abdomen. "baby, i c-can't- ah!"
his noises rise over your pleads and he doesn't stop, and you can feel an uncomfortable knot building in your stomach in addition to the ache inside you. you wince, the overlapping sensations proving to be way too much at once.
your hand pushes at his forehead rather harshly. "cho-! ngh- pinaepple!"
choso's brows twitch as he processes what you just said, his mind still not completely comprehending, but after a second or two, he rips himself away as though he's burned you.
panic swirls in his violet eyes, his saliva and your slick shining over his chin up to his nose. he looks up at you over your thighs, but you don't see because you're leaning your head back in relief and breathing heavily.
"did you just say your safeword?" he asks in a rush, ensuring that he has registered your words properly.
you nod stiffly, furrowing your brows. "y-yeah, m'sorry," you breathe. "i couldn't take anymore."
choso's pupils shrink as though you've just told him that all life is ending as you know it. his heart hammers through his chest, and he instantly peels away from your now cold sex to swipe his fingers on the bed, ridding himself of any reminder that he has pushed you too much.
he crawls up to see your face, caging his arms over you. his muscles tense as he looks over your expression, brows knitted and eyes glossy. you eventually open your eyes again, having sensed his presence over you.
"(y/n), i'm sorry," he apologizes so earnestly like it's the very last thing he'll ever say to you. he's suddenly deadly serious, firm, and ashamed of himself. "you've never used our word before. i... i didn't realize what i was doing to you."
"cho," you say his name softly. he tilts his head further down to you, his brows curling in sadness. "it's okay, baby. stuff like this happens."
"what do you mean?" he frowns, hand coming over your cheek the moment yours lifts to hold his. "this has never happened to us before. i'm not sure how i let it, either."
"i just mean in general," you clarify softly. you can feel your eyes growing heavier and your speech slurring. choso notices as well, keeping his hand on your face so that you remain with him, cognizant of his gaze and his touch.
"this has happened to you before?" he asks, slightly horrified and simultaneously agitated by the very idea. "when? with who?"
"baby, i'm trying to tell you mistakes happen," you laugh softly. "no, this hasn't happened to me before, but i'm saying we have a safe word for a reason for when these things do happen."
"oh," he murmurs. "but i never wanted you to actually have to use it..."
"well, how else would we learn about each other if we didn't run into things like this?" you smile warmly at him. choso's face blooms with further heat, humming to himself as he looks at you.
"tell me."
"tell you what?"
"tell me exactly what it was that i did. i'll be sure not to make the same mistake twice. i swear. i'm so sorry for hurting you," he declares, determined.
"it wasn't that bad, love," you assure him.
"i still want to know. i need to know."
"it was just the way you were using your fingers, and i was already super sensitive."
"...so, you don't want me to use my fingers on you anymore?"
"oh, god, no," you say, and you can see choso visibly relax.
"oh... okay, good. i would have stopped if you wanted me to, but i was hoping that wasn't it. i love fingering you."
your tired smile spreads as you lift your other hand to curl into his hair, scratching gently. his lashes flutter, heavy eyes matching your own. "i love when you finger me too, cho. just maybe next time, be gentler... only because you'd already made me cum so much. my body was just tired and i don't think it could keep up anymore."
he nods, taking in every word you say. "i understand. that makes sense, i'm sorry. i should have checked on you and asked."
"it's okay, baby, you don't have to keep apologizing."
"but i just can't stomach that i-"
"it's. okay," you whisper slowly, pulling him down to meet your lips with his in a delicate peck where you can smell yourself on his breath.
he sighs when you pull away, face twisted irritably. "are you sure, baby? you're not just saying that?"
"of course," you say softly. "it was just one little thing. that's all. i'm okay."
choso almost looks reluctant to accept your dismissal of the situation. he somehow feels like he needs to be reprimanded more for it, and you can tell simply by the way he stares at you.
"cho," you giggle. "stop, i told you i'm fine."
"i know. you're too sweet to me, (y/n)," he murmurs. "i wanna make it up to you. can i? is there anything i can do to make you feel better? please tell me."
you swoon internally at just how much cares. "can you just cuddle me please?"
"yes. absolutely, yes."
the brunette moves to kiss your forehead, then helps ease your legs over so that you are settled comfortably over the bed. before he lays down, he is reminded of the dampness beneath you, coating your inner thighs and creeping up to your belly button.
"love, do you have a towel?" he asks you gently as you start to curl over to him. "i need to clean you up, don't i? i made kind of a mess."
"later, cho," you mumble tugging at his bicep. "just want to be close to you right now."
he's torn momentarily. he's always quick to cater to what you ask of him, to just silently yet happily comply with whatever you need, but he knows that the second he gathers you in his arms, sleep is going to take over the both of you as it normally does after sex. the last thing he wants is for you to be laying in a sticky pool of your own arousal. he imagines you waking up uncomfortable, and it doesn't sit well with him.
"hold on a minute," he tells you. you look up curiously as he kisses your cheek and slides his arm slowly from you to stand. your hand slips into his before you release him reluctantly.
"cho?" you call him with big eyes, and the brunette almost gives in right there.
"just one more second. i remember us always doing this, and i don't want to neglect you now."
"...but-"
"one second. i promise, love."
you sigh and accept it. the moment you say okay, choso is practically sprinting to your bathroom and back with a towel. you can't help but smile gently as he hurriedly, yet gently, cleans you dry, holding your legs in his palm and easing them to the side when he's done.
"do you have to pee?" he asks you rather bluntly, gazing up at you as he folds the towel and places it on the ground.
you groan at the thought. "yeah, but i don't feel like it."
"that's okay. i'll take you."
"to pee?" you quirk a brow.
"yes?" he answers as though you questioning the thought is absurd. "i don't want you to go yourself. you're tired."
"yeah, but then that means you'll just be listening to me."
"(y/n), i've seen every part of you. i don't care about watching you pee."
"why would you want to hear or watch me in the first place?" you whine.
"to make sure it doesn't hurt you when you do."
"cho, baby, you did not hurt me that bad. oh my god," you run a hand over your face and shake your head with your laughter.
"i just want to make sure you're alright. i can close my eyes if it helps," he says stubbornly, leaning down to gather you slowly into his arms. your arms go to wrap over his neck as he lifts you up and walks you off.
"it's honestly fine whatever you do, cho, i just think it's a little funny."
"to worry?"
"nooo," you sigh, knocking your head against his shoulder. "nevermind."
choso responds with a peck to your head before sitting you down in the restroom. once the both of you are settled, you're back in bed under the covers. choso holds you with your back to his chest, palming soothingly over your abdomen as you drift off to sleep with the feeling of his chest rising and falling against you.
"(y/n)," cho's voice rumbles into you. you hum contentedly half asleep, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "thank you for being honest with me. i love you. i love you so much."
"mmm. i love you too, cho. thank you for always listening to me."
toji fushiguro:
toji, mentally and physically, can not get enough of you, especially after long stressful days on the job. when he comes home from work and is greeted by the sight of your pretty face after having had guns pointed at his head, blood spilling on his face, and the weight of exhaustion and sore muscles hanging on his back, seeing you is like seeing the gates of heaven after death.
the assassin is always so quick to fall over you, pressing you to him and smothering you in long, deep, hot kisses as he walks you back or picks you up to carry you to your bedroom, or to the shower, or hell, even to the countertop in the kitchen.
toji fucking loves being inside you. he loves tasting you on his lips, feeling you clench around his fingers, watching you squeeze over his heavy cock as he sinks into you with a guttural groan and a devilish smirk. he loves the way your soft skin feels beneath his calloused hands, he loves licking the salty-sweet sweat from your neck as you toss your head back, he loves the sound of your pussy gushing around him with each slow stroke that inevitably transitions into ruthless pounding.
god, he loves fucking you as much as he loves you, and the moment he's got you in his arms with a week of stress pent up within his chest, he's pouring all if it straight into the way he fucks you, and he gets lost in the euphoria that is you.
you're such a pretty thing beneath him, so small compared to his bulking frame, and he is obsessed with it. one second, he's stroking in leisurely, absorbing every second of the way he slides his girth between your gummy walls, soaking up the way you greedily drag him back in with each thrust. and the next, you're in a mating press and he's grunting into your mouth through a sloppy lip lock, slamming in rhythmically, stilling his cock inside you for a second longer each time so that you can feel just had deep he is, just how deliciously he's stretching you open. hell, he doesn't even know when or how it happens. he just knows that you have him whipped, and his stress melts away with each drag of his seed he pumps into you after the umpteenth round.
"fuckin' hell, doll, keep drainin' my cock just like that. thaaaaat's it, pretty baby- hah, fuck- take me so deep inside this perfect lil' pussy..."
toji has always been well aware of the size difference between the two of you. he's always been a freakishly large man, and that fact of course applies to the generous width of the monster he carries between his legs. he knows you struggle at times when he has to take a good minute or two to help you relax as he eases himself into you while you whine, that his size can be a bit overwhelming, but you've accustomed to him so well that he completely forgets about how much stronger, heavier, and bigger he is- especially so when he is stressed.
he is, however, unfortunately, reminded after he has curled your lower half up from the bed with your legs over his shoulder. your knees are hovering by your ears as he plants himself over you with his feet on the bed, holding onto your hips and pounding himself down into you almost vertically, keeping you flush against his torso.
his day had been particularly long and grueling, and the job he had been on took far longer than expected just for his client to argue with him about some bullshit once he had finished. toji's irritated, and he's fucking you like he is.
normally you don't have much of a problem with that, but this position he's got you in has you widening your eyes and practically screaming. he's too deep, pushing in too hard, and this angle gives you no room to squirm away or for his dick to angle anywhere but straight into your guts. it hurts, and his face is tense with blazing jade irises of fury, fingers digging into your skin bruisingly, and he's on the verge of going impossibly harder.
you choke, scrunching your face and moving to press against him. when he starts to reach for your hand and pin it down, you shout.
"orange!" you cry. "stop, toji, orange!"
he instantly stills, face falling as he stares down at you in shock. "oh shit, baby, for real?"
you nod quickly with a tight face and he's retracting within seconds, pulling out carefully and bringing your legs back down to the mattress.
"fuck, alright," he says, climbing over you and pulling you down gently. "sorry, baby, was it the angle?"
you don't say much, only nod again as you fight the tears that prick the corners of your eyes. you keep your eyes closed and toji wraps you up, laying back on his side and pulling you into his chest. he feels your legs twitching against his and your shoulders shaking as he holds you, and remorse floods his chest. "talk to me."
"w-was too deep, toji," you shudder, whispering shakily into him. "s'big, and that angle- it hurt."
toji's heart clenches as he holds you tighter around your shoulders. he kisses your forehead, pressing his lips to your hair. "i didn't realize, baby, i'm sorry."
"i told you it was too much..."
"i know, doll, but i didn't think you meant it. you usually don't."
"s'why i said... the word."
"yeah, you did. you did exactly what you were supposed to. good girl, doll," he praises, rubbing over your back slowly. he's never seen you look so pained in such an intimate space with you. the way your brows were pinched angrily when he looked up, the way your teeth bared in a soft grimace, the way you pushed against him and wanted him to get off, it breaks his heart. he feels like a complete piece of shit, especially so because he didn't notice until your safeword came flying out of your mouth.
"i'm sorry," he apologizes again. "i should've been payin' attention. i had a bad day... fuck, sorry."
you can tell he's remorseful, and that combined with the fact that you've been fucked stupid for the past hour and a half has you shaking your head against him forgivingly, head dizzy as you finally take a moment to collect yourself. "it's okay," you mumble into his neck lightly.
"it's not, doll. it ain't even fun or sex anymore if i'm hurtin' you," he frowns. you make a soft noise but don't respond to him verbally. toji looks down at you, gently lifting your head to catch the fuzzy look in your eye. "you hearin' me? you okay?"
you nod dumbly, a hint of unease pinching your brows when your legs twitch again and the ache in your core throbs. you burrow your face in toji's neck and he sighs.
"i gotta get you cleaned up, doll. then i'll make up for it."
"wait," you mumble the moment you feel him pulling away. he stops as you cling to him, peering up at him through sleepy lashes. "don't go."
"i'm just gettin' you a towel. i'll be right back."
you look at him sadly once he has completely torn away from you and stood at the edge of the bed. he watches the way you bring your knees to your chest and look up at him with sleepy, desperate eyes. toji exhales, tilting his head.
"you want me to take you with me?"
"yes..."
he allows himself to smile lightly in amusement. "alright, but you're not walkin' anywhere, you understand?"
he leans down and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. he hoists you up cautiously by your bum, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso. you cringe slightly at the action, your legs burning after having endured such exertion, and toji can feel you shift against him as he holds you with one arm by your waist.
"that's not comfortable, is it?" he turns to your face, but it has already disappeared into his neck. you don't respond and toji exhales at the stubborn clinginess that you resort to in this fucked out state at the cost of your comfort.
he aids you by holding one of your thighs gently as he walks to your bathroom to retrieve the things he needs. with one hand holding you and the other gripping some cloths, he carries you back into your room and sets you softly onto your back on the cushions.
he gently unwinds your legs from around him and kneels on the bed beside you. he ducks down to kiss you softly, and you hum in satisfaction against him before he pulls away, stroking your forehead.
"close your eyes, doll. let me take care of ya."
a warm rag runs over your body, wiping over dark hickeys and lines of sweat. his lips follow in the cloth's wake, kissing over any part of you that he deems he has treated too roughly in his haste to relieve himself of stress.
he reaches your thighs, where the most pain resides, and presses his lips to them softly. his fingers run over your calves, up the sides of your plush flesh and he proceeds to pepper kisses between your legs, swiping the cloth over your damp entrance tentatively, keeping his eyes on your face to ensure that he isn't further harming you. you do jerk slightly, but that is the extent of your physical reaction.
"i got you, don't worry."
the second you feel the cloth leave you, toji's hands are pulling you up again, moving you around so that he can lay flat on his back beside you. you open your eyes, watching him curiously.
"come lay on me, baby," he guides you by your arm.
you do as he says, easing yourself chest-first onto of him and allowing your body to sink into his heat. his hands come over you and his palms work into the knots in your lower back, over your bum, and in your shoulder blades. he kneads into the balls of tightness, rolling over and rubbing them through lazily.
your eyes flutter at the relieving sensation, the green-eyed man's rough hands smoothing to rid your body of excess tension. "there you go," he kisses your shoulder. "i'll make you feel better, i promise. no more pain for my girl."
"love you, toj," you whisper sleepily into his skin.
"love you too. i'm sorry for hurtin' you. i'll be more careful."
ryomen sukuna: you know sukuna to be rough in all aspects of his life, and that certainly does not change when it comes to the two of you having sex- in fact, that very trait of his is enhanced. the moment he slips inside of you, he's pushing your head face first into the pillows, gripping your waist or your thighs or your throat with his large palms as to prevent you from running away, spitting into your mouth, fisting your hair, leaving red bite marks in his wake, anything he possibly can to remind you that you are his to devour whole.
you've always enjoyed the way he tosses you around or fucks you over the velvet pad of his throne, or holds you almost violently by the thighs in the air and spears you down on his ungodly thick cock while sitting at the edge of your bed with his feet planted into the floor. he knows he's not gentle with you, but aggression is the only way he knows to take you by, to show you how much you drive him fucking crazy, to bask in your enchanting screeches and your doll-like, hazy expressions.
and like the good girl he knows you to be, you take him every single time, and it spurs him on. it encourages him to plow harder, to grip tighter, to render you completely immobile beneath him as he ruts himself into you like it's the end of the fucking world and the only way for him to survive is to fuck you like a worthless whore, though you're nothing close to one.
while he always leaves you in a pool of your mixed fluids on the verge of losing consciousness, shaking like a leaf kissed by the breeze, you've never expressed an inability or refusal to handle him. you take him so well for a human, and sukuna's captivated by your strength, your insatiable desire when he's bullying his dick into your swollen cunt. while you get overstimulated, or hell even beg him to go slower or softer, he knows you don't really want him to stop because you haven't uttered the one word that he told you to reserve only for the times you feel you are beyond discomfort.
that is, until a few seconds ago, when the muffled word rips from your hoarse throat through the ball of your panties he's stuffed into your mouth.
sukuna's on top of you, pressing his heavy weight over your back with his arms wrapped under your frame and his thighs crushing in on your on. you're on your stomach, tears dribbling from your eyes and down your face as sukuna finally stills inside you after having thrusted painfully into your cervix over and over. he's so deep inside you, and he wants you to feel. he wanted to see how much further he could break you in, but clearly, he had mistakenly forgotten that you are still fragile.
the king of curses' eyes go wide, and he rips an arm from under you to tear the gag from your mouth. you heave out a sob, face falling into the pillows as you murmur your safeword again, a string of practically unintelligible spent moans that only sukuna can understand because he's never heard you utter that word before.
"red, red, red," you snivel, and sukuna's face relaxes.
"i heard you," he murmurs gruffly. "give me a moment."
you whine as your entire body collapses with the withdrawal of sukuna's arms from your body. he sighs heavily, looking over your marked skin as he smoothes a hand up your spine. you flinch with a whimper, and he clicks his teeth.
"this is what happens when you grow cocky."
"h-hurts, kuna. too hard," he thinks he hears you simper.
"never heard you say that before," he murmurs. "know your limits, woman."
he slowly eases himself out of your warmth with a clenched jaw and angled brows, watching your arousal gush onto the sheets the moment he's pulled back. you jump and curl further up into the pillow.
"oh my, how far have i taken you this time?" he hums, watching as you squirm under even the slightest touch he gives.
"ryooo," you whine.
"alright, alright," he comes back down over your limp body, curling his fingers over your forehead to pull your face up and gently brush your sweaty hair away. your eyes are closed as he turns inward to look over you, caressing your damp cheek softly. you're so warm, so shaky beneath him. your brows are pinched together in pain and exhaustion, and your lips are wobbling. hell, he's never seen you look so weak before.
"hey," he coaxes gently, voice rumbling tenderly against your back through his toned abdominals. you're releasing a series of trembles, broken hums, likely unsure of where you even are, and sukuna curses internally. he softens. "what do you need, peach?" he asks you in a low whisper.
your response is near incomprehensible, but sukuna is already thinking and moving before you even open your mouth. he exhales heavily and presses himself back up so that he can stand and gather you in his arms. you whimper when he goes to delicately flip you over.
"relax," he orders softly, smearing the wetness away from your cheek and smoothing his hands over your heated skin. you obey him to the best of your ability as he pulls you up.
as though it is muscle memory, you lean into his bare chest once he is holding you bridal style. you continue to tremble, and sukuna's crimson eyes roam your body carefully. he's truly done a number on you this time.
normally when it came to baths, sukuna would have one of his servants or uraume run them for you, but instead, he feels the need to take the duty on himself as he carries you into your large connected restroom. he sets you down within the inhumanly large royal tub slowly, and the moment he pulls from you, you reach for him lazily in retort as your head rolls back against the rim.
"be patient, i am not going anywhere."
he reaches to turn on the faucet as hot water streams around your feet. he's hasty with his movements, focused, knowing that you do not desire to be cold in this moment. he stands to retrieve the oils and soaps he's purchased solely for your pleasure and sits back down beside the tub.
"open your eyes," he reaches in to cradle your chin. you scrunch your lids and tilt your head to him, peeling your blurry eyes on his command. "lavender or peppermint. pick one."
your eyes weakly drift to the array of bottoms lined on the ledge. "lavender," you request tiredly.
your voice is so small, so light, a heady contrast to the way you normally challenge him with your playful tone. sukuna looks at you momentarily, soaking in your sweet mellow state, before retrieving the said bottle and pouring it into the rising steamy water.
he keeps a hand on your shoulder, rubbing over a bite mark with his thumb, as bubbles, soothing fragrances, and petals fall into the tub one by one. the hot water crowds over your bare skin, alleviating the dull ache between your legs and the stings of the marks on your skin.
sukuna holds an intense look of focus, swishing his arm around the water to ensure that all the properties he has included mix together well. you watch him, dazed, cheek propped against the porcelain with heavy (e/c) eyes studying his attentiveness. he feels your eyes on him, but only raises a brow at you once the bath is finished.
you truly aren't all there.
sukuna rises to his feet, slipping his arms behind you and under your own to hold you up as he steps inside with you.
you let him manuever you, your body too exhausted to dare to try to move. he pulls you flush against his chest, his thighs crowding over your own. you sigh out, leaning your head back against his shoulder as he brings a cloth over you, washing away remnants of spit and cum, massaging into the aches of your body wordlessly.
his chin comes down over your shoulder while his hands wind over your waist to stroke your legs. his fingers dance gently over your inner thighs, up your abdomen, ghosting over your neck. he's everywhere, and for the first time, in a supple, tender way, as though he is polishing glass that he does not wish to break.
you're humming, breathing steadily, chest rising deeply and slowly. sukuna's hands curve to smooth over your tits, and you flinch, leading him to smirk lightly. "sensitive, are we?" you pout, brows curling, and he turns his lips to your neck. "calm down, brat, i'm not going to push you. keep still."
his palms work over the sore plush of your breasts and you melt, arching into him as he massages over you with such care. a weak moan threatens to escape you and sukuna shakes his head. "do not. that is what led you here in the first place."
his hands release your tits and follow the curve of your body downward once more. he continues his massaging and caressing of your body until you're no longer twitching.
his hands fall over your hips, smoothing over your stomach. he lifts up slightly to look down at you. "are you still in pain?"
you take a moment to respond, but eventually, your eyes open again and they meet sukuna's lax gaze. despite the permanent angle of his brows, he appears calm before you, mutely compassionate.
you lean against him, holding his gaze, and shake your head slightly, a bit of your senses slowly returning. "only a little between my legs," you murmur.
he hums. "and how would you expect me to tend to this pain?"
you don't say anything, but the soft glint in your eye speaks for you as sukuna's hand slowly trails down your stomach and past your clit lightly. you inhale sharply, still thoroughly sensitive.
sukuna's eyes look over the whole of your face. "do you wish me to massage your sore cunt from the inside? is that what you so desire?"
you moan out a gentle sigh, heavy lids falling over your eyes in a blink as you nod helplessly against him. "slowly..." you murmur.
"you are insatiable," he mumbles lowly. his fingers ghost over the lips of your pussy, circling them gently before sinking past and sliding into your warm walls.
your mouth parts and your head knocks back as sukuna watches you closely. the water swishes around your legs as you move, sukuna's lips crushing slowly over your mouth.
"i suppose i can assist as a reward for you speaking up."
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I miss my d&d campaign so bad 😢
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