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logansbaby · 1 month ago

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GUILTY AS SIN - Logan Howlett

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

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

pairings: logan howlett x fem! mutant reader

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

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

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

‘I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?’

Guilty as Sin? - Taylor Swift

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

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

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

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

This was all Logan’s fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t, your mind huffed.

He was, your heart retorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mutation was not one of subtlety.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❥

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

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

Big mistake.

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

Logan could fucking smell you.

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

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

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

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

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

Logan curses, his entire being rigid.

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

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

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

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

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

From the first look shared between you, he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

So, with that, he’d made up his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

❥

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And— oh, oh.

“Can smell you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“You could’ve kissed me months ago.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, that’s exactly what he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lo—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

“Mhmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon Logan, fuck me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though, you hope there isn’t anyone else.

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

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

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

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

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

How could he deny you when you looked like that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚ fin

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

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corkinavoid · 3 months ago

Text

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #tim drake #batfam #batman #dani phantom #danielle phantom #eldritch danny #but he wont admit to it #cork writes #cork prompts #i wrote this as a way to relax #theres zero plot to it #just danny being petty #and dani saying mildly concerning shit in camera #it was her first day in the new school #all in all it was a fairly okay first day

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mostly-imagines · 7 months ago

Text

Dear God Get Out

jason todd x reader

aka not a moment of privacy

warnings: mild sexual activities, more people than jason would ever want in your apartment during those times

The second Jason’s through the door his arms are out, seeking to pull you into him. You let him engulf you in his arms without thought, this being the first time you’ve seen him all day.

“Missed you,” He mumbles into your shoulder.

You hum and rake your fingers through his hair. “I know. Missed you too.”

He pulls back to look at you and holds your neck gingerly in his hands. “You’re good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You nod and kiss his collarbone softly, wrapping your hands around his forearms. He gives your forehead a kiss and walks you backwards to the couch, leaning down over you until you have to sit.

He follows you down and kisses your lips and guides you backwards to lay. He drapes himself over you, inserting himself between your legs. He refocuses his attention to your neck, and sucks at a very particular spot below your jaw that you know he targeted on purpose.

“Okay, that’s not fair.” You breathe out, halfway to a sigh.

“No? How ‘bout this?”

He nips at you, startling you to a near moan. Your reaction only encourages him, as he holds your jaw and tilts your head to the side for more access.

He slips his hand under your shirt, grazing the skin underneath. He leaves open kisses all across your collarbone, trailing them down your stomach once he has your top off and strewn half away across the room.

You stop him, pulling him back up to you for a kiss. He furrows his brows at first, only understanding when you start to pry at his shirt too. He removes it for you, tossing it with startling accuracy right by yours.

He resumes kissing down your body, hands trailing down your sides along with him. He peppers kisses on your thighs and hooks his fingers into the seam of your underwear, readying to remove them.

It’s almost astonishing how silently he'd managed to open the window only to stumble and flail his way to the floor.

The sudden clatter scares the hell out of both you and Jason, who jumps to a stand immediately.

“Tim!”

“Evening. D’you guys still have any—oh.” Tim finally regains his coordination and stands up to see you sprawled out on the couch, bra and underwear your only cover.

His eyes go to the floor real quick and Jason lets out an exasperated sigh, looking around for something nearby to cover you up with.

“—you know, wait up means wait up!”

Oh good, Dick’s here too.

You sit up quickly and try to cover yourself with your arms, though there’s not much of a difference you can really make.

Dick ducks in from the fire escape and lands significantly more gracefully than his counterpart had.

It takes him no time at all to assess the room and see you, knees to chest on the couch, trying very hard to appear as though you’re not half naked. Takes him even less time to see Jason, standing in front of you, fuming.

“Oh. Oops…”

Jason chucks the tv remote at Dick and uses the distraction to pull you up from the couch, pushing you behind him. His massive frame is more than enough to cover what his brothers have no business seeing.

“Get the fuck—”

And just for good measure, Damian jumps down next and crouches in the window.

“Jesus Christ,” your boyfriend mutters, hands covering his face in exasperation.

Damian takes one glance at the room and grimaces—Tim’s eyes are glued to the floor, Dick’s acting as though there’s something very interesting on the ceiling, and Jason’s shirtless. He can’t quite see you behind Jason, though he doesn’t need to in order to guess what he’d just walked in on.

“Ugh, seriously Todd? That’s disgusting.”

You let your forehead hit Jason’s back, thoroughly embarrassed. He reaches back to caress your waist, and you know somewhere in that action there’s a reassurance that he’s going to get them out as soon as humanly possible.

“Yeah, seriously. This is our apartment, demon brat. Get out.”

“Maybe we should come back later…” Dick suggests, more awkward than in his usual character.

Jason glares up at the heavens. “Or never.”

“At least keep it in the bedroom, you animals.” Damian chastises.

Jason suddenly wishes he hadn’t thrown the remote so soon. “Our apartment.”

He looks back at you without moving the shield of his body, eyes apologetic. You meet gaze and turn your head to rest your cheek on him instead, your own hidden meaning of reassurance. It’s fine.

You can’t see them but you hear a shuffle and hope to god it’s not another vigilante.

You place a hand on Jason’s lower back and peer around his shoulder, seeing Tim turned back around towards the window and trying desperately to get Damian to move out of the way—Damian, seemingly having no regard for Tim’s urgency.

You’re not quite sure if it’s over discomfort or embarrassment in seeing you so undressed, or if it’s because his self-preservation kicked in when he saw the look on Jason’s face. Maybe both. Probably both.

Both.

“Will you stop?” Damian slaps his hand away. “We came here for a reason.” He looks past Tim at you, “Do you have—”

“No.” Jason cuts in, growing visibly more agitated.

Damian’s face contorts as he looks back up to Jason, “What is your—”

Now Dick cuts in, “Okay, that’s fine, we’ll just ask the old man.”

“Great.”

Dick pauses. “On the couch though, Jaybird?”

Jason takes a deep breath.

“Alright, ten seconds, then I get the gun taped under the table.”

That’s warning enough for Damian—he’s called that bluff once before and learned the hard way.

Tim doesn’t even take a second glance before hauling it out of your apartment, his cape getting caught on the window frame briefly before he scrambles away.

Dick calls out an apology to you before trailing out the window after him.

Jason lets out a heavy exhale and turns to you, hands gliding naturally to your waist.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t need to be.”

He gives a low hum and wraps his arms around you, pulling you down with him as he crashes down onto the sofa.

“Should I feel bad about almost railing you into the couch?”

“I wouldn’t waste any tears over it. Not like it would’ve been the first time we did it.”

He laughs and tugs you further into his chest. You curl into him and close your eyes, thinking.

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“How did Tim survive as Robin?”

“I’ve been asking that question for years.”

reblog or 🚫

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sapphire-writes · 6 months ago

Text

Beyond The Play

college!Art x college!Reader

summary: Tashi needs some time alone with her man, which leaves you without a room for the night.

word count: 3.8k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: alcohol, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex with a condom, light praise, titty sucking, there's only one bed oh no!!

a/n: thanks for all the love on my first Challengers fic! hope you enjoy this one!

“You are so fucked,” Art says, taking another sip of his beer.

“Shut up.”

“He’s right,” Tashi agrees, sighing heavily, glancing at her cards.

You’re all sitting on the floor of your and Tashi’s dorm room, half-empty beer bottles littering the floor between you. You’d been playing poker for the past hour or so, swindling more of Patrick and Art’s money. It’d become a Friday night habit of yours, card games and beer with Patrick and Art. Patrick was always a maybe, he only came to visit his girlfriend a couple times a semester.

But you, Art, and Tashi were always a solid trio. Tashi and Art had met through tennis of course, and you had met Art through Tashi after rooming with her freshman year of college. You’d become fast friends, and roommates for the next several years. You got along with Patrick well enough, you had to once he and Tashi started dating.

You could tell that had been a sore spot for Art, at least for a while. You’d suspected he’d had a thing for Tashi, and fire and ice hadn’t been the same since. You’d once asked Tashi about it and she’d only shrugged. Even though she was with Patrick for now, you knew Tashi had only one true love.

Whatever Art felt for Tashi was easily molded into friendship, and the three of you became nearly inseparable. Which was good, even if you may or may not have developed some feelings of your own for the blond tennis player.

But your friendship was more important. Those feelings could be pushed aside.

“God damn it,” Patrick curses, “I fold.”

Tashi snickers, revealing her cards and Patrick swears once more.

“I need a smoke,” Patrick says, standing and leaning across Tashi’s bed to the open window.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tashi says, standing at lightning speed, “Outside, we are not getting in trouble for this.”

She grabs Patrick by the shirt collar, dragging him off the bed. He dramatically chokes, but lets her drag him towards the door.

“Art come on,” Patrick insists, reaching for his best friend.

“What? No, I wanna stay,” Art says, sandy hair falling in front of his eyes, “You don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes I do,” Patrick insists, “C’mon five minutes, I swear.”

The boys tumble into the hall and you can hear their voices fading as they make their way outside. You stand from the floor, gathering up some beer bottles, and folding up the empty pizza box.

“Hey, d’you think you could sleep somewhere else tonight?” Tashi asks, brown eyes wide, “It’s Patrick’s last night, and y’know we really haven’t had any alone time.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. You totally get where she’s coming from but, it’s your room too. The thought of sleeping in the common area is less enticing.

“Or at least just for a couple of hours,” Tashi backtracks, seeing your expression, “Just so we can—”

“Yeah, Tash it’s fine,” you tell her, swallowing your annoyance. Tashi’s been nothing but thoughtful and kind as a roommate, and friend. It’s an inconvenient favor, but nothing crazy. “I’ll get out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

“You’re the best,” she says, kissing your cheek, “Seriously, I owe you one.”

“You sure do,” you tell her, “I expect full payment for this.”

“Do you mean a trip to the movies with slurpees and popcorn?” Tashi asks, raising her eyebrows.

“With extra butter,” you clarify and point at her, “You’re not cheaping out on me.”

“I’d never,” she insists, feigning seriousness before breaking into a grin.

You finish helping Tashi clean up and begin your excommunication from your room. Walking down the hallway you bump into Patrick and Art on their way back from Patrick’s smoke break.

“What’re you doing out here? You start smoking?” Art asks as Patrick keeps walking past you, picking up the pace, “Hey where…”

“Party’s over,” you tell him, as Patrick turns the corner, eager to return to Tashi now that she’s alone.

Art frowns, confused.

“But we were—”

“Art,” you cut him off and place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “Party’s over. Unless you’re eager to be a third.”

Art’s cheeks flush and he glances away, forcing out a laugh. Something tugs at your heart watching his half-smile appear.

“Uh yeah ... .no thanks,” he says and you pat his shoulders before releasing them, “Wait but where are you going to go?”

You shrug, “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You can’t just wander around campus, it’s like 2 am,” Art says, beckoning you with his hand, “Come back to my room, at least till they’re done.”

“Really?” you ask, “Cause if you’re tired I can just—”

“Don’t be silly,” Art says, poking your shoulder, “C’mon.”

Art’s room is in a separate building on campus, about a five-minute walk from you and Tashi’s building. Art is lucky enough to have a single; you’d been there a handful of times before class or practice. He keeps his room neat, aside from some clothes scattered on the floor from quick changes before practice. You smile as he hurriedly picks them up, throwing them into a hamper in his closet.

His bed is unmade, navy sheets messy as though he’d just woken up.

“Sorry bout the mess,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m not judging, you’re cleaner than most guys I’ve met,” you tell him and he laughs.

Suddenly, it hits you how late it is, sleepiness hitting you like a train as you yawn. This triggers Art’s yawn and the pair of you stand awkwardly in front of each other.

“Um,” Art says suddenly, “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” you agree, stomach sinking, “I can just—”

“You should stay.”

You’re silent at that. You stare at him, as he nervously plays with the hem of his t-shirt, waiting for your reaction. You’re not sure what to say. It’s fine, right? Just a friend, helping out another friend.

A friend whom you have a big fat annoying crush on.

“I mean….it’s just late and you’re tired and who knows when they’ll be done.”

“I don’t have anything with me,” you tell him, voice sounding softer, meeker than you’d like.

“Oh, here I got you,” he says, walking to his dresser. He shuffles through the drawer a moment before revealing a shirt and clean boxers, “Just did laundry today. You can….you can change in the bathroom. I even have an extra toothbrush.”

You roll your eyes at that, taking the clothes from him.

“Okay,” you agree.

“Bathroom’s right there.”

You nod, quickly making your way across the room and into the bathroom. You close the door and quickly change, finding Art’s spare toothbrush unopened in a goodie bag from the dentist shoved into a spare drawer. You quickly wash your face, brush your teeth, and change into his clothes. The shirt is baggy, with Stanford Men’s Tennis written across the front. It smells like him, like his detergent and his cologne and you can’t help but greedily inhale.

When you exit the bathroom, Art dips in, leaving the door open as he brushes his teeth. You place your clothes in a pile on his desk, awkwardly waiting for him. When he emerges, he’s wearing only his boxers and a gray t-shirt.

“I’ll take the floor,” Art says, his face turning beet red, “You can have the bed.”

“Art no,” you insist, “It’s your room. I’ll take the floor, it’s only fair—”

“Yeah that is not happening,” he says, satisfied smirk on his face, “Tashi’d kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the floor.”

“We could…..” you wet your lips, struggling to get the words out, “We could share the bed?”

Art watches you, his eyes wide. You watch his Adam’s apple bobs as he contemplates your question. Suddenly your pulse quickens, and embarrassment floods your body, and your face flushes. You turn away from him, scooting onto the bed.

“I mean only—”

“—if you’re comfortable,” Art finishes and you shut your mouth. You both giggle at the overlapping sentences.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable, Art,” you tell him, patting the space beside you, “Come on.”

Art moves onto the bed and you push closer to the wall. He’s so close when he lies down beside you, stretching his arm above your head. You’ve grown accustomed to the moonlit room and at this distance, you can almost count each eyelash that frames his blue eyes.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, minty breath wafting over your face, making your head spin.

“Mhmm,” is all you can manage as the heat of his body warms you under the covers.

He’s silent then and you lay there for a moment, watching each other, listening to your shared breathing. Art chuckles then.

“What?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, “Nothing, it’s silly.”

“What is it?”

“You’re the first girl I’ve shared a bed with,” he admits, shyly glancing away from your gaze.

“Art Donaldson,” your tone is teasing, “I find that rather hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” he insists, brows furrowing together, “I mean….I’m not saying—wait” he wets his lips nervously, “I’m not a virgin—”

Your eyebrows raise, a smile curling at the corner of your lips. No, you did not doubt that.

“Not that anything’s wrong with that, I just—wait and not to imply—”

“Art!” you cut him off, reaching forward and pressing your fingers against his lips, “I’m kidding. Don’t freak out.”

“M’not,” he mumbles, lips moving against your fingers.

“I’m fucking with you, Donaldson,” you whisper, taking your hand back, “I know you’re a gentleman.”

“Thank Christ,” he says with an exaggerated exhale causing you to giggle once more. He watches you, a smile on his face, eyes flickering to your lips.

Your face heats up as he wets his lips. Suddenly, nervousness flutters in your belly, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning away from him to face the wall.

You wait for his response, hoping he’s not disappointed. Disappointed about what, you’re not sure.

“Goodnight,” he says softly and you close your eyes.

You wake up early. Birds are chirping outside the window, golden sunlight is beginning to bleed into the room, and Art’s chest is smushed firmly against your back. His arm is curled around your middle, hand splayed under your shirt and on your tummy, face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s so warm, his presence so comforting, you just want to close your eyes and melt back into him.

Art groans in his sleep, moving his hips slightly and your eyes snap open.

Oh, Art.

He’s pressed firmly against your backside, rock-hard, hips unconsciously grinding against you. Your mouth falls open slightly feeling him against you, the hard outline of his cock bullying against your ass. Art groans again, hand on your stomach pushing you closer to him.

A breathy sigh escapes you and your head falls back against him slightly.

“Art,” you breathe, answered with another groan, this one edging on a whimper. His hips gyrate, cock pressing against you with need, “Oh God…”

You swallow, breathing becoming more shallow. Your pussy clenches, and you can feel the growing wetness in the boxers Art had lent you, thighs pressing together desperate to relieve some of the pressure.

“Art wake up!”

Art wakes with a start, head pulled from your shoulder. You can’t see him, but you feel him tense, the warmth of his body ripped from yours as he lurches backward, right off the edge of the bed. He falls with a yelp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. You sit up turning toward him.

“Fuck!” he says, scrambling to sit and hide his erection, “Shit, I’m so sorry!” His face is red and he grabs a pillow, placing it over his lap, “God–fuck, I’m so sorry I was asleep—” He keeps stuttering, unable to meet your eyes.

“Art.”

“It’s just biological you know, just morning wood, I would never do anything without your explicit consent–enthusiastic consent!”

“Art…”

“And I would never want to ruin anything between us, ever–”

“Art!”

His head snaps toward you then, eyes meeting yours. His mouth hangs open, eyes watery as he looks up at you. He looks so sad, so embarrassed, and disappointed. And something else as well. Worried, perhaps.

“Get back up here,” you tell him.

Art’s mouth remains open in shock as he glances at the bed.

“Now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Art scrambles to rejoin you on the bed, lying beside you. He faces you just as he did last night, sandy hair falling across his forehead. You smile softly at his disheveled appearance and his flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking,” you tell him, reaching forward and brushing some hair from his face. You let your hand trail around to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. “You have my consent.”

Art’s eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, pulling yourself closer. His hand drifts to your hip, anchoring himself to it. “Explicit, enthusiastic, all yours.”

The last word has barely left your lips before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own. They’re warm and soft, he kisses you with innocent eagerness, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. You lift your leg, hitching it around his thigh, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly, earning a moan against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips, “You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

Something deep inside your belly warms at his admission.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he answers, kissing you again, “Since freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you…..oh fuck..” your question trails off as Art mouths your neck, sucking and biting the tender skin.

“Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he mumbles, kissing your collarbone.

You hum at his answer, tilting your head to give him better access. His hand moves from your hip bone, up under your shirt—his shirt.

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth returning to your lips.

“Yes,” you tell him, “Please touch me.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he does what you ask, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. Pushing against him, his hand cups your breast, squeezing lightly. You pull away from his lips briefly, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it to the end of the bed. Art��s eyes devour you and he kisses you desperately as he continues to play with your tits.

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck until he reaches the top of your chest.

Art’s lips move across the tops of your breasts, as though he’s struggling with choosing which one to lavish with attention. Luckily for you, he decides rather quickly and latches his mouth to your right nipple, thumb, and forefinger, tweaking the opposite. Your back arches as he gently bites down, sucking the hardened peak harshly before releasing it with a pop.

“Art.”

He simply moans, ignoring your cries as he brings his mouth to your opposite nipple, repeating his previous action. Pleasure winds a current in your lower belly, your thighs clench as he repeats his little torture, alternating back and forth between your breasts. You grab his hair, tugging him not too gently until he glances up at you, cheeks red, lips glossy and puckered.

He’s too pretty.

You pull him back to your lips, kissing him feverishly while trying to rid yourself of the clothing you have left. Art feels you squirming and assists, hands moving the boxers down your legs until you’re able to kick them off at your ankles. Your hands move to him next, eager to even the playing field.

You tear his shirt over his head revealing his toned stomach from countless hours on the court. Your mouth waters at the sight before Art is on you once more, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. His hand returns to your hip, curling against it before he reaches further, squeezing your ass.

You smile against his mouth as he squeezes again.

“You’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he murmurs, returning your smile.

His hand grazes down the back of your thigh before venturing to the front where your legs meet. Your breathing becomes more labored the closer he gets to your hot center.

“Can I?” he asks, so softly, you nearly drown out his question with your heavy breath.

“Yes,” you tell him, and that’s all he needs.

Art slides a curious finger between your wet folds, gently circling your clit. Your mouth falls open as he continues.

“You’re so wet,” he remarks, dipping his finger lower, and finding your entrance.

He lets his middle finger sink into you, met with little resistance. Your walls greedily accept him as he curls his finger upwards, beginning to pump it in and out. Stars explode behind your eyes and you moan, clutching onto his shoulder.

Art smirks, eyes aglow at the pleasured noises you emit.

“That feel good?”

“Yes—fuck,” you squeak as he presses another finger inside of you, “Oh god.”

“Yeah?”

Art crooks his fingers against your velvety walls, pressing against that special spot inside of you that has your head lolling against him, moans spilling from your lips. His thumb joins, caressing your sensitive clit in time with the strokes of his fingers.

“Feels so good,” you moan, “I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You're gonna come for me?” he asks, kissing your neck. Your fingers tangle themselves in his blonde hair, tugging harshly, your orgasm building deep in your belly, “Come on baby, come on my fingers, I wanna feel this pretty pussy come.”

His words send you over the edge and your pussy clenches around his digits as you come, thighs shaking from the intensity as warmth floods through you.

“That was so hot,” Art says, kissing you, still buried to the knuckles inside you, “You’re so hot. Let me fuck you, please.”

You hum against his lips as he carefully removes his fingers from your warmth. He pulls away, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. You watch him awestruck as he moans, eyes closing at the taste of you.

“Get inside me,” you tell him, “Right now.”

Art doesn’t need to be told twice, sitting up and pulling his boxers off as you lay on your back. Your eyes drift down his stomach to his cock. It’s pretty, just like the rest of him. Long, girthy, a neat tuft of dark sandy colored hair at the base. The tip flushed red and weeping as he strokes himself.

“Condom?” you ask, and he nods, walking to his desk and rummaging through the first drawer.

He comes up successful, ripping the wrapper with his teeth and rolling the condom on his length before crawling on top of you. You spread your legs for him as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip along your soaked slit.

“Art, please put it in,” you whine, hips lifting.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up,” he says, shaking his head.

Your responding giggle is short-lived as he slowly sinks inside of you, filling you to the brim.

“Oh god,” you whimper, as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You okay?”

“More than okay,” you answer, cupping his cheek. He mirrors your action and you smile, a sudden burst of tenderness exploding in your chest, tears welling in your eyes.

Art rotates his hips, pulling back and sinking back into your inviting warmth.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, “I’ve dreamt of this for years.”

“Me too,” you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist, “God, Art, I’ve wanted this forever.”

This spurs him on, his thrusts becoming quicker, more eager at your confession.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimper as he pounds into you, “Wanted this for so long—used to talk to….to Tashi about it—”

Art moves his hand along your side, reaching your thigh and hooking your leg over his shoulder.

“What’d you tell her?”

The new angle sends him deeper, the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against that spongy section of your walls that has your mouth dropping open in pleasure.

“Wanted you,” you manage as Art holds one of your hands above your head against the pillows, “Wanted this so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Art says, his breath catching, “Fuck—oh god you’re so pretty like this, fuck.”

“Art!” you cry his name as your second orgasm builds, sneaking up on you as he slows his pace, “Why’d you—”

“Wanna savor this,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. His thrusts have slowed, hips moving with leisure.

The pressure in your belly continues to build as he smirks down at you. Tennis has done wonders to his stamina; he fucks you like he could keep this pace for hours, barely breaking a sweat. You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he kisses your neck, your hamstring burning deliciously with the stretch.

“Please come for me,” he murmurs, right next to your ear, “I’ve got to feel that sweet little pussy come around my cock, please.”

You do as you’re told, spurred on by Art whispering praises and encouragement in your ear and you fall apart, clenching around his cock and milking him for all he’s worth. You feel his hips stutter, cock twitching inside your warmth as he follows your release with his own. Art’s lips find yours then, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you like a drowning man coming up for air.

You stay like that for several minutes, his cock softening as you kiss one another, before he slowly pulls out. He takes a moment to take off the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the trash before he rejoins you in bed.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you across his chest.

You lie with your cheek pressed against his pec, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. He strokes your arm with his fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, face buried in your hair, “About wanting me? This?”

“Mhmm,” you answer, putting all your cards on the table, “I may have harbored a small crush on you.”

Art picks up your hand measuring it against his own before lacing your fingers together.

“I wish I knew that earlier,” he admits, still holding your hand, “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

You glance up at him between your lashes and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says with a smile.

“And here I thought Patrick was the only one who owned your heart,” you tease, causing him to playfully bite your wrist, “Hey!”

“Not the only one,” he admits, rolling you over onto your back, “I’m glad you got kicked out of your room last night.”

You lean up, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Me too.”

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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months ago

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DCxDP Fanfic Idea: Catnip for Heros

Danny Fenton gains a particular reputation in Amity Park for being a "Catnip for Heros."

It started in Freshman year. Phantom was seen coming and going from his house at odd times. It wasn't a very well-kept secret- neighbors would see the glowing teenager in broad daylight.

The ghost hunters who owned the house were the only people unaware of the ghost flying out of the third window on the second floor—Danny's bedroom. At first, they thought it was a one-time thing.

Maybe the ghost wanted to have a little bit of fun now that he was stationed back in the human world? Fenton was rather good-looking when he cleaned up and could be charming when he wasn't dodging his responsibilities.

The A-listers started a rumor that Danny Fenton was relatively easy if all it took was Phantom saving him once. Still, the rumor never gained traction since Fenton seemed flustered at the most minor compliments. Instead, he seemed to jump out of his skin whenever anyone hinted of being interested in him- romantically or friends with benefits.

Never mind when his nighttime rendezvous with Phantom was brought up. Boy looked mortified to have it even suggested, as in burst into tears right then and there.

Even the A-listers weren't that mean. (Some think it was more due to their respect for Phantom than anything.)

Then Fenton was spotted flying on the hoverboard of Red Huntress, clinging to her like a damsel in distress. It would have been a simple rescue that the hero was known for doing, except she often carried him about without a ghost.

It became customary to hear her board humming through the air, Fenton either holding tight to her suffering stance or being carried in her strong arms. As usual, Red Huntress's face was completely covered, but her body language was open and friendly, curved toward Fenton as if he were the sun to her flower.

Red Huntress slowly but surely became more visible in public sight. Unlike Phantom, she normal vanished as soon as a fight was done. People speculated that she was human, but no one could prove it.

Once Dash Baxter was able to film Fenton literally kicking his feet and giggling as Red Huntress hovered in the air, one arm under his knees and the other on his back in a classic princess carry. She had bought him a street hot dog, and Fenton was acting like it was an engagement ring.

The video spread like wildfire through Casper High, and soon, people whispered that Fenton and Phantom had ended. Then two days later, a new video of Phantom flying out of Fenton's room at two in the morning was passed along by two jocks that had been out doing an extreme workout run through the city.

Students of Casper High wondered if Fenton was daring enough to two-time the town heroes. Wes put a stop to the accusations when he flagged down Huntress and asked her about Fenton's relationship with Phantom.

Of course, Wes meant that Fenton and Phantom were the same person (he was crazy like that), but everyone knew it was more about possible cheating. She shattered the thought with, "Phantom and I share Fenton," and flew away, leaving everyone with their jaws dropping.

However, what got Fenton his nickname was the day the Justice League arrived to ask Phantom for help against an invading paranormal force. It was a whole, saving the world; you're our last hope scenario.

People in Amity watched the battle updates from various news outlets. It seemed a bit touch and go for a while, but thankfully, Phantom and Batman could pull through and push back the undead. The streets of the small town flooded with cheering citizens who were overjoyed their town hero did it.

Red Huntress even flew over the city throwing "Phantom #1" foam fingers. It was cute how excited she was for her boyfriend. Fenton was notably absent during that time, but she said it was fine, so people let it go.

It put Amity Park on the map. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know about Phantom and his exploits. News crews, reporters, and even celebrity gossip rags were scouting the tiny town, looking for anything on Phantom besides "He's really old. Really powerful. Dead."

One Jimmy Olsen managed to get the most giant scoop of Earth's newest and hottest hero. It was of Phantom, leaning awfully close to a flustered-looking Fenton. One tilt of his head and their two lips would have been brushing.

Olsen took the shot, forgetting about his flash, and watched Phantom fade out of sight. Fenton looked horrified and raced away before Olsen could ask him questions.

Undeterred, Olsen spent a whole day searching for Fenton and nearly gave up until he happened to find the teenager in the local park, sitting on Red Robins's lap as the hero played with his hair. Shocked, Olsen snapped the photo, watching the two for a while, getting more and more footage. They fed each other ice cream at one point and raced back to the hotel to show Lois.

She excitably jumped on the idea of a plain civilian boy with heroes, especially after some digging showed his connection to Phantom and Red Huntress.

They decided they needed proof before pitching the idea back home, and Fenton was caught in similar positions with Orphan, Superboy (the clone on Red Robin's team), Inpulse, Blue Beatle (the younger new one), and Supergirl. All in a month.

"He's really going through them, huh?" Olsen muttered while the story was posted. The header read, "Danny Fenton: Teenage heartthrob that is Catnip for Heros!"

It's an overnight hit sensation.

Miles away, hiding his face in his hands, is Danny Fenton, surrounded by all the young heroes laughing so hard a few nearly break a rib.

"My Obsession is Protection and Love. It's not my fault I need cuddles from those I care about to function!" The teen cries after reading the somewhat scandalous article and pictures of himself.

"We know Danny," Tim assures him, tucking the boy under his chin. "Getting high off of love is a medical condition."

"Wait, does he actually get high?" Kara asks. "I thought he was just getting giggly 'cause he's cute like that."

"Nope. The emotion humans- and Kryptonians, I guess- release when love- any form of it- causes Danny to get high. Blown pupils. Seeing streaks of lights. Laughing silly. The whole sha-bang." Kon laughs, reaching out to pat Danny's shoulder. The teenager half-buried his face more in his hands with a muffled cry. "He once got so high after Bruce told him how proud he was of him that he created a duplicate and had a staring contest with it to see who had the right to the last bag of chips."

Jaime holds up the tablet, pointing to a photo. "It's the one that started this whole catnip thing. Also, how honored I am to be included in the harem? My popularity had never been higher."

"Stop!" Danny cries. This isn't funny. How am I supposed to protect my secret identity when the whole world thinks I'm "Making my way through all the young heroes?"

"You could marry me," Bart offers. "No one will expect you to run off with a speedster ironically."

"You have to go through Bruce first," Tim tells him; though there is a smile on his face, his eyes are ice cold. "And the rest of my family. Danny is destined to be a Wayne."

"Bruce can't adopt me; I have parents."

"I meant marry in love."

"Tim, now is not the time to state a claim." Kara sighs and then narrows her eyes. "Danny is going to marry into the El family."

"Not if we Allens have anything to say about it!"Bart shouts.

Kon and Jaime watch as Danny slips to the floor a smile slowly blooming on his face as various heroes start yelling at each other. "Should we tell them he's getting high right now or-?"

"Nah, it's fine."

#dcxdp crossover #dcxdpdabbles #Catnip for heros #Part 1 #Dead Tired #Kara Zor-El/ Danny Fenton #Misunderstanding #Bart Allen/Danny Fenton #Val was laughing and making things worse #Team Phantom aren't aware of the rumors since they are outcasts

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notjustjavierpena · 8 months ago

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Swelter

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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buckiverse · 1 month ago

Text

Missing You Always

based on the steal a moment phone call!!

☆--- paring: sylus x reader

☆--- summary: Your marriage to Sylus has been a challenging one because of your long distant status. Sylus is determined to remind you that distance can't diminish what you share. He reassures not only your mind but also your body, reminding you why you're meant for each other.

☆--- word count: 4.5k

☆--- warnings: mdni, slight angst, there's comfort don't worry, soft!dom sylus, you take a bath together, oral sex, fingering, doggy, back shots, bit of background story, sylus is an eater ok..., (he eats your cum), size kink if you squint, no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)

☆--- a/n: i had to get this one out quick because rafayel is quickly taking over my brain ngl.

Just a couple of months before, you married Sylus. He has certainly lived up to (and well beyond) your expectations. While he is the perfect loving husband, your current situation is less than favorable. You knew what you agreed to in this marriage, and you knew the first few years would be difficult, but it did not stop you from feeling a pang in your chest when you arrived home, and your lovely husband was not there because, well, he is still in the N109 Zone.

You walked into the front door of your shared home with Sylus, but then again, was it? He is never here during the week. You had both discussed it plenty in the early stages of your relationship, but that did not make the adjustment any easier now that you had moved back to Linkon. Being a hunter was difficult for you, mind, body, and spirit.

Despite your feelings, you fought to hold on until the weekend. You knew Sylus was coming home to you soon. After work tomorrow, you would go home, and your lover would be waiting for you. That thought made you smile.

You strolled into your home through the grand entryway, maneuvering through it to find the living area. Walking through the arch, you looked above your head to see the chandelier suspended above the coffee table. Turning your head, you observed the ceiling-to-floor windows, admiring the sunset.

Your imagination took over, the thought of walking in tomorrow, noticing the lit fireplace, candles throughout the room, and the signature scent of vanilla being carried throughout the room. You’d know without a doubt that he was home. Your gaze would be drawn to the kitchen where Sylus would be standing. Maybe he got a gift for you, he usually does, something that reminded him of you during your signature five days apart.

“I miss him,” you said aloud reluctantly. A sigh escaped your lips, and your hands covered your eyes, leaving you feeling the somber silence around you.

A few beats of silence were interrupted by Sylus’s signature ringtone. Pulling you from your mind, you shifted quickly, searching for your phone. Making your way to your work bag, you pull the phone out of the front pocket before swiping “accept” on Sylus’s phone call.

Sylus: "You have no idea how much I’ve missed this—just hearing your voice, sweetie. It’s been way too long. Feels like forever since I’ve had you all to myself." You: "I know, baby. I’ve missed you too. Every night, I go to bed wishing you were here." Sylus: "Soon, though. Tomorrow, it’s all about us. You and me, finally. I’ve been counting down the days." You: "Me too. I remember the last time we were together…our little movie night… I loved it so much." Sylus: "Yeah? Well, tomorrow, I plan to make it even better. We’ve got catching up, and I’m not just talking about our dinner date, sweetie. I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. I miss touching you, holding you… just being with you." You: "I can’t wait. I’ve been thinking about it all week. Just the thought of being with you makes everything feel right." Sylus: "Good. Because tomorrow, the second I walk through that door, I’m not letting you go. No distractions, no interruptions, just you and me. How’s that sound?" You: "Sounds perfect. I’ve been dying to just… be with you again. Really be with you." Sylus: "Good. ‘Cause I plan to remind you how much I’ve missed you in every way."

☆---

"Hey, Sy! Are you almost here yet?" Your voice carried a hint of strain as you focused on dinner preparations. You had cubed some steak, and the hot grease sizzled and popped back at you while you basted the meat with a rich butter-garlic mixture, ensuring each piece absorbed the flavorful glaze.

“Yes, Kitten. I should be there in a few minutes, but check the door; there's a gift for you outside.”

“Oh! Okay, I didn't know. I’ll go look.” You disconnected the call with Sylus and went to the front door of your house. You saw an absurdly large box waiting for you as you opened the door. You maneuvered the box inside, wanting to open it. You grabbed your knife, tearing through the tape on the top. Once opened, you saw the little white note inside waiting for you.

“For our date.” The simple cursive of the letter made you raise an eyebrow till you bent down and opened the box. You found face masks, bath bombs, moisturizers, oils, candles, and anything you could have desired.

“Ah, so he planned a self-care night. How cute!” Then you heard the door creak open, causing you to turn around. You dropped the items swiftly back in the box, overwhelmed with emotion.

“I’m home, my love,” he said sweetly. A large smile instantly plastered your face at the sight of him, and you ran into his arms. You could admit that while you were growing used to your hyper-independence, you missed him. His scent, his touch, his presence. How your days to weeks apart made your heart grow fonder was amazing.

You ran to him, jumping in his arms. He caught you quickly as you gave him a tight hug. “I missed you,” you whispered into his ear, pressing soft kisses to his ear lobe. He shuddered at the feeling of your kiss, his eyes falling closed. You pulled your head back to look into his eyes. The heat of your soft kisses ran through him as he opened his eyes to meet yours. He placed his forehead flush against yours, a smile appearing on his face. His hands tightened his hold on you.

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t want to know how much I wished I could come to you this past week,” Sylus said, his eyes dropping to your lips. Holding you with just one arm, his right hand caressed your face. Your face flushed a bit. The look in his eyes said even more than his words. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, “I missed this,” he said, kissing you languidly, almost like you were frozen in time. “And this,” his hand moved, tilting your chin upwards and to the side, pressing a taught kiss to your jaw. “This,” he tilted his head and kissed your neck slowly, starting where your jaw meets your neck, down to where your collarbone begins, before his teeth found your skin, nibbling on it gently.

A rough breath came from your lips. The feeling of his lips and teeth on you always felt amazing. “Sylusss, let’s finish dinner. I smell it burning,” you said, smelling the cube steak slowly turning into burnt steak.

He kissed you once more and nibbled on the skin by your collarbone. “Okay, we wouldn’t want dinner to burn now, would we?” he laughed, placing you on your feet. You turned around and made your way to the kitchen, still feeling flustered by how he kissed you moments ago.

Sylus followed closely behind, his presence warm and comforting. You carefully plated the meal—tender, butter-basted (slightly burnt) steak cubes, roasted vegetables, and creamy mashed potatoes. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, the perfect mix of savory and satisfying.

"Smells amazing, sweetie," Sylus murmured as he leaned against the counter, watching you with that familiar, teasing grin.

You handed him his plate, the warmth of the food almost matching the heat between you two. Together, you carried the plates to the couch, where the night would begin. The soft lighting in your house casts a cozy glow, setting the perfect mood for the evening ahead.

"Dinner and a show?" he teased, settling beside you, his eyes lingering on yours.

You laughed softly. "Something like that. Let’s just say… we won’t leave this couch for a while."

Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I like the sound of that."

You both dug into the meal, the flavors rich and comforting, but the real excitement lingered between each bite, the anticipation building for the rest of the date.

The movie you chose to accompany your dinner was a sad romantic comedy. It may not have been the best choice because now you are trying to keep tears from falling from your eyes. You wanted to enjoy your time with Sylus, not cry over nothing.

But you couldn’t help yourself. The movie discusses a couple struggling to navigate their careers. They got pulled in different directions and did not end up together… It was eerie; it was too reminiscent of your current insecurities.

You turned your head, looking at Sylus, who was already turned towards you. His brows furrowed in concern. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours, hmm?” he said, bringing his hand to rest on your cheek as he slowly stroked your face.

His tenderness and compassion for you were mind-blowing. His never-ending patience was world-shattering. A tear fell from your eye, wetting his hand. “Is this going to work? I don’t want to end up like them, Sylus.” You finally met his fierce eyes, forcing yourself to hold contact as you shared your insecurity with him.

“Listen, this isn’t forever. It's hard now, but it is temporary. I will make sure of that, " he said, his voice strained at the sight of your tears. He pulled you forward to hug him, and his embrace instantly comforted you. “I promise,” he whispered into your ear, placing the softest kiss on your earlobe.

You pulled back ever so slightly to look him in the eyes. “I trust you, Sylus,” you said, sniffling and wiping your face. He smiled at you slightly, and your admission meant much more to him than you’d ever know.

“Let’s continue our date. I found those face masks you’ve been texting me,” he offered. “I saw! Where’d you even find those,” you exclaimed and lightly hit his chest. You both laughed together, feeling a bit lighter now.

You shifted to your shared bathroom, which had quite an industrial feel. The walls were covered with deep blue tiles, and the floor was a patterned blue tile, which beautifully complemented the gold and brown accents throughout the room. Walking on your bare feet, the tiles felt cold under your feet, chilling your whole body and giving you goosebumps.

Sylus followed behind you closely. The brown box rested in his large hands as he placed it on the wide granite counter. He unpacked the box, pulling out the candles, face masks, oils/lotions, and bath items.

You walked behind him, grabbing the candles and placing them around the large bathroom. The scent of a sweet candle promptly filled the air, spreading through the room. You turned off the warm lights, allowing the candles to be your light source.

Further setting your space for the date, you turned on some smooth jazz—something you and Sylus would appreciate. Playing instruments was not an easy feat, as you would know after your multiple failed attempts at playing the piano.

Walking back into the bathroom connected to your primary suite, you saw that Sylus had begun to draw bath water for you two. His hand was wading in and out of the water, monitoring the temperature. You just watched as he worked. He had fresh roses in a plastic bag on the floor next to him. He picked them up, removing the petals. The red roses filled the white bathtub, some resting atop the beautiful bubble bath he made for you two.

“Do you need help getting ready for the bath?” He said suddenly, turning his head to look at you, a slight grin on your face.

“I could use some help,” you said playfully, a pout forming on your cocked head.

Sylus stopped the bath water and was now ready for you two to share. He made his way over to you and stood tall before you. You lifted your arms, and he moved to lift your t-shirt above your head, tossing it somewhere in the bedroom, leaving you in a lacy black bra. You watched his eyes shift downward to your chest before looking you in the eyes. He laughed a bit, knowing you caught him looking.

“Your turn, Sy,” you said.

“Whatever you say, Sweetie,” he replied playfully. He lifted his arms above his head, knowing damn well he was too tall for you to pull the shirt above his head. So, instead, he moved to his knees, making it easier for you. You reached down, pulling his casual shirt over his head, leaving him shirtless, on his knees for you. Your eyes widened a bit at the sight. You’d never get over this.

“Now, these must go,” Sylus said. He was hooking his large fingers into the waistband of your black leggings and panties. He pulled them down slowly, leaving you in just a bra before him. “Always so beautiful for me,” he said, desire filled his eyes.

He reluctantly stood to his feet, standing at full height as he moved to unclasp your bra. “May I?” He whispered tenderly against the shell of your ear.

“Of course, baby,” you said softly. You heard the click of the bra behind you, your breasts falling as they left the support of the bra.

Sylus stepped back, looking over your nude body.

You flushed at his gaze, lifting your arms to cover your body. “The bath is getting cold,” you said, suddenly feeling shy in front of your husband.

“Let’s get in, sweetie,” Sylus said with a grin, swiftly slipping off his sweatpants and briefs. He lowered himself into the bath, the water rippling as he settled in, leaving space for you to join him.

You stepped into the hot bath, the warmth enveloping your legs as the water sloshed with your added weight. Steadying your hands on the tub's edge, you guided yourself in, sinking fully until your back rested against Sylus’s broad chest. The hot water worked wonders on your tense muscles, soothing the stress from both your bodies.

The demands of your careers, the physical toll of your work as a hunter, and the mental strain of being apart all faded away at this moment. This was exactly what you both needed: to be close and together.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the side, resting it on Sylus’s strong bicep. You lost yourself in the feeling of him, ignoring the soft glow of candles and the distant music. None of it mattered as much as the sensation of his body against yours. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the hard lines of his abs, the strength in his thighs. Your fingers traced the vein from his bicep to his forearm, grounding you in the moment.

The warmth of his skin against yours was everything—comforting, intimate. You were both aware of his cock pressed against your ass, but for now, you both ignored it, savoring the quiet closeness. In this shared silence, nothing else mattered.

The warmth of the bath pulled you into a sense of calm, but the steady rise and fall of Sylus’s chest beneath you stirred something more. You could not ignore how his hands started to drift, one moving slowly up your arm, the other settling on your waist, his finger tracing gentle circles on your skin. A quiet hum of satisfaction escaped your lips as you shifted slightly, pressing your back more firmly against him.

“You feel incredible, sweetie,” Sylus murmured into your ear, his deep voice sending a shiver through you despite the warmth of the water.

The light touch of his lips grazed your shoulder, and you felt a surge of heat build inside you. His lips lingered, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

You tilted your head back to give him better access, your heart quickening as his touch became firmer, more deliberate. The tension between you that had been quietly building suddenly felt undeniable. His hand slid down to your thigh, squeezing gently, and you felt a low moan escape your lips.

"Sylus..." you whispered, your voice breathless, your body instinctively pressing against him. His cock, which you both had been ignoring, now became impossible to dismiss.

He growled softly, lips still brushing your neck. "I’ve missed this," Sylus whispered, his lips brushing your ear, voice deep and full of desire. "But I think it's time we take this somewhere... a little more open."

Without waiting for an answer, he shifted beneath you, his strong arms lifting you out of the water as easily as if you weighed nothing. Water dripped from your skin, splashing back into the tub as he stood, holding you effortlessly in his arms.

"Sylus!" you gasped, gripping his shoulders as he carried you with that familiar, confident grin. He didn’t speak and just gave you a knowing look, his eyes dark with intent.

He walked you over to the bathroom counter, the cool surface contrasting the heat radiating from your body. Gently but firmly, Sylus sat you down, your wet skin making contact with the smooth countertop, the chill making you gasp.

Before you could fully adjust to your new position, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands tugging you forward, positioning you exactly how he wanted. His gaze locked onto yours as he parted your plush thighs, his breath hot against your skin.

"I told you, sweetie," he growled, eyes filled with desire. "Your wish is my command."

Your eyes widened at the sight of him on his knees before you. You were breathless, waiting for his next move.

Sylus’s fingers slotted between your folds, moving to spread them open for him. Your pussy was already so wet, and his fingers were soaked in your slick just from opening you up. He pressed a firm kiss against your pretty little clit. His kiss was slow, testing your reaction. Your hips bucked from his kiss. He could tell you’ve grown needy for him.

“It seems I'm not taking good care of my wife.” His intense gaze reached yours. His mouth opened, allowing his hot tongue to make contact with your sensitive clit.

A moan fell from your lips. You were quickly feeling overwhelmed. The cold counter, your wet skin, his tongue, his eye contact. You couldn’t help but close your eyes. There was too much going on.

His tongue expertly flicked your clit, and he was messily making out with your cunt. He decided he would spell his name on it. He loved reminding you who you belonged to after your time apart. He moved his index finger, choosing to work your hole while pleasing your clit. His finger stroked your entrance back and forth, dipping inside a bit more each time he made a pass. You moved your hands to grip under your legs, bracing yourself. Your head bent back, resting against the large mirror in the bathroom.

He shifted his expert tongue, closing his lips around your clit. Nibbling on your clit lightly, dragging your attention back to him. It’s almost like he was punishing you for looking away from him.

“Eyes on me, Kitten,” Sylus said, his words sending vibrations straight into your clit, as he pushed his larger finger into you. Beginning to stroke your insides, he found that little sensitive button inside you, pressing it firmly, causing you to squirm beneath him, growing heat in your belly. You could feel the heat going to your face at the sight before you.

Sylus wanted—needed all of you, but more than anything, he needed your attention. He has to know that you share his desire.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly. You fought to keep your eye on him, even as your pleasure began to build up inside you. The heat of his mouth, his fingers pumping into you expertly, just felt so good.

During the days you spent apart, you counted the hours away. The feeling of his tongue on yours, his body against yours, nothing could compare to what you share with Sylus. The spots are the only ones he knows and can only dare to explore. He blew your mind every time.

You shifted one of your hands to grip his white hair. It slotted between your fingers so easily when you tugged it like that. A groan released from his mouth, vibrating your cunt.

“I– oh fuck,” you said suddenly as your hips began to spasm hard against his beautiful face. Your hips lifted at the intensity of the pleasure running through you.

“I know. Come for me, darling,” He purred into you. He kept his mouth on you as you rode out your high. You rode his face, spreading your juices all over him.

Sylus smirked at you. His face was covered in your arousal as you slowly released your grip on his hair. A lazy smile appeared on your face as he stood to kiss you, his hand reaching out, cupping your face sweetly. He kissed you slowly, saving this moment with you. The way he pressed against you sent warmth through your veins.

Reluctantly parting his lips from yours, he lifted you off your ass onto your feet.

“Turn around for me, Kitten,” he commanded you sweetly. And you complied, turning around and facing the large mirror before you in the bathroom. You bent over on the counter, the cold granite causing your nipples to harden against it. You rested on your forearms, making eye contact with Sylus in the mirror. He licked his lips, collecting your remaining arousal on his tongue.

And he held that with you, not daring to look away. He took his cock in his hands, his girth heavy in his hands, and he guided himself to your cunt. Gauging your reaction, he rubbed his cock against your slit, and you squirmed a bit, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

He pushed into you slowly, agonizingly slow. Your eyes were a bit teary as you bit your lip, watching him tease you. You could feel the burn of him stretching you out. It’d been so long since he fucked you. “don’t tease,” you whined, your lips pouting slightly. You turned back, looking at him directly. “I need you,” you said, your body burning with need.

He kissed you roughly, tilting your head a bit to allow him better access to your lips. At the same time, he sheathed himself fully inside you. A desperate moan fell from your lips, and you tilted your head forward, watching him in the mirror. He took on a slow, deep pace at first, dragging his hips back before pounding back into you.

His hands found your lower back, gripping your flesh, bracing himself as he pounded into you. The intensity of his thrusts caused your body to create friction against the counter. Your breast, your stomach, his hands on your backside. It just felt so good.

He thrust into you repeatedly, and you heard the slap of his heavy erection pounding into you. The slap of his balls hit your clit repeatedly as he kept his rhythm. Breaking his eye contact with you, Sylus's eyes trained on where he was pounding into you. Every time he pulled out, your cunt dragged him back in. Begging for him not to pull away. You kept gripping down on him.

He watched as your juices mixed, the white film appearing around the base of his cock. A sly smile appeared on his lips, sending the desire coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes, focusing on how you felt around him. Your gummy walls sucked him in, asking for him to stay. You kept gripping his cock so well you couldn’t possibly understand what you were doing to him. He could feel every little time you twitched, gripped him, sucked down on him. And the sounds coming from your pretty little mouth were egging him on. Begging him to come in your pretty pussy, and he couldn’t resist much longer.

You felt yourself involuntarily grip down on Sylus again, and you turned your head to look at him directly, his pretty face, the flush on his cheeks. He was driving you crazy, too. He kept hitting that sensitive spot inside you, his heavy balls slapping your clit over and over. You couldn’t help but grip down on him again. You watched his eyebrows furrow as he slightly opened his eyes to look at yours. His eyes squinted as pleasure began to take over his body.

“You feel so good,” he gritted out, his flushed face apparent as you looked at him more closely. The sight is so erotic, a moan released from your lips. You could feel your wetness all over him. Your cunt was dripping at the sight before you.

He began to keel over you. Resting a bit on your back as his thrusts became more sloppy. He laid on top of you completely, “You’ll take my come, won’t you, baby?” he whispered in your ear.

“Y–yes,” you moaned out. His eyes closed as he rutted into you over and over as his ropes of come filled you.

Your hands gripped the counter, steadying yourself until his thrusts slowed up a bit. He was losing his pace and becoming sloppy as he finished riding his high.

His breathing was uneven as he rested his weight on your backside. “You’re always so good for me, Kitten,” he said breathlessly.

He pulled out slowly, trying to keep his seed in you before he got on his knees, and your eyebrows hit your hairline in shock.

“Can’t let this escape now, can we?” Sylus said, slight amusement in his voice as he used his fingers to push his release back inside you before he stood up and licked his two fingers clean. He was looking into your eyes using the mirror.

“Sylus!” you exclaimed at the sight. He’d never done that before. It's a true sight to behold.

“We taste so good together, sweetie,” he remarked casually, causing heat to go to your face as you watched him leave the room.

He returned with a soft towel, wetting the cloth in the sink, furthest from you, so as not to re-wet your now dry skin.

He came back over and wiped your excess shared fluids from your cunt, leaving you slightly damp from the wetness of the towel.

At that, you rolled over, sitting on the counter, before tenderly kissing Sylus on his taut lips. “Thank you,” you whispered to him. He’s always so attentive, you thought. He pressed himself flush against you before wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Let’s lay down now,” he said, picking you up.

You giggled at that. “Yes, let’s,” you said with a large smile. You missed this.

☆---

I feel like Sylus and Raf are the most fun to write for. Their stories always have so much banter idk. THIS IS NOT ZAYNE SHADE, that's my man fr.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 30 days ago

Text

handlebars

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, male and female receiving oral, face fucking, golf, rafe calling reader slut and whore but lovingly lol, established relationship, female masturbation kinda, bit of a dom/sub relationship but really its just rafes personality, semi public sex

“princess.” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head as you're sat at your vanity, dabbing some blush onto your cheeks.

“mhm?” you tilt your head up, allowing rafe to press a kiss to your lips, not used to feeling your kiss without lipgloss, the next step in your makeup routine.

“if you're good for me and don't complain about being bored today, ill let you suck me off on the green.”

“really?” you squeal, turning to get a better look at rafe.

“yeah.” rafe nods. “but no complaining while we are golfing. topper will be joining me so you gotta wait until after we are done.”

“im gonna be so good rafey, promise.”

“i know you will, good girl.” rafe bends to give you another kiss. “finish getting ready, im gonna go load my clubs into the car.”

“mkay.” you nod. “love you, handsome.”

“i know you do, baby.” rafe smirks before leaving the room.

you turn back to your mirror, quickly finishing your makeup before getting an idea.

you part your hair down the middle before tying them into pigtails on either side, adding a pink ribbon around either hair tie, pulling a couple strands out to frame your face.

you skip down the stairs, dressed in your favorite golfing outfit. despite never playing and just watching rafe, you love to dress the part, wearing a tight white athletic tank top and a flouncy pink skirt, so short it shows off your matching pink underwear way too easily with just the slightest bend of your hips.

“shit.” rafe smiles up at you. “can't wait to strip those clothes off you later.”

“why thank you baby.” you give a twirl, showing off your outfit to rafe, knowing the ultimate compliment on your clothing is to tell you how much he wants to rip them off of you.

“im gonna have to kill top if he even looks at you with your tits out like this.” rafes arms wrap around your waist to pull you tightly against his front, lifting your feet up off the ground.

you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing sticky kisses and leaving pink gloss behind as rafe carries you outside, placing you in his passenger seat that has become yours, your name even added in rhinestones to the sun visor next to the mirror.

you hum along to rafes music and cycle between looking out the window and looking over at rafe as he drives, the muscles on his arms defining his every turn on the way to the country club.

“oh, there's toppers truck.” you point as rafe pulls into the parking lot, grumbling something about you knowing what his truck looks like before pulling into a spot.

you wait for rafe to walk around to open your door, helping you step down and keeping your hands held tight together as he grabs his clubs and slings them over one shoulder.

“hi topper.” you smile as you see him sat in a cart, quickly moving to the back as you approach.

“hey rafe.” topper says, completely ignoring your hello, but you know it's not due to being rude.

“no complaining, remember.” rafe says as you slide along the bench seat, making sure not to move too far so your thigh touches rafes as he gets in to drive.

“i remember.” you nod. “i will definitely not complain when i get really really super bored.”

rafe shakes his head, an unwilling smile growing on his face as he drops one hand down to your thigh, squeezing it so tightly you almost cry out before he releases and puts the cart into drive, speeding towards the first hole.

“i was so good, wasn’t i?” you turn your head to the side to look at rafe as he drops topper back at the parking lot.

“i mean, you started complaining when we played 18 holes instead of 9.” rafe tsks.

“okay, but only for like a second before i remembered! come on rafe,” you lean over him, placing your hand on his chest, fingers ghosting up and down to entice him. “don’t you want me to suck you off?”

“of course i do.” rafe captures your lips in a kiss, tugging you closer to his side as he takes off again, navigating the course to an isolated spot.

“finally.” you move to your knees on the cart, watching as rafe stands and walks to the passenger side of the cart, keeping his back towards the main part of the club just in case anyone comes by.

you reach forward, tugging on rafe shorts, undoing the zipper and button and pulling the sides of his pants apart. you reach into his pants and pull his cock out from his underwear, already starting to harden.

“i love it when i get my mouth on you and you’re still soft.” you press kisses along his length, feeling it grow under your lips before placing the head of his cock into his mouth, swiping your tongue over the slit.

“you’re such a whore.” rafe laughs. “dressed up like a slut and now you’re acting like it too.”

you just nod, not willing to take your mouth off his cock just to acknowledge how much of a slut you are for him. you both already know what the truth is.

rafe hardens in your mouth as you begin to move your head up and down, building up a slow pace that allows you to enjoy the taste of his skin, tongue sliding along the underside of his length.

“faster, baby.” rafe taps your cheek.

you pull off and frown up at him. “let me enjoy sucking you off. you said you’d let me.”

“yeah but i wanna see what you can do. impress me.”

the challenge from rafe works immediately as you wrap your lips around his cock, head bobbing up and down a lot quicker now as you build up tolerance in your throat, rafes length and girth too much to take him all the way down immediately.

“that's my girl.” rafe smiles down at you. “doing so good baby.”

you take a deep breath through your nose and move forward, pushing your nose into rafes shirt as you swallow around his length, resisting the urge to smile as you hear rafe moan.

“fuck.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, determined to keep his cock all the way down your throat for as long as you can.

“god, you just keep getting better at this darling.”

you pull off and drop your head to cough before smiling up at rafe. “wanna fuck my mouth now?”

rafe leans down to kiss your forehead. “im gonna put a ring on your finger one day baby, i swear.”

“you better.” you know you're still young, but you can't wait for the day you can call yourself mrs. cameron.

rafe straightens back up, smearing the head of his cock over your mouth, coating your lips in a second layer of gloss.

rafe grabs onto your pigtails as your mouth opens, keeping your throat as slack as you can as his hips push forward.

rafe moves your head in unison with his thrusts, fingers knotting around the pink ribbon to keep his grip.

you have to reach forward and place your hands on his thighs to keep from falling forward, your knees no doubt turning bright red as they scrape back and forth with the power of his movements.

rafe doesn't bother holding back his moans as he tugs on your pigtails, hips undulating and rocking, hoping he's far enough from anyone else to hear his groans and gasps of your name.

“next will be your pussy.” rafe smirks down at you. “as soon as we get home im getting in that delicious little cunt of yours.”

you moan around his cock, thighs squeezing together as you think of all the times rafes been inside of you.

rafe tugs your pigtails, holding them like handlebars on a bike as his cock grows in your mouth. he wishes he could go for longer, to fuck your mouth for hours, but the thought of getting home to your pussy makes him too excited to hold himself back.

“gonna cum right down your throat.” rafe says, grunting as his hips speed up. “unless you want me to paint your pretty face for everyone to see.”

you moan again, the sound vibrating around rafes cock as your hand drops to your pussy, pressing over your underwear to give your clit some relief.

“you like that huh?” rafe questions. “want everyone at the country club to see my cum dripping down your face?”

you push your hand under your panties, rubbing at your wetness, a finger plunging into your heat.

“hey, cut that out.” rafe tugs on your pigtails. “you can rub your clit but don't open up your cunt for me. that's my job.”

you groan but move your fingers back to your clit, leaving your pussy to clench around nothing.

“don't worry, bunny.” rafe pats your cheek. “you'll be bouncing on something soon enough.”

rafe moans as your tongue flicks over the underside of his length, throat constricting as you swallow along his cock.

“fuck, close.” rafe warns, pumping his hips forward with renounced speed.

rafes cock swells in your mouth and there's mere seconds before he releases, cum spurting down your throat.

“fuck!” he moans, giving one last thrust before pulling out.

you take a deep breath, hand still moving on your pussy as rafe breaths deeply, checking over his shoulder before tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

“stop that.” rafe hums, eyes dropping to between your legs.

“im so close.” you whine, keeping your fingers thrumming over your clit.

“yeah, and i wanna be the one to make you cum so stop.”

rafe picks you up and places your bum on the seat, frowning when he sees your knees. he presses kisses to each of the red splotches.

rafe pushes your thighs open next, pulling your hand out of your underwear as he tugs them to the side.

you didn't expect rafe to surge forward, mouth greedily eating your cunt, slurping on your wetness.

“fuck!” you squeal, head falling back as he focuses in on your clit, sucking with the taste of you on his tongue, sticking it out to flick over your clit.

“im- im gonna cum!” you warn, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his face further into your cunt.

his mouth keeps working as you reach your high, moaning out rafes name as your clit pulses against his tongue.

he moves lower to press against your entrance, briefly dipping in. “gonna fuck you so soon.” he whispers, and you swear it's more to your cunt than it is to you.

“shit.” you fall back against the seat as rafe rearranges you, flinching when his hand brushes against your clit while putting your panties back in place.

“better not be sensitive by the time we get home.” rafe says, flipping your skirt back down to cover you before he shrugs. “or be sensitive, im fucking you either way.”

“you're such a dick.” you giggle as rafe drops his head to kiss you, lips melting together, the shared taste on your tongue mixing.

“love you.” he says. “future wifey. you give the best head.”

“wow, thanks.” you roll your eyes sarcastically, hands moving to your pigtails as rafe rounds the cart to drive back.

“you know, you really messed up my hair.” you frown, attempting to fix your bows without a mirror to look in.

“yeah, you can't wear that style again.” rafe looks over at you. “unless you want me to fuck your face every time.”

“well…” you tap your chin, a smile growing.

2K notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 3 months ago

Note

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

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