What a year!! It's been a while but I'm back 🫡 might start adding Jax x pomni / funnybunny to my Tumblr! More Steve fics coming soon too, maybe will too!
SAFE FOR WORK! Protective! Eddie Munson, meet-cute, both reader and Eddie are 18 years of age, in their last year of high school. Kisses, hugs, cute and sweet moments, a bit of size stuff if you squint. Fem!reader, small, clumsy, shy.
He was always so intimidating to you, before you met him. Sitting at that cafeteria table, loudly laughing with his friends, scaring passing students, lighting cigarettes inside. Hr proved you wrong when you dropped your load of textbooks in the hallway, teh heavy stack falling out of your short arms and onto you feet. You wince in pain. He’s there to help you pick them up. He carries them all the way to your next class for you, tells you how cute you are when you’re clumsy, gives you a wide smile, and opens the door for you, even while he had all your heavy books in his hands.
You start to meet with him more, outside the school, in the woods. He takes your hand and helps you over the twigs, knowing that you’re clumsy. He makes you laugh right away, doing all his silly bows, struts, and wiggles. “Come on. Show me that cute smile! I know it’s under there somewhere,” he playfully teases, his big, ringed, hand, coming under your chin to make you look at him. Another thing you liked was the size difference between you two. Eddie was a big man, standing at over six feet/182 cm tall! You were on the shorter side, your hands so, so, small, compared to his. He was a gentleman, moving branches and twigs out of your way, dusting the wooden bench before you sat down.
His constant physical touch drew you to him as well. The first time you came to his Hellfire Club meeting, you were intimidated by all the terms, the game set-up, and even his friends. He reassured you through-out, simply by having his arm around your shoulder, his index finger tracing small circles on your arm, all throughout the meeting. He would always ask to hold your hand, even when he was driving you somewhere.
Eddie was protective, too. It made you melt, in more ways than one. If the two of you were walking past the popular kids, his grip on your hand would tighten, and he would place another hand on your waist. He’d never let you walk alone at night, even if it was just in his front yard, he’d always join you, telling you that it was “better safe than sorry, princess. Gotta protect my lady, hmm?,” he’d do a funny voice then, raise his brow, and kiss your hand. You would never get tired of his theatrics.
Over time, you and Eddie learned to read each other like a book. Your Eddie was there for you in your rougher moments as well, helping you face your fears - whether it was driving, heights. You were there with Eddie in the Upside Down, bandaging his wounds, leading him into a hiding place from the demobats, after he played his guitar. He kissed your forehead gently, as you cleaned the wounds on his stomach, ever so gently. “My lady, always here for me,” he would say, and it especially mattered to you in those sweet and tender moments, such as this one.
Dom!Eddie Munson x sub!fem!reader (smaller body type, plus size) primal knk, predator/prey, major SIZE knk, hint of breeding, biting, unprotected p/v (do not do this), hints of wolf! Eddie and bunny!reader if you squint.
Come crawling faster. Obey your master. - “Master of Puppets,” Metallica.
It all started out like any other day. You were feeling a bit needy, and came to visit Eddie in the woods, on his usual spot by the bench. Eddie offered you a joint, and a seat on his lap, where the both of you just talked about his upcoming DnD playthrough, watching the autumn leaves fall down. The both of you heard a noise, so Eddie went into the woods to investigate. He told you to stay put, in his words, ‘pretty girls should stay safe on the bench,’ yet you didn’t listen, and went after him shortly.
You slowly stepped over the gnarled branches, twigs and dead leaves crunching underneath your feet. “Eddie?” “Eds?,” you called out, hearing nothing in return. You wore glasses as well, so seeing in the distance wasn’t your best skill. You felt like you were walking around in circles, your body getting a bit tired from the distance you’ve walked. Suddenly, a hand grabs your shoulder. “Boo,” that familiar, snarky voice, whispered in your ear. Your heart jumped, you let out a large shriek as Eddie stood there, giggling like a maniac. “You scared me!,” you huffed, stomping your foot and crossing your arms, making your breasts stand out a bit more. “Eds. You know I get scared easily. I was just looking for you, worried that something happened,” you explain. “I know, princess. Have to admit, though, you’re real cute when you’re scared. Took me no time to find you.,” his voice suddenly seemed deeper, a glint in his eye. You quickly noticed the bulge growing in his jeans. After that day, the both of you played this game quite often, where Eddie would catch helpless little you in the woods.
You were running, panting, trying not to slip over loose branches and logs. Your chubby body was quite out of shape, so you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep going like this. You see a large oak tree, and quickly duck behind it, your thong under the skirt touches the wet leaves. You make yourself one with the dirt, and quiet your breathing.
“Little bunny! Little bunny, come on out. You know you want to see what happens when I find you,” a dark chuckle is heard as Eddie’s voice draws closer and closer. “Bunny, don’t shy away from your master, now, yeah?,” his voice calls out. Your Lacey little thong is soaking wet as you listen to his voice. He was coming to find you. Your big, bad, wolf <3. The anticipation was killing you. Big black boots stop right in front of you. They feel cool against your bare, dirt covered, thighs. Big, rough, hands close around your plush skin.
“Caught you, little bunny,” Eddie smirked, his eyes glazing over your body, his rough hands squeezing the plush of your arms and tummy. “Wanna know what happens to little bunnies that get caught?,” he taunts, as you start to sniffle a little bit, tears coming through. You notice your boyfriend’s bulge start to show. He was a sadist. He loved to see you in this weak, subby state. And you loved to be in it. “Awww,” he chides, a hand coming up to brush one of your tears away. My bunny girl is crying. Not time for that yet, sweetheart. There’ll be plenty of time later, though,” he adds. You could only stand there and sniffle. “Didn’t wanna be caught, Eds,” you reply back. “Bunnies don’t get to choose, do they?,” he chided at you, and with that, picked up your small body, and started carrying you over to a more private wooded area.
“Wanna know what happens to little bunnies that get caught?,” he asks, rubbing his throbbing bulge on your thigh as he has you harshly pressed against a tree. You shake your head no, but you knew you wanted to know. “They get bred. Over and over, they get used, they’re just a little toy for their masters,” yeah?,” he chuckles, and bites into your neck as you let out a wail. A hand covering your mouth, Eddie chuckles, “don’t want to hear bunnies scream too too loud, baby. Other wolves might come see.” You seem upset. “They’ll use me too?,” you ask, in a complete state of helplessness as you struggle to be free of his grip, to no avail. “Nah. I don’t share my little bunny. She’s my property,” he says as he continues to kiss and bite your neck. Your soaking wet cunt starts twitching at this point, itching for some kind of release!!
His hands, calloused, a bit dirty from the branches he moved apart to find you, quickly spread your legs, one hand on your thigh, one hand on the plush of your hips, gripping your stretch marks mercilessly. He rips apart your thong, you feel the bark scratch against your thighs. You attempt to close your legs together to get some friction, but a spank quickly stops you. “Ah, ah, little one. Gotta be patient. Gotta examine my catch, make sure she’s in good shape. Gotta wait, little bunny,” he smirks, a thumb coming up to her push itself into your mouth. You eagerly suck his dusty thumb, looking into his chocolate brown eyes as you do. “Fuck,” he grunts softly.
He leans down between your legs, simply looking at you. “Can feel the heat coming from her. Think I’m gonna eat well tonight,” he chuckles, and then dives in, his plush mouth quickly finding your clit, attaching to it like a leech, and not letting go. “Too much! Too much!!!,” his prey squeals and squirms under him, but he has caught her, and is determined to enjoy his catch <3!! After an agonizing moment of Eddie enjoying his prey’s screams, he moves on to your neck, you feel his long brown locks of hair tickle your body as his lips are all over your face, your neck. Your teeth clash.
Your soft body against his rough, broad, hairy chest, one of his arms caging you to the tree. His supple lips overshadowing yours, attacking yours, his other arm between your legs, making sure that your legs don’t close together, edging you. He pulls away, his voice breathy, his lips red and swollen. “My bunny can’t come without permission, can she?,” he whispers to you, that deep chuckle sending tremors down to your core. You quickly shake your head, and manage to free yourself of his grip. You drop down to your knees, giving him your best doe eyes. “I’ll do anything!! Please. You caught me. Need you,” you plead, baring your neck to him, your hands on his thighs, completely surrendering yourself to him. You were at his mercy, your predator’s mercy.
He keeps on nipping at your neck, your puffy swollen tits, his rough hands massaging them, as you cry out in pleasure from under him. You love how his metallic rings feel against your soft and sensitive skin <3!!
“Ed.. Eddie! I - uh, please,” you squeak out, your eyes meeting his. “What’s the matter, sweet thing? Too much for you? Daww,” he grins, his sadistic side showing. “Guess you’re just gonna have to take it, little one,” he chuckles, as he manhandles you over onto your tummy, his hands running down your hips and ass.
“Fuck,” he softly moans, running his hands over the back of your thighs, tracing circles, while your whole ass and pussy was right in front of his face. His fingers gently trace circles on your puffy lips, and you lean into his big hand, while he cups your pussy roughly, and you let out a wail. “She’s just dripping for me, isn’t she, bunny?,” he taunts. Your eyes are glazed over at this point, you can do nothing but nod stupidly, the side of your face pressed up against the tree, your hips wiggling for some kind of friction that you didn’t have yet. His fingers move inwards, three fingers sliding into you, curving against your ridged gummy walls. You close your eyes as he continues his ministrations. “Fuck. So perfect.” His soft lips give your sopping wet pussy a gentle kiss, before you hear the clink of his belt. Your empty hole clenched at the sound!!
His rough hands come around to mount your hips, digging into your stretch marks. “Ready, bun? Gonna go fast. Hard,” he warns you. But you didn’t need a warning. You were so ready, ready to be full of him. And full of him you were, you bit your lip as pleasure enveloped your body in a warm blanket, as his thick cock bullied its way inside you. You were so wet that Eds was able to fill you to the brim in an instant, bottoming out. His eyes closed, his face tilted up, with no warning, he grabbed you by the neck, tracing his hand over the base of your neck, and then used his arm to pull you flush against him, your back against his sweaty chest, your plush tits resting on your arm. A breathy whisper in your ear, a nibble at your neck, and he starts to move. In. Out. Those full, full, balls slapping against your puffy lips. His fingers push their way into your mouth, and you close your eyes in bliss, sucking on them. His calloused hand grips your chin as he fucks you restlessly, like an animal in rut, a predator mounting his prize, ready to be bred and full of seed. Your vision blurs as his soft cockhead touches your g-spot over and over.
His messy brown locks around your shoulders and neck, his plush lips peppering your back with kisses. “Taking me so well, bunny. Just a little more. That’s it.” His groans send you to heaven as you clench around him and let go. He cums in you, his prize, his prey, taking a minute after to soothe you. “Did so well for me, sweet girl. My little bunny. Took me so well,” his breathy voice, barely a whisper in your ear, spoke, as you were still flush against his back, his hands tracing circles over your soft torso. He pulls out of you slowly, as not to hurt you, and then turns you around to face him, where you meet him in a tender kiss. “Wanted to be good for you, Eds,” you whisper to him, and he replies back with “I know, and you did so fuckin’ well. Come, let’s get you into a warm shower,” his thumbs come up to pinch your cheeks a bit, and he carefully leads you out of the woods, stopping every so often to check if you’re okay or help you out over a branch.
He leads you back to the van, helping you step into it and buckling your seatbelt for you, and he drives the both of you over to the Munson trailer, with his hand on your thigh.
a/n: Thank you for reading! Please reblog, like, or comment to help support my page! I'm ovulating and I would love to be caught by Eddie in the woods... ugh.
Half fluff, half smut. 18+ MDNI. Himbo!Steve, smart!fem!reader. Homework leads to some heavy petting. Bottom!fem!reader, top!steve. Slight breeding! kink! if you squint. hand knk, overstim, Stevie has a big big cck.
A/n: after 6 months, I’m back!!’ Ready to get back into the thirsting smut hobby hehe - Liz
———————————————
“I can’t do this. What am I supposed to write for this assignment on Hamlet? The book’s impossible to understand! I mean, what language is it in? Not English,” Steve sighs as he runs his hand through his locks of auburn brown hair, dropping his pencil in frustration. He was at his desk, writing an assignment that was supposed to be his college entrance essay. He’s now twenty-two, and year after year, being denied from college has frustrated him. His thick brows squint as he tries to read the small text in the play, a dialogue between Hamlet and Ophelia. He slams the book shut, and runs his large hands through his hair again, just as you walk into the room. “What’s the matter?,” you ask, coming up to rub his shoulders, your small hand clasping his larger one. “I don’t understand this shit. Why does some 400 year old story matter if I want to get into college?,” he sighs, his doe eyes looking at you with a hint of sadness.
“Hey. I can always help, Stevie. You know that. Besides, this part of the text is about Hamlet confessing his undying love for Ophelia. In this line, he says that he will jump into a grave, just for her,” you explain to him, your hand still on his as you point out what you’re referring to on the page. “That’s kind of romantic, I guess,” Steve shrugs, a blush creeping across his face. “It is. I’d do the same for you, you know,” you smirk, your hands finding their way to his chest. “That so?,” he challenges back, his strong arms swiftly pulling you into his lap, calloused fingers gripping at your hips. “You know one of my favorite parts about you, besides your super smart nerdiness?,” Steve chuckles, his nose touching yours, but lips not meeting. “What’s that, Stevie?,” you challenge back, although your voice died down a bit, now on the quieter side.
“These hips of yours, sweetheart. Wide enough to bear my kids, you know?,” he smirks, his lips trailing over your neck now. You blush and hide your face by burying it into his chest. “Don’t shy away from me. It’s true, yeah?,” he asks, as his large hands cup your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Okay,” you say, quiet as a mouse. “Now come here. I’m grateful for the help, sweetheart. Let me return you the favor, yeah? What do you say we try for that child, hmm?,” he suggests, as his hand suggestively rubs your hips and ass. He lifts you up, bringing you over to his bed, pinning you under his large athletic body. You squirm and attempt to get away, your man could overpower you easily, however.
He knew your body like an instrument, fine tuned to his hands, his soft lips with a hint of stubble, his wide, girthy, length. Your bodies intertwined just as the lovers in the Shakespearean text you helped him with earlier, and he held you so gently while he absolutely ruined your tiny little hole with his large cock, shushing you as you cried out from pleasure. “I know, baby. I know. Too much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can take it. You’re my girl. You can take it.” And you did. You took him over and over, a wonderful reward for helping your love with his homework. Yes, your Stevie wasn’t great at school. He was great at other things, though.
Mike Wheeler has pretty curly handwriting, or, as some would call it, "girly" handwriting. It's because Nancy taught him how to write.
Robin Buckley has low iron, and Steve Harrington has had to catch her when she's fainted on multiple occasions.
Dustin Henderson loves aquariums. He would really like a jellyfish exhibit. (Apparently those exist??) Would definitely make Steve Harrington drive him to one.
Steve Harrington heard that guys could do ballet one time at a Thanksgiving, that's been stuck in his head for a few too many years, was always too scared to try or ask though.
Will Byers, especially when in the car, will do air drums to the beat of any song.
Just thinking about Hugh Jackman, moving into a New York City high rise/penthouse apartment, him taking care of you so much, giving you so much love. You have a beautiful diamond ring on your finger, to top it all off, you’re pregnant <3 really enunciating that you are owned by this man. His wife, barefoot and pregnant, who gets anything she wants because her husband is a rich actor <3. Anything. Regular shopping trips on 5th Avenue, him accompanying you to your ob-gyn appointments, always having a hand around your waist or your bump, always being so protective over you, especially when the paparazzi appear. He shields your body and face from them, ushering you into a store or alleyway.
At night, he always takes a bath with you, a glass of wine in his hand, a glass of water for you, sitting in your marbled jade tub. He always takes the time to appreciate your body, his hands tracing over each and every stretch mark, his gentle Australian voice reminding you how happy he is, that you’re carrying his child. “Mine forever, sweetheart.” You nod and further curl up into his embrace.
A/n: pls reblog/engage if you like! For a vibe of the apartment, search up 80’s luxury apartment on tiktok, that’s what I envisioned :) enjoy!! Don’t we all wish this was our life. Should I do a Logan imagine day in the life next?? I want to do shorter stuff since grad school keeps me too busy to write longer things. Xoxo, Liz.
A/n: pls reblog / comment if you like <3 xoxo, Liz!
———————
Thinking about how desperate you’d get for Logan when you’re in heat. You’d literally NEED his scent, not even realizing how you’re piling all his flannels and plain grey hoodies into a makeshift nest. You’d cuddle up in his clothes, your brain shutting off, and only thinking about one thing: Lo, your alpha, and how he needed to come take care of you.
He did, of course, he picked up on your scent immediately. He was miles away, training in the yard while you were in the mansion, and he started sprinting to your room. He couldn’t let anyone else at the mansion be affected by HIS girl’s scent. You were HIS, and you deserved to have him take care of you, privately, of course.
You jump into his arms as soon as he rushes through the door, begging, dropping at his knees, for a sweet, sweet chance at his cock. You wanted your mouth, your sopping wet cunt, to be stuffed full of him. He gave you exactly what you needed, his burly arm wrapped around your neck, his thick fingers in your mouth, while his cock drilled into you from behind.
Out of all the alphas you’ve ever tried to mate with, they were all unsuccessful. Expect for Logan. His cock was made for you, fitting you perfectly. The two of you mated after a matter of months. Each time he pounded into you with his thick, veiny length, you saw stars. It was like your first time over again.
You were so desperate that you wanted more after his cock. You wanted to ride his wide, hairy chest, making his chest hair slick from all your juices. You wanted to squeeze his face into your cunt, anything to stop the ache. He gave it all for you, his sweet girl.
Tw: lots of SMUT little plot, dom!coded Logan and sub-coded/fem!reader, SIZEknk, primal!, ovulation and Logan’s sense of smell, possessive Logan, breeding!knk, Logan is rough!!
18+ MDNI
A/n: I want him so bad. Pls reblog if you like <3 xoxo, Liz
It’s been a long day for the both of you. Charles had wanted the two of you to tag along on a mission to Eastern Europe, bringing a supposedly dangerous mutant who planned to wreak havoc back to the mansion. It was a large effort bringing him back, yet you all did it.
It was your favorite moment of the day, as if right now. You and Logan got to retire to your shared quarters, and relax for a good day or more. You loved spending time with him, especially after a long day — when both of your frustrations needed to be let out.
He unlocks the door, lighting a cigar as he steps through the threshold. Your smaller arms snake around his broad back, pressing gentle kissed into his flannel. “What’s the matter, huh, sweetheart?,” he turns to you, flicking the cigar to the side of his mouth with his tongue. “Missed you, is all. Been a hard day, Lo. Let’s unwind,” you softly whisper, your hands coming up to touch his beard, the one you loved so much: (especially when the scruff of it brushed your soaking cunt <3..)
He smiles, large hands cup your smaller face, as he brings you closer for a forehead kiss. He pauses momentarily to smell the nape of your neck. “Missed me after spending the day with me, huh, kid?,” a knowing smirk creeps across his face. You nod your head vigorously. “Or are you jus’ ovulating?,” the question makes itself very known in the room.
Your cheeks heat up as you start to blush. He cocks his head, chuckling. “I know you well, sweetheart,” he tells you, looking over the pleading gaze you had on him as of now. “Can smell you, you know. You always smell so fuckin’ good when you’re ovulating,” he adds, eyes darker than they were before. You blush under his hard gaze.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna give you what ya’ need, though,” his gruff voice adds, sending shivers down your spine.
“What do I need, Lo?,” you ask, your small arms wrapping themselves around his broad, thick, muscular shoulders, your pretty and perky tits pressing up against his chest. He looks down at your face, then, at your tits, his hands move themselves from your face to your waist, his grip ironclad.
“You need my cock. S’alright, you just do what I say now, yeah?,” he asks, and you nod, oh so vigorously. His lips attack yours, as the two of them dance together, your lipgloss on his rough, slightly chapped — but soft lips. His beard tickled your soft cheeks, and you pressed yourself into him as tight as imaginable.
He pauses for a moment to inhale your scent again. “Fuck. You smell so sweet when you’re ovulating, you know that, yeah? Like it’s poison. That’s what you fuckin’ do to me,” he adds, almost snarling. “Wanna rile you up, Lo. Wanna be good for you, want you to hurt me,” you tell him, not even recognizing where all this was coming from. What was wrong with you? You were completely pliant for a man.
You wanted to be used by him. To feel ALL of his strength in each and EVERY possible way. You knew his abilities, you knew how animalistic he was when riled up. You wanted that Logan tonight. You’d let him scar you with his claws if he would: he would never, of course. He was insistently protective of you. That and your hormones: is what drove you to this state tonight.
You feel his hard on through his jeans , it's almost as if it was made of metal: (in a way it was.) His lips meet yours, pushing against you in a way that made your cunt throb, your soft lips and his rough ones danced together, as if glued. You loved how rough his beard felt on your face, and his neck smelled faintly of cigars. You hear a few grunts from him, his meaty hands coming up to grope and knead at your soft body.
His teeth clash against yours, the both of you were gravitating towards each other by some kind of invisible string or magnet. Your hands feel his heart, fast, through his wide chest. You loved that you never had to take off his shirt in moments like these. He never wore one. Around you, anyway.
You brush your pastel painted nails through his chest hair; coming up to smell it a little, rub your face against it. You wanted ALL of him; not only his cock.
He chuckles as you rub against his chest. “Aww. Goin’ all pathetic f’me, kid? Didn’t even start with you. Fuck.,” he growls, and pins you down onto the bed, your wrists above your head. A hard knee between your legs is used to spread them apart. Your arms — are still pinned to the bed, and his grip on your wrists is ironclad.
He’s on top of you, his hairy chest bearing a weight down on you, his soft lips nipping at your neck, at your tits, your soft belly. His beard tickles when he kisses down your stomach, lower, lower… he gets to your thighs, pressing a sweet and slobbery kiss to them, and starts attacking your nub, like it’s a hard candy, and he can’t get enough.
“Lo!! Lo!! You scream out, trying to get away from him. It was too much, you couldn’t!! You feel some of his claws come out, starting to pierce your thighs just a bit. You pull back, looking at him. He stares back, his gaze intense. “You want me to stop, baby?,” he asks, claws resting on your thighs. “No, no. I like it.,” you shamefully admit, your stomach dropping as he gazed at you, taking in your body as if it were a work of art.
He continues working you over, his tongue gentle yet powerful, your thighs getting red because of his abrasive beard. You feel your orgasm coming on, as a storm, and you try to pull away from him to lessen the intensity. His claws graze your soft skin as his iron grip pulls you right back. “Where ya think you going honey? Daddy’s not done here,” with that, his calloused hand slaps your roughed up cunt. You yelp, and he emits a burly, growled sort of chuckle. He goes back to slurping up your fluids like there is nothing left. You gush into his mouth, his beard now wet with your fluids.
He flips you over, his face pressing into your neck. “Fuck, so sweet…,” his heavily hooded eyes glaze over your face and neck, before taking a small bite into your jugular. He was your predator. You were under him, his prey, his for the taking, his to use.
Without another word, his mouth breathing hot and heavy near your panting face, your soft skin against his rough beard, his hands gripped you in place as he slid in. Bred you. Not a word. His hands began to hold you up by your neck, as if you were some kind of animal. His large heaving chest pressed into yours, his thick, pulsing cock stretched you so deliciously that it made your vision start to go.
“There you go, sweetheart. Take it. Fuck,” he growled, hands pinching and holding your soft skin. All his prey did was mutter and moan, and Logan, a man of few words, was satisfied. He had his girl under him, pliant, ready to be bred. And he did breed her. Hours and hours on end.
By the time Logan was done with you, you were both soaked in each other: literally and figureatively. He gently laid you on your back. “Lo,” you mutter, weakly, all your energy drained by your feral man. You’d let him kill you, even. You wanted to be used, to be his.
“Did so good f’me, little one. Let me get you all cleaned up. Don’t move, don’t want my girl tiring herself.
[part iii of sugar, sugar] | [part ii] [masterlist]
wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader
rated e - 7.4k
tags: jealous/posessive!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, wingman!wade, flirting, feelings, (another short) miscommunication, immature humor, light angst, use of alcohol, threat of violence, use of alcohol and smoking, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, PiV, creampie
As the days pass, you think your time spent with Logan is pretty much perfect. Well... almost.
(Or - a dash of insecurity, some badgood advice from Wade, a near-fight at a bar, and the confession of overdue feelings.)
Those two nights spent with Logan turn into more.
The days are bleeding together, blurring. You fit well with him, you think. Together in Wade's apartment - spanning that space between their chatter and silence. Softening edges, though you think he's softened, too.
A stray cat coming around.
Bristling, with narrowed, untrusting eyes. Slowly learning that he can lean into your touch.
Your days since have been spent humming as you work. It had been an anchor once, this routine of yours. Getting up early used to give you something to get up for. Enjoying the whirlwind of prepping, measuring, making, decorating.
Now - you're grateful for how quickly the day passes because it means you can't overanalyze. Because it means by the time you catch your breath at the end of the day, you're already heading home to him.
Takeout was brought over to their apartment. A crappy movie with a hand curled around you, sending your heartbeat racing. The night ending at yours, hours between dusk and dawn spent learning every inch of each other.
You think it's pretty much perfect.
Well... almost.
“Do you think Logan likes me?”
It slips out of you. Something that’s been worrying at you, a splinter trapped just beneath your skin. You regret asking almost immediately - the sun glinting off the silver needle as you push it through the lycra suit.
“You mean the guy that’s been fucking your brains out for the past couple weeks?”
“Wade.”
“Oh, sorry.” He lines his knife up, poking a hole in the top of his styrofoam container - coaxing the waitress from lunch to give him a ‘take-home-margarita’. A cheerful “baby knife!” as he sheathes it again,” I mean the guy that’s been having totally-chaste-and-appropriate adult sleepovers with you?”
You understand what he’s getting at. Stalling, holding up his suit - another gash sewn shut with black thread, “You sure this is okay?”
“Mhmm,” He hums, “Gives me that bride-of-frankenstein vibe I’ve always wanted. Besides, anything is better than before.”
“You insisted, you helpless little man-baby.” Al adds, from her lounge seat, “Learn to dodge.”
Wade splutters - your lips twitching, as you work.
“See what I live with?” He gripes, “Maybe the two of you outta trade. It’d be cramped, but I bet the three of us could sardine it.”
“You wouldn’t last a week without Althea,” You snort. A beat, before you gather the courage to circle back to the topic at hand, “And besides, that’s just it. I’m not sure he wants to sleep with me."
The summer breeze feels better up here, on the roof. The whip of the wind cooling you, as you work your way across the once-again battered suit - propped up against the brick parapet.
“Okay, time out. Missing link here.” Wade gives you a sideways look, before his head pivots, "You cannot hit me with this fake virginal act when I literally heard you two fuck an hour after you met."
A beat, "And like, pretty much every day since then. I think I even heard a howl last night-"
Your eyes roll, "Wade. He’s not a werewolf, he did not howl-"
"Well, not anymore.” Wade smirks, “And funny that you assume I meant the Moan Wolf, but I could have meant you-"
You groan, head cradled in your hands, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, we'll keep it down. It's just-"
It’s just you’ve been here before - this liminal space between an excellent physical connection, and more. You've done the hookup thing - casual, friends-with-benefits, lonely strangers. Thought you had learned how to keep your emotions in check, especially with those past experiences.
But you’ve never met someone like Logan before.
He makes you feel bare. Soft-hearted and stripped down - wearing your feelings on your sleeve. Opening yourself up - only for your fingers to brush up against a brick wall, in return.
Wade must catch your tone because he sets down the styrofoam container - the pink umbrella tucked against his ear.
"Alright Sugarbuns, tell Papa Bear what's bothering you."
You grimace at the names, another flicker of regret lingering in the corners of your mind. But you find yourself talking. Letting those worries flow from you in a rush.
But Wade would know, wouldn't he? It's his friend, after all.
"He leaves after."
His eyebrows raise, and you continue, "I mean, he'll stay for a bit but he always winds up on the couch by morning. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and he’s out there. I mean, I thought he'd want a bed, after where he's been staying, no offense-"
Thought he’d want to stay with you.
You nudged at it once. Getting nothing more than a grumbled excuse about not sleeping well, something about nightmares. Something you accepted, only to find him tucked in your bed a few days later - curled in your sheets when you had rushed back to the apartment after leaving your phone.
Hadn’t wanted to push, even if it confused you. Wouldn’t he want comfort, after a bad dream? You always did.
"Offense taken, Blind Al and I are excellent bedmates," Wade interrupts, "But please, continue."
His joke eases you a little. Risking a sideways glance, finding him already looking at you.
“I like him, Wade. I just really want this to work out.”
He hums, sympathetically. Knowing all too well the complexities of like and love. How you feel deeper than you’re letting on - he always was perceptive, after all.
A beat, before your head turns.
"Do you think it's me?"
He does laugh then, his shoulder leaning to bump yours, "Sugar, you have a two-hundred-year-old boyfriend who's gone through a massive amount of trauma and has an alcohol problem, and you want to know if it's you?"
"Fuck." The heels of your palms press into your eyes, "Okay, okay-"
"I literally traveled through the void with him, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles-style. The John Candy to my Steve Martin, and even after saving the world he still wanted to kill me."
"Wait," Your head lifts, "Why would you be Steve Martin in that scenario?"
“He’s the main character, as am I.” He barrels past your question, "The point is, if he didn't like you, you'd know. You just need to be-"
"Patient." You finish, "Yeah, I know."
And you do know. Even since that first meeting, you've known that he's been eaten up inside. Cracks of the man beneath leaking through his gruff exterior, as you had sat together on that couch.
But Wade called him your boyfriend, but he's not. Not really - no conversation to indicate that's how he saw himself.
It just left you confused. Vulnerable. Enough that you did dumb shit like this - going to Wade for romantic advice. The man who proposed with a ring pop and thought that a prostate orgasm was a sign of being soulmates.
"Maybe you’re giving him too much. Withhold a little," Al interrupts, making you jump, "That's what landed me my second husband. Begged for it like a dog, and was married the next month. God rest his soul."
Wade mouths an exaggerated “what the FUCK" at you, before shooting a dark look in her direction - only just then seeing her smirk.
"Oh, you’re joking? She came to us for help and you’re joking-” A sniff, as Wade turns back, "So anyways, don’t do that. Do something normal. Like internalize it, until it makes you snap."
His face screws up, as he adds, “Or, maybe try it? That bricked me up a bit-”
"Or,” Al adds, “Maybe you should just talk to him, Sugar."
Althea always knew how to cut to the chase and give the hard advice you needed to hear. You just wish you weren’t afraid of the answer.
‘You’re both right,” Your head dips against Wade's shoulder, “I owe you. Again.”
Silence lingering, though it’s not uncomfortable. Leaving you to think about what he said.
The suit passed over to him, when you tie the final knot, “Done.”
“Thanks,” A beat passes, as he gives you a sideways look, “Any chance you want to cash in on that favor tonight?”
You know better than to agree without more info - an eyebrow raising as you wait.
“Vanessa is coming over tonight.” Wade gives you a meaningful look, “It would be great to have the apartment to ourselves for a bit.”
The serious tone does not last, as he smirks, “I fully intend to break my months of celibacy the second the opportunity arises.”
“Months?” You hadn’t realized it had been that long. Thought he would have moved on, in some ways.
“Years, actually,” He adds, casually, “Turns out my obvious romantic hangups plus this-”
A gesture at his face,” Are a total boner-killer. As well as having an elderly roommate, apparently. Especially one who won’t leave.”
You shoot him a sharp look at the self-deprecation, Al’s voice cutting through.
“I told you, I’m hitting the casino for singles night.”
“Okay. I can drop Al off and pick her up,” Your mind is already racing ahead, “And Logan and I can go out to dinner or something.”
The prospect is exciting. Despite the time spent together, you haven’t really gone on too many dates yet. After your long hours and his rotating work schedule, your meetings have mostly been late-night. Quick meals whipped up in your kitchen. A rotating pile of delivery menus.
“That would be great.” He smiles, “Thanks, Sugar.”
“Of course.” You smile, before adding, “What are you going to make?”
A frown, when he hesitates.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to wing it.”
“I wasn’t winging it,” He protests, “I was going to hit up ol’ reliable.”
“For a second-first date? You can’t do takeout from Buns and Roses.”
A sigh, as you turn to face him, tugging out your phone, “You should make something nice. I have this recipe bookmarked for engagement roast chicken. I’ll help you-”
He tugs your phone out of your hand, scrolling through the eight-paragraph opener before the start of the recipe.
“Make this for her, show her you’re serious-,” You start.
Wade finishes, with a smile.
“-and there’ll be a cock ring on it before midnight.”
You keep catching yourself looking at him.
It’s almost embarrassing how bad you have it. Still not used to seeing Logan like this - away from your small apartment.
Seeing him at work was different - a very cognizant realization that you were on the clock. The counter between you like a barrier, even when you slip a coffee and pastry across it. A lightning-quick kiss pressed into his cheek. The relentless teasing from your coworkers, after.
But here - crammed in a booth, his hand slipping just under the hem of your dress, a palm curved against your thigh - it’s something else, entirely. Even in this dark corner, you have to resist letting your hands wander. Eyes flicking to the deep cut of his button-down flannel - dark hair peeking out from the curve of his white tank. The blue and grey pattern pretty against his skin.
A curl of smoke pours from his lips, a cigar fit between two fingers.
Logan had been curious to find you in the apartment when he got home. The aroma of the roast chicken wafting through the space, as you talked Wade through the last steps. The slow sweep of his eyes over the pretty sundress you wore, tugged from the back of your closet.
It hadn’t taken much convincing, when you asked him to get dinner out with you. Even with Althea in tow, safely dropped off for her night out.
“This is nice.” You smile, and his eyebrow lifts.
A glance around the room.
Dinner spent at a local pizza joint - stories shared, wound between updates about his new job at the local lumber company. About Laura, who you met two weeks ago. So much like Logan that it still catches you off-guard. Shared expressions, shared tempers.
You think that it must have been hard for both of them, this reunion. That comparison between the Logan in this world, those memories that stay with her. She views him the same - even you can see that. He’s told you it came as a shock, but it’s easy to see how he’s warmed, with time. Finding joy, within the shared grief.
The conversations spill over into a bar you know well. Unsure what to do with yourselves with the order of “staying away”, the sun still setting when you had stepped inside.
“Not sure nice is the word I’d use, sweetheart.”
“Anywhere is nice if I’m with you. I am sorry, though. I know it’s not-” Your hand waves, shyness creeping in as you lean into his shoulder, “Wasn’t sure where else to kill some time. Dopinder and Buck run a tight ship, it’s really not so bad.”
“Mm. Guess this is nice, then.” He corrects, a hint of a dimple as he smiles, “But you let me take you somewhere safer next time, yeah?”
“I’m safe with you.”
You miss the way he looks at you, as you take a sip of your drink. The brush of his fingers against your skin. His voice going low, goosebumps rising as he murmurs in your ear.
“How much longer do we have to stay out?”
A question that’s been on your mind as well.
“Well, Al’s thing is over at ten,” Your teeth worry at your lip, “But, I guess we could sneak back early. It’s just, Wade-”
“What about Wade?”
It’s unfair, how he crowds you in the booth. Torso twisting to face you. The warmth of his hand - how you’re aware of each and every movement he makes. It takes you a moment to answer.
“Wade is… Wade,” You manage, “But he doesn’t really ask for much. I owe him, you know?”
“You owe him?” He chuckles, “He’s lucky you stuck around after he tried to give you cocaine-”
“Hey,” You smile, “That was Al.”
That had been your second run-in with your neighbors. Only desperation had sent you over to the apartment, needing a cup of powdered sugar for a personal favor. Under-estimating how much you needed, in your rush to finish some cookies for a friend’s baby shower.
Meeting Al instead. The powdered substance swapped when her roommate had rearranged the apartment as a prank. Only Wade bursting from the bathroom, a towel slung low from his hips, had saved you from disaster. The nickname had formed when you hadn’t written them both off.
“And besides, Wade was the one who introduced me to you.”
Logan’s expression softens, “That is something, isn’t it?”
He holds your gaze for a long moment. Eyes drifting lazily down to your lips, with a low hum, then further. It sends a heat blooming in your cheeks, an unconscious press of your thighs together.
“I’m, um, gonna let Dopinder know we’re heading out.” You breathe, “He’ll worry if we irish goodbye.”
“You sure?” He husks, with another exhale of smoke - and you can feel the heat rising from your cheeks to your ears.
“Yes,” It comes out breathy.
“Um, yeah. You finish that, and I’ll be right back.”
Your elbows pressing into the sticky bartop as you wait - watching Dopinder work his way through pouring pints of beer for a crowd of bikers, all in dark leather.
A glance over your shoulder, finding the booth tucked in the corner. The dark head of hair, the expanse of his shoulders - a thick arm slung across the back - as Logan waits for you.
It makes you smile, and you almost miss the bump of a shoulder against yours.
“Oh!” You squeak, shifting to the side to make room, “I’m so sorry, I-”
The apology dies on your tongue, as you glance up at the man leaning against the wooden post at the end of the bar. Eyes drifting over the black field jacket, up to dark eyes.
“Been a while, darlin’.”
You inhale a breath, in surprise. Close to two years ago, if you remember right. Numerous meetings spread out over months, before he slipped out of your fire escape and into the early morning.
No note, no text. Walking out just as suddenly as he had appeared.
It had never been anything serious - he had made that clear - but you can’t pretend that it hadn’t hurt.
“It has,” You agree, a low twist in your belly, “How have you been? Didn’t think I’d see you outside Hell’s Kitchen.”
Unable to help that flicker of worry, even after everything. It’s always been ingrained in you - thinking of others more than yourself.
“Should ask you the same,” His eyebrow arches, “This isn’t your kind of place. Taking up mercenary work, beautiful?”
“I’m here with someone.” It comes out clipped, a glance over your shoulder - the nerves eased when you spot his form.
“Mountain man?”
A scoff - lip curling over sharp teeth, “Taking you to a place like this… You can do better than that. You can do-”
“You?” It’s your turn for your brow to raise, “We both know how that goes, Frankie. This-”
A pointed finger, gesturing around the room, “Was my idea. Things are different. I’m different.”
There’s the hint of a smirk - dark eyes that drag slowly down. Flicking back up to yours, as his voice pitches low, “I’m sure some things are the same.”
Your head shakes, “Not like that.”
There are lingering shades of purple that fade to yellow across his cheekbone. Never was good with this. All that time spent glancing out your window, waiting for him to show up, battered and bloody like he used to. All he did was keep you out, keep you at arm’s length.
Maybe that’s why you’re afraid of it happening again. A little shake of your head - a reminder that you need to be patient like Wade said. Logan isn’t him.
“I know what I want, and it’s-” The words die, as you look for him, again. Finding only an empty booth - your stomach tying up into knots.
A palm touches at your hip, a chest pressing snugly against your back. Startling you, as you breathe, “Logan.”
“This asshole bothering you, sweetheart?” It’s growled out, Logan’s eyes fixed on the other man.
“Nice guard dog.” There’s an amused appraisal - narrowed eyes, tongue trapped against teeth. “He do tricks as well?
The fingers at your hip curl, the smallest tug backward to bring you closer. The words ground out between bared teeth.
“You watch it.”
Christ. This was bad, you need to find your tongue - and quickly.
You twist, a hand resting on his chest. Only now does Logan’s eyes drop to yours, the tight pull to his features only just ebbing.
“This is Logan,” You smile, your palm pressing over his heart, “He’s, uh, my-”
And for a brief second, your words fail you. The tension is thick enough to cut, acrid in the air. Would labeling this right now send him running?
The man cuts through before you can finish.
“Frank Castle.” His eyes flick back to yours, as he adds, “Sure you can guess how we know each other.”
The muscles beneath your palm twitch. A light pressure against your hip, urging you away from the bar - the words low in your ear, “Alright. Let’s go.”
A nod, and you’re giving Frank a tight smile - letting Logan guide you towards the back. No more than a step taken before his voice cuts through.
“You still got my number?”
You shoot him an exasperated look, “Frank-”
“Gonna be back in town for a while, baby girl.” His arms cross, as he leans, “Call me when things don’t work out.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before a fist closes around the collar of his jacket. Logan stepping into his space, a forearm shoving Frank hard as he pins him against the post.
“I’ve had enough of your bullshit, bub.”
Fights are common in Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children, but you can’t say you’ve ever experienced one. Fear licks inside you, meeting Dopinder’s equally worried gaze as he starts to rush over.
Frank’s smile is dark, “You don’t want to start this.”
It’s met with a growl. Silver points peeking between the dips of Logan’s knuckles, the fabric straining in his tight grip.
“Fucking try me, you piece of shit.”
There’s a metallic click - the press of something cold against Logan’s groin.
“Should shoot your dick off for that.”
“Okay!” You shove between them, then. A hand on Logan’s arm, tugging - the other at his neck, trying to guide him back to you.
His hazel eyes are wild when they find yours. Face twisted in a snarl, deepened with the shadows cast in the dim room. Blinking, as he comes back to himself. A dark look as his arm eases - stepping away.
This time, it’s you that leads him towards the back exit. Something gritted out as you leave that you miss, but sends Logan bristling. An apologetic look thrown at Dopinder, before you’re stepping together through the swinging door, into the wood-paneled hallway.
Ducking down one of the hallways, next to matching doors leading to bathrooms, and a storage closet. An exit sign, gleaming red at the end.
The music and voices are muffled. His face silhouetted in the light of a vintage beer sign, his features outlined in gold as his back presses against the wall. A gritted, inhaled breath.
You haven’t seen him like this before. Seen him mad several times. Grouchy and annoyed with Wade. The sharp temper that hid his hurt when he thought you didn’t want him.
None of those moments match him now. You’re not sure what to make of it - the way your skin prickles. Something in your belly flutters, a warmth that drips from behind your ribs, settling low. You never wanted anyone to get hurt. But that look in his eyes, how quick we was to find you - it makes you inhale a breath.
“We-,” You start - your fingers still curled around his bicep, “We should talk about this. You okay, Logan?”
His eyes flick to yours, jaw working. The fury has bled from them, the sharp etches in his face easing, even as his expression stays guarded.
“Yeah. ‘m fine.” Logan rasps, “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
A beat, before it slips from him, “Was he one of the ones Wade scared away?”
“What?” It takes you a long moment to remember. Your brow pinching, as you shake your head,” Frank? No. It was-”
The pull of his brow is back, his frown deepening with your explanation.
“It was just casual.” You finish, lamely, “It wasn’t anything. Never was.”
“Didn’t sound that way.” It’s gritted out.
His head turns, eye contact dropping. A hand, raking through his hair - pushing the dark strands back, “Listen. If you want to go with him, it’s fine.”
You’re left stunned for a moment. His jaw working, hands jamming into his pockets. It’s defensive - it’s familiar.
“I don’t want to go with him-” You start, but it only makes him sigh.
“Then what were you gonna say, Sugar?” The look he finally gives you is searching, “I’m your, what-, your neighbor?”
“No!” You cry, “I was going to say you’re my boyfriend, but you’ve never-”
Logan’s pitches low, “I’ve never what?”
Your shoulders droop. Curling around yourself, as you lean into the wall next to him. He leans, matching your height - trying to catch your eyes.
“I don’t know, Logan.” It’s almost too quiet to hear. He might have, if he had been anyone else. “I told you I liked you the day after meeting you. But you…”
A little shake of your head, “You keep everything so close to your chest. You leave in the night. It’s okay, I just… sometimes I don’t know what to think.”
When his arms cross this time, there’s something in his eyes. A dark glimmer, the tug of his lips.
“You think that I don’t like you, sweetheart?”
A tilt of his head, a sharp edge slipping into his tone, “You think I wasn’t ready to tear that asshole limb from limb for talking to my girl that way?”
Something low in your belly twists, desire thrumming in an echo that radiates through you. A sharp inhale of breath at his words.
“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You manage, transfixed.
It’s easier, this time, for him to step into you. Hands ghosting along your neck. Tipping your face to his, so you can’t look away. Can’t miss what he tells you.
“If-, if I open up.” It comes out hushed, his words soft and low, “You won’t like what you see, Sugar.”
You reach for him - fingers curling around his wrists, “I like what I see just fine.”
He huffs. The barest hint of a smile, before his expression goes solemn.
“This,” The word is punctuated by the way his thumb sweeps against your cheek, “Never goes well for me. Sleeping on the couch puts me between you and anything coming through that door.”
Your pulse races with the remorse in his words. He’s touched on the barest of details of his past. Those small moments shared in the night you met, riddled confessions in the late nights that have followed.
“And the things I dream about-,” His eyes go hazy - lost in a memory, “They pull me back. I don’t want to hurt you because I can’t tell them from reality.”
The words slip from you automatically, without thought. Guilt floods through you, an ache from wondering - doubting.
“You won’t hurt me.”
“I will.” He breathes, “Sweetheart, I will. It’s not an if, it’s a when.”
Your head shakes - a stubborn set of your jaw, “You won’t. Please don’t shut me out, Logan. Please try…”
He huffs - eyes dropping to your mouth, as he leans. Hands slipping to cup your head, angle you to meet the press of his lips. A soft sigh that you swallow, something tender in the way he draws you to him. A hand curling around your back, splaying between your shoulder blades.
“Give me some time, okay?” Logan murmurs, when the kiss breaks, “Let me draw out the first good thing I’ve had in a long time. Just for a little longer.”
“Don’t have to draw it out.” Your body still curves to his, anchoring yourself to him. A hand touching his jaw so this time, his eyes have to stay on you.
“You deserve good things, Logan.” Your mouth brushes his, “Let me give them to you.”
The sound he makes is almost wounded, as if he wants to protest.
As if he wants to believe you.
Breath ragged, as his hands trace down to grip at your hips. Leaning into you, your touch. What you offer him. A thigh fitting between yours, nudging against your core - and you think surely he must see how your eyes darken.
The rapid flutter of your heart, how it races for him and only him.
“Yeah?” He husks, as if reading your mind, “You ready to get out of here, Sugar?”
“Bathroom.” You breathe.
“Can’t wait that long.”
He’s on you the second the door swings shut. Fingers twisting at the lock, as his head dips - mouth finding yours again.
There’s a desperation to his kiss this time. One that you match with the way your palms trace up his chest. Fingertips at his neck, tugging him to meet you.
A thrill shoots up your spine. You’ve never done anything quite like this before. The space behind your ribs is soft and tender from his confession - already breathless before he deepens the kiss.
Backing you up against the old, chipped vanity that lines the wall. The stalls hanging open - empty as his hands trail down your spine. Fitting beneath the curve of your ass, tugging you up to fit on the counter.
Finding your jaw again - guiding your lips to his, meeting the sweep of your tongue as he fits between your thighs.
“Been wanting to get my hands on you all night.” He breathes, against your lips, “So fucking pretty, you know that?”
It sends a pulse through you, down to where you’re already responding to his touch. Your knees close around his hips, urging him closer.
“Logan, please,” You hum, fingers tugging at his belt buckle. A palm pressing against the front of his jeans, where his cock strains against the denim.
His moan is ragged, bucking into your touch. Fingers tracing up your waist. Letting your tits fill his palm, as you work him free.
It’s hard to hold back a moan of assent, when his lips presses against your neck. Open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, the scrape of teeth pressing into your jugular.
“Good,” He growls against your skin, “Would’ve bent you over that fucking bar if you’d let me.”
It’s possessive. It makes you shiver - a sweep of his tongue, the suck of lips as he marks you. The sharp sting of his bite fading into sweet bliss.
“Need you.” Your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking. The lightest of tugs to bring him closer, your thighs inching further apart.
He groans, “You have me.”
The pretty dress you wear is pushed up to your waist. His palm cupping you, feeling your warmth before he’s tugging the fabric of your panties to the side.
Need rushes through you. A heave of your chest against his as your mouth meets his, greedy. A tilt of your hips, a leg lifting to hitch around his waist. Your hand curling around the edge of the counter, the other guiding the tip of his cock against your slick folds.
“Hold on, honey.” Logan’s fingers slip against your pussy, nudging inside, “Gonna be sore.”
“I can take it,” You insist, pleading, “I can take you, wanna feel it.”
His eyes darken. A little inhale of breath, watching as your lips part as two fingers press deep. Your teeth already sink into your bottom lip, muffling a whine.
Slipping them free, after crooking inside you. Wrapping his hand around his cock, a rough stroke to smear your slick around him. Lining the tip up with your opening, as his hands fit against your waist. His hips pressed snugly against the chipped counter, as he begins to tug you to meet him.
You can feel every inch, as he moves you. He splits you open, your shoulders arching against the dirty mirror as your nails bite into the laminate. A hand pressed against his chest, as you urge him to go slow.
A held breath coming in a rush, as he slips deeper inside you with a grunt. Filling that ache you’ve been carrying - your eyes dropping down to watch the slick shine of his cock. Sinking into you with the slow saw of his hips, a clink of his belt with movement.
“Just for me, yeah?” He rasps, a hand drifting down. Fingers splitting where he fills you, drawing slick tips up to circle your clit.
“Just you.” You nod, breathless. Rocking into his touch, taking more as you adjust to the weight of him inside you.
His teeth flash white, in the dim room.
“That’s my girl.”
The moan you’ve been holding back slips from you, as you clench down hard around him.
He hums, “You like that?”
“Yes.” You whine. Reaching for him, as he tugs you closer. The slow plunge of his hips turning into a shallow grind.
Fingers circling and pressing, in rhythm with the heady drag of his cock against your walls. Your fingers grasping onto his arms, his shoulders - the kiss is messy when he meets the tilt of your head.
Leaning into you as his tongue licks into the cup of your mouth, your tits pressed up against his chest. A broad hand slipping from your waist, curving against the swell of your ass and squeezing.
“That’s it,” He rumbles against your mouth - eyes half-lidded. A groan when you nip his lower lip - grinning at the way you gasp, when his hips surge forward, “Atta girl, taking me so well.”
Each swipe against your clit feels like a countdown - hips angling until he finds that spot inside you that makes your teeth click together. That slickens him up even further, until he’s pounding into your wet, tight heat.
Your fingers pinch down. Breath going short, until you’re panting. Unable to do more than buck into his touch, as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.
“Couldn’t even wait to get home,” Logan growls, “Needed this cock so badly, didn’t you?”
“Needed you,” You whine, hips rocking to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut, as the winding pressure builds, “Fuck, needed you. Gonna make me-”
The words break on a bitten-back whimper. Your muscles go stiff, bracing yourself in his arms.
“Want you to look at me, sweetheart.” He coos, with that steady roll of his hips. Nudging deep inside you each time, as his fingers circle against your clit, “Eyes on me when you come, alright?”
Your answer is a breathless nod, as you listen.
You don’t think you could look away if you tried. Not with him right in front of you. So close you can see the pull of his brow in concentration, the pretty shade of his eyes.
Fixed on you, as his lips part. The soft pant and grunt as desire throbs in your veins, your fingers curling into a fist in his flannel.
“Come for me, baby.” He urges, “Wanna feel you, let me fucking feel you come.”
It’s there, swirling inside you. Liquid heat between your thighs, yanking you to an invisible edge. Leaving you to dangle, breath held -
“Oh my god, Logan-“
You’re falling - clenching down hard around him. His name is a chanted prayer as he fucks you through it - a ragged, pleased sound rumbling in this throat as you pulse around his cock. The slap of his hips growing louder, more wet as your release coats his cock. His base and balls sticky, when they press flush to your cunt.
“That’s it,” He growls. Fingers leaving your clit, so he can grip your waist. Drive into you harder, chasing his own impending release.
“Come on, that’s my girl.”
It’s pulled from you, sweet and smooth.
“Yours.”
Logan’s moan is ragged, coming from low in his chest. His pace stutters - the steady thrust turning sloppy. A messy rut of his hips, grinding himself as deep as he can before he finds himself again.
You forget the dingy bar. The flickering overhead lights. Filth and phone numbers scrawled on the walls. Everything narrows down to him.
How he holds you. Looks at you - so much said in the way they soften. You don’t know how you ever could have doubted.
Blinded with uncertainty. Fears from before, that will no longer have a hold on you.
“Logan,” You sigh, your heel digging into the curve of his ass. Eyes still on his, as your plea slips from you, “Fuck. Don’t pull out.”
You want to feel him. The throb of his cock when he comes deep inside you. How he lingers, slick and dripping from you - now, and later, and tomorrow.
A gritted-out groan, as the sharp tempo increases. Fingers pinching hard enough to bruise, and you’ll wear him there, too - fading marks against your hips.
“Yeah?” Logan husks - that look back in his eyes. Pupils blown wide, as his lips part with a groan, “Gonna be my good girl, gonna fucking take it?”
“Mhm,” It pitches high, as you nod.
“Fuck.”
It comes out choked, as he loses himself in you. One, two, three thrusts, and Logan is growling - hands slipping down to tug you flush against him, as he spills inside you with a muffled shout.
Hips grinding himself deep into you, his words a rough rasp in your ear, “Take it. Just like that.”
He pulses inside you, filling you with each twitch of his cock. Marking you fully, as he tests his teeth against your shoulder. A moan, as your thighs hitch around his hips - nudging him deep, where you’re wet and warm and wrapped around him.
Leaving him to grind every last drop into you, slumping back when his grip finally loosens. Your limbs feel like liquid lead, head tipped back against the glass. A groan muffled against your neck, as your fingers slip beneath the tugged-open flannel.
Nails scratching along his back, the tight muscles beneath easing.
“Boyfriend, huh?” Logan hums when he finally leans back - and you already miss his hands on you, as they shift to brace against the counter.
It feels cruel that he teases you like this. When you swear you can still feel the throb of his cock inside you. When he’s still sheathed to the hilt.
You groan, “Don’t make fun of me, Logan.”
“‘m not sweetheart,” He huffs, eyes going soft.
“I’ll be anything you want me to be.”
There’s something off about your apartment - he can sense it the moment they make it to the landing.
This is exactly what he had been trying to tell you. The when, not if, something will go wrong. His senses flickering into overdrive, nostrils flaring.
Catching the light that creeps from under the door, when he knows you clicked it off. His hand automatically leaves yours, reaching out to tuck you safely behind him.
“Logan?” There’s confusion in your voice, a hand at his shoulder.
He shushes you, his words a low growl.
“Someone’s in your apartment. Stay here, sweetheart.”
There’s the soft snick of his claws, your fingers untwisting from his shirt. A breath, and then his hand is closing around the knob - a sharp jerk of his fist as his shoulder slams into the wood.
Teeth bared, as he bursts into your apartment with a snarl.
All that fury bleeds to relief, and then disappointment.
“How’d you get in here?” Logan grits, his claws sheathing.
Your voice joins his, from where you had peeked around the doorframe, “You okay, Wade?”
Hazy, morose eyes peer back at him - a hand lifting to wiggle “baby knife” at him. A newly-opened bottle of your cooking sherry in the other - a plate balanced on his chest, filled with a half-eaten chicken breast and vegetables. Legs stretched out on your sofa, Dogpool curled between his ankles.
“She didn’t show,” Wade mutters, with a miserable smile, “Didn’t want to be alone.”
Logan can’t help the soft flicker in his chest when you go to him. Sinking to your knees by the couch - moving the plate to the coffee table, lifting Dogpool into your arms. She licks your chin as Wade lets loose a long, drawn-out sigh - flipping to face the back of the couch.
"What was the point of the first two movies?" The words are muffled into the fabric, "Why would Disney do something like this? We were picking out baby names for fuck’s sake-"
“I’m so sorry,” You soothe - a hand on his back, “What can I do to help? Can I get you anything?”
Wade’s head turns to the side, with a long sigh.
“Thor’s phone number.”
“How about I take this,” You tug at the bottle, until it loosens, “And I text Peter? We can have a movie night, okay?”
He turns further, until he’s facing you again, “Even that one you hate?”
"Don’t hate it." You sigh, “It’s just so sad. I don’t know why it’s your favorite.”
“It’s not my fault they made that tree star look so goddamn delicious.”
You’re beckoning Logan over, a gesture to take his place. You hand on his arm, beseeching - but you don’t have to beg this time. The snarling dog inside him calmed - the fury from the bar and from the hallway ebbing at your touch. He can still feel your lips against his, when his eyes close.
The uncomfortable itch of opening up oneself still lingers, but it’s soothed by the way you smile at him in thanks. By the words that he still clings to.
Logan has to fold himself into the space, knees folding. Mary Puppins tucked in the crook of his elbow - his other hand patting against a curved-in shoulder.
Sincerity, as he offers, "Tough luck, bub.”
“It’s her loss.” You call, thumbs tapping away a message.
“Her loss.” Logan echos, “You’re… you’re a good man, Wade. It’ll work out.”
It comes out clumsy. It always does - he never had a silver tongue like the Professor did. His edges as sharp as his claws, never one to waste words if his fist could do the job.
Wade flips back over. The hint of a smile, “That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Before his eyes are flicking over to where you pace, voice lowering.
“And I gotta ask, did you maul Sugar? What is with that mark on her neck?”
Logan huffs, lips twitching.
“We’re all set,” You smile, “Your Emotional Support Peter is on his way. He’s bringing Al and some ice cream.”
A glance his way, the question written so plainly in your eyes - the lift of your brow. “That okay?”
It’s not the way he imagined this night going.
Had thought he’d take you to bed when he got back. Take things slower, this time.
Using his touch and the greedy press of his mouth to make sure you understand that he heard every word you told him. That he meant each one he said back - make sure you never made the mistake of thinking he didn’t care for you again.
But when he looks at you - how you’re ready to sweep into the kitchen to make some popcorn, he thinks-
That he might just prefer this. Even as messy as it is.
He smiles back.
The couch is crammed with far too many people. Five squeezing into a space meant for three at best. You’ve been half perched on his lap all night, his arm slung over your shoulder - tempted to pull you the rest of the way.
A couple months ago, his skin would have crawled to be this close to others. Would have peeled himself away with a scathing word and a sharper bite.
But something softened him, during his time in this world. Days, to weeks, to months.
Couldn’t go back, he knows that now. All the wishing and TVA TemPads couldn’t undo what was done - he’s known that for a while. It would take a long time, but he could try to come to terms with what happened. Try to do better, moving forward.
Starting with himself. A scrap of paper - snatched from a bottom of a flier with a brightly-printed 12-step program, shoved deep into his leather jacket pocket. Relearning how to be patient with others, and even more so with himself. Trying to listen what you and Wade told him.
He’s done walking away from things. You make him believe that whenever, if ever, he manages to open that tightly-sealed lid… you’ll stay.
The thought is one that he'll cling to.
“Alright. Enough bullshit.”
It’s announced, as the credits roll - breaking him out of his thoughts. A creak of the couch as Wade shifts - crammed between you and Al, his head twisting on her shoulder to peer over his way.
“‘m being serious now.” He insists, though the words slur together - the bottle stolen back during the movie and drained, “I’m so happy my two besties are falling in love, even if I am a jealous little bitch.”
A gasp, as he remembers - a reaching over to pat Peter’s shoulder, “Not that I’m forgetting about you, sugar bear. You too, Blind Al. I’d be just as happy if you two were dating. It'd be like a less fucked-up Harold and Maude."
A derisive snort from Al.
Peter smiles, “Just happy to be here, pal.”
“Anyways, life sucks balls. Big, fat, sloppy, wet, balls, but goddamn if seeing you two happy doesn’t fill me with hope.”
Logan can hear the hitch in your breath. The pressure of your fingers, entwined with his. Embarrassment flickering across your face, when you are unable to help glancing his way.
Exasperation and something else mixing in when you meet his gaze. Something soft and tender and directed so solely at him, that for a moment - he forgets to breathe.
Falling in love, huh?
Yeah. He might just be.
a/n: i adore frank castle, haha. i thought he would be a fun person to pull in for a jealous!logan scenario - and thank so from the bottom of my heart for all the love on sugar, sugar - I honestly had no idea so many of you would like it, and I can’t tell you how much it means to read your sweet asks and comments 💖 this is all I have planned for them right now, thank you for letting me share this series with you!!! (though I am definitely not done writing for logan!)
Tw: logan howlett x fem!reader, domestics, description of childbirth/pregnancy, breeding knk, fem/mutant! reader, domestics, Logan being so caring <3 18+ MDNI
A/n: please support your creators and reblog if you love this content <3 xoxo, Liz
——-
You never believed in being absolutely crushed, enamored with someone just from one instance of meeting. Just from one glance. That never fell to be true. Until you met Logan.
He saved you from Striker’s Island, saved you from life in a cage, life as an experiment, carrying you off the grounds of the facility because you had a broken leg. He was so caring, so gentle, with you that day.
You sobbed as the bone in your leg bulged out, itching to relieve itself in the fresh air, away from the mess that was your thigh. “I know it hurts. Just hold on to me, yeah? Won’t let anything happen to you,” he consoles, his gruff voice and warm, heaving chest a comfort to you as the pain from your leg was asinine — slowly killing you.
He was gentle on the night you eloped, as well. The two of you fell enamored with each other in only a span of a few months. You needed each other to heal. The two of you spend some time away from the X-mansion, back in the outskirts of the Colorado mountains.
“Let me carry you over these rocks, bub. Don’t want you to strain yourself,” he chided at you, and once again, those strong, hairy arms you loved so much, picked you up as if you weighed nothing, and carried you to the edge of the cliff. “It’s beautiful here, Logan,” you exclaim in quiet awe. “It’s nice. Private,” he replies, a large hand coming to cup your face. “You saved me, bub. After losing my brother, having all these god-fuckin’ awful memories. Had so much pain,” he sighs. “I know. You’re safe now, Lo,” your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him into a slow and chaste kiss.
—-
“Can’t! Can’t take it anymore — Lo!!,” you squealed, as his broad chest pressed up against your back, all the chest hair leaving marks on your back. His large hands cradling your front, occasionally squeezing at your plush tits, his grunts animalistic. “Doing so well, sweetheart. Taking me so well. Give me one more squeeze bub, I know you can,” he reassures, as you feel like you’re about to explode from his thick, eight inch cock ramming into you, over and over.
You’re in complete bliss as you feel his seed seeping into you. You were fertile. You were his. His claws come out as he finishes, almost touching your neck. He pulled them back quickly, checking if you were okay. “Love you so much, sweetheart. You’re my moon, I’m your Wolverine,” he whispers, as he rolls you over onto your back, wiping you with a towel. He lays down next to you, cradling you on his big chest, in an almost paternal way.
You were safe, you were loved.
He continued being the softest, gentle, man that he could be, with you. Even when the both of you returned to the Mansion. He would constantly check in on you if you were teaching class, advising the students of how you gained control of your telepathy. He would always make sure you went to bed at a reasonable time, and that you wouldn’t over exert yourself while teaching.
His love and care for you was innately fierce, and it grew even more fervorous when you told him you were pregnant. You’ve never seen the man so happy.
He was insanely protective over you. He was your shadow, always around where you were. If another at the mansion even so simply looked at you, he would get defensive. “We got a problem here?,” he would ask, claws slowly inching out. They would shake their head quickly and walk away.
He would hold back your hair as you had morning sickness, constantly ill. He would tell you everything would be okay, as you gained a bit of weight, as your hormones raged out of control.
“What do you need, bub? Water? I can make you somethin’ to eat too, don’t hold out on me, now,” he asks, as he walks into your kitchen after a long day of working with Charles on a new project. You sniffle, “I never knew pregnancy would be this hard, Lo. I’m losing it.” “Hey. You’re still my moon, y’ know. You saved me, sweetheart. Still love ya just the same, even if you’re all heavy with my kid. It’s a new life we made,” he reassures, bringing you in to the safe haven of his chest again. You smile warmly, as he continues to hold you.
He was there with you for the birth. You were in so much pain, and he held you — every step of the way. When the infant was finally out, the three of you spent hours just laying together, having skin to skin contact. “My moon. Did so well f’me, sweetheart,” he tells you, as you have your infant laying on his chest, and your fingers gently touch his beard.
He saved you, after all.
A/n: I want this man in a very bad way, a very, very, very, very bad way. Screaming. References here are from original X men movie and X men origins: Wolverine.
Tw: Casual dominance / relationship domestics with Dean, possessiveness, dumbification, size knk, dom!-coded Dean, sub!-coded reader, daddy!knk, innocence, etc.
Please support your creators and reblog if you can <3
———
The way Dean takes care of you simply made you melt.
You’ve been on the road with him and Sam for a few years now, and you are a welcome presence. Especially for Dean.
You help the boys out, hunting down the supernatural, abolishing curses, negotiating with witches, vampires, and the sort. Sometimes there is a brief period in which you all have no cases. You settle. A dingy mid-Americana motel, doors with paint peeling off, beds that creaked terribly. That was the usual option. Until the three of you found the compound used by the Men of Letters, in the mid 20th century. It was a bit outdated, yet it gave you one thing that you simply desired with fervor — from Dean especially. Privacy. Domesticity.
Yours and Dean’s room was on the other side of the compound. Away from Sam. It was a master suite, right next to a private bathroom. Moments like this were your favorite. Dean lazily lay on the bed, hairy thighs spread, nursing a beer in his right hand, a cigarette in his left. You have just stepped out of the shower. Wearing nothing, of course.
The soft glow and muffled sound of the tv spread through the yellow tinted room. You walk your way over to him. He was still focused on the tv. His glance turned to you, a smile instantly creeped across his face. “Hi there. Need something, sweetheart?,” he raised his brow.
“Need you, D. Got all dolled up, you see?,” you tell him, fingers dwildiling behind you, your nipples, perked up from all the hot water. “Can see that. Why don’tcha come on up here,” he smiles, predatory, patting his thighs. “Daddy’ll take care of ya,” he adds, with a whisper.
You giddily accept the invitation, getting onto his lap, straddling his thighs, your warm wetness pressed up against him. “Want you to ride me, sweetheart. Like one of those bulls at the bar, yeah? Use daddy’s thigh on your sweet lil’ cunt. Wanna see her purr, yeah?,” he chided, bringing a large hand to cup your face. You nod, and follow instructions, as told. You wanted to be good for him, after all.
You rode, panting, heaving, giving it your all. You swung back and forth, sometimes pausing to give him a little dance. He was lucky, having a sweet thing like you in front of him, cigarette, beer, and the tv to keep him entertained. “Keep it movin’ f’me, pretty girl. You’re almost there, aren’t ya?” You nod, your face straining as you feel yourself tighten on his thigh. He moves his thigh into you more, and you scream, letting go. “There she is. Let go, baby. Daddy’s got ya.” You collapse onto his chest with a sigh, spent from this little interaction.
“You tired, baby?,” he asks, earning a nod from you, and a sigh. You were exhausted. He understood. “I got ya.” With your head still lay flush against his chest hair, he picks you up, bringing you to the bathroom. You were already half asleep as he set you on the counter, washed your face, cleaning you up. He brings you back into bed, making sure your head stays on his chest as you fall asleep.
—-
You liked how he took care of you. If you ever got hurt during a hunt, Dean would stop everything to make sure you’re okay. He would tell Sam to go on, leaving his brother frustrated as Dean would dote over you.
He always took a chance to carry you. Sometimes even through the woods — he was afraid that you’d get hurt and trip over the thick branches, because it has happened a few times already.
Whenever the three of you stopped at some local town bars, Dean always made sure to have his arm around your shoulders at all times — even walking you to the restroom if you asked. Sometimes you would sit with your legs on his lap as well. He would stroke your thigh if you got nervous. He would always double check your drink before you drank it, making sure it was okay for you. He would never let you have more than two shots of whiskey.
God forbid if a local bar-goer ever leered at you. Dean would walk over to them, ask them why, and then start throwing punches, ending with a simple, “Stay away from my woman, asshole.”
Sam would roll his eyes and pull Dean apart from the men, every time.
—
Late at night, while you and Dean couldn’t keep your hands off each other, while he took care of your throbbing cunt with his more than you can endow cock, Sam sat at the other side of the building, studying. He was honestly astonished that his brother was so enamored with a woman, always caring for you in a way that Sam had never seen before. It was almost paternal. Sam knew that you were the one to bring out the best, most humane, qualities in Dean.
A/n: requests have been answered! I am on my period, so expect some more fics coming out in the next couple of days. Xoxo, Liz.
