Yes, it's been done before, but the idea of Ghost tapping the tip of his dick against Reader's clit and calling it kissing makes me swoon. Like, big, nasty man pinning you down, spreading your legs and just teasing you until you're begging for more than a "kiss"?
âFuck-â He snarls quietly in the darkness, leaning back so he looks down at the scant shape of you, fingers fumbling for where he vanishes inside you with a bitten off groan of appreciation.
His fingers circle your clit, and you whine, high and reedy, trying and failing to stay quiet as the pleasure pulses too bright, too warm through you.
âD-donât-â You whisper urgently. âM gonna cum if you- hah- if you keep-â
âGo ahead, pet.â Ghost returns, breathless. âBut Iâm not stopping âtill Iâve had my fill.â
Fuck.
Itâs a whiplash when it comes- there and too soon as his thumb rubs insistently over your clit, and you slap a hand over your mouth to prevent your voice from crying out in the darkness lest it wake anyone else. You jolt with the sudden release of it, enough that Simon steadies you by the waist as he works you through it, lazily circling his thumb as your walls clench down on him in steady, pulsing waves.
âThatâs it.â He croons above you, and you wish you could see his face like this, how his pupils must eclipse the rust brown of his eyes. âGood girl.â
âChrist-â You manage a little weakly, and Simon bends over you once more, withdrawing almost completely before he pushes back in with a single devastating thrust.
You're failing Professor Logan's History Class. You're so distracted by your desire for him that you can't pay proper attention in class and forget to take notes. You failed the latest test, and you go to him in tears one night in his office, saying you'll do anything to pass the class? If you happen to be braless and wearing only a silk camisole, you wonder if he'll notice? You'll really do anything, he asks? Yes, anything, daddy, I mean Sir! Sir!
His gives you his home address, tells you to stop by at 10pm to discuss things further. You arrive at this house. It's very secluded. No one is around for miles. It's also Friday night. What exactly happens over the weekend? What will he have you do to earn a passing grade?
a/n: see you fucking get me. Also Im so sorry I was so locked in at my new job im getting used to full time but I must finish this asfdlkj
warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY, Professor x Student (masters) relationship, fem!reader, power imbalance, pervy Logan, blow jobs, dirty talk.
Professor Howlett's history class was not for any general ed student. He only accepts a small amount of grad students every year to the point where his class has become something of a legend. It's notoriously difficult, most only managing to scrape by with a C and the highest grade he's ever given was a B+. This year you were one of the lucky ones but day one you realized you were fucked.
Professor Howlett was undeniably insanely attractive. Call it what you want but something about an older man with glasses and a button up shirt threw you brain into a frenzy. You did everything you could to keep up with his class. You sat in the front row, you did the homework, you read the textbook.
But every time you looked up from your computer you were drawn into his handsome face and by the time you snap out of it the lesson is over. At this point dropping the class isn't even an option and the test in your hands has a big fat F in red pen.
You're desperate, you can't fail this class if you want to graduate with honors. You pace in front of his office door tears brimming in your eyes as you think of any way to appeal to his humanity. Which most students argue he doesn't even have.
"Jesus can you stop?!" The door flings open making you jump, Professor Howlett's annoyed voice booms through the corridor.
"I could hear your damn shoes squeaking for five minutes."
"Sorry." You mumble. You look into his hazel eyes and you can feel your heart start to beat faster. What were you here for again?
"What do you want?" Professor Howlett asks, an unamused look on his face. You open your mouth to speak but no words come out.
He looks at you confused and glances down to your chest, seeing your test pressed against your thin camisole.
"Oh that, I don't do retakes." He says flatly.
You glance down at your test and the tears start to brim. You feel so stupid for letting your crush get so bad, you're smart. You're very smart but he seems to reduce you to a fucking puddle of nothing.
"Please Professor how can I fix this. I'm trying I promise I really am and I know the material but I just..." You trail off, unsure of how to explain everything. He sighs and opens the door wider.
"Come in." You hurry into his office and he shuts the door behind you.
"Look sweetheart, I know you're smart too." He hums, sitting down in his chair and picking up a cigar from an ashtray. Could he even smoke in here?
"All my colleagues rave about you so tell me what's stopping you from doing well in my class?"
"I just...I get distracted sometimes but I've been trying to work on it." You sit down on the chair across from his desk. He tilts his head, looking at you for a while before placing the cigar back in the ash tray.
"Yeah? Distracted by what?" He pushes, a hint of a smirk on his face as he sees you clutch your test tightly.
"I don't know. Just life and stuff I guess." You mumble, not even convincing yourself.
"Mm hm, that why I catch you eye fucking me every day in class?" Logan asks bluntly and you cringe. Of course he noticed. If only the ground could swallow you up right now.
"I...I'm sorry I didn't...Look if you could just let me do something to bring my grade up. Extra credit or an essay or something. Please I'm so close to graduating with honors." You spill, begging him to take pity on you.
"Professor." You add on quietly.
Without thinking you cross your arms tightly, mostly out of nerves. Unknowingly pushing up your breasts which are already being pushed by your choice of top. You notice his eyes drifting downward and you become incredibly aware of where he was looking. You weren't trying to, uh seduce the man, when you picked this top but you aren't mad at seeing his reaction. In fact you're a little turned on.
"Okay." He says, grabbing a peace of paper and scribbling something down.
"What?" You ask in disbelief.
"I said okay. Meet me at my place later to discuss the details." He slides the paper over to you and you take it. You stand up and thank him.
"Oh, and don't change outfits alright sweetheart?" He hums as you walk out the door.
The pet name makes your stomach flutter and you're already eager for night to fall.
Logan's cabin was exactly what you thought it would be like. Secluded and rustic. It looked like he had made most of it himself and with all the random wood laying around the outside of his garage you were probably correct. You take one last breath as you walk up to his porch. You aren't naĂŻve you know what this could lead to and if you're honest you're hoping it does.
Is it wrong? Yes. Is it incredibly risky? Yes. But do you care? Right now? Not really.
He opens the door and you're greeted with the smell of wood and linen. He's changed out of his normal work clothes for a tight shirt and some sweatpants. Fuck he looks good. He smirks as he looks you up and down.
"Come on in." His cabin is very warm feeling which you didn't really expect.
Pictures of who you assume are his friends are scattered on the wall and there's lots of mismatched furniture and decorations. Like most of them were gifts that had been placed around his house. He sits on his plush leather couch, legs spreading without a care.
A glass of brandy in his hand as he gestures for you to sit next to him, no not next to him, on his lap. You bite your lip as you sit yourself on his lap. His free hand coming to hold your hip and your hands rest on his shoulders.
"You're fucking gorgeous you know that?" He says.
"You're really handsome." You reply back. He chuckles in such a rich deep voice that drives you nuts.
"So professor..." You start to slide off his lap onto the plush rug. Your knees resting on the ground as you place your hands at his waist, playing with his belt.
"What can I do to raise my grade?" You ask. His eyes grow darker as he takes your hand and puts it on the button of his jeans.
"I think you know sweetheart, lets see how you do and then we'll talk grades." He growls.
With quick hands you unbuckles his belt and unzip his jeans. He lifts his hips to help you slide them down along with his boxers. Leaving his hard cock resting against his stomach. Your eyes widen at how big it is. Fuck you knew he'd be huge.
"Come on now, don't be shy." He purrs as he grabs the base of his cock.
"Open that pretty mouth of yours." You look up through your lashes as you open your mouth, letting the tip of his cock rest on your tongue.
"Shit." He mumbles as you suck and lick the tip. Your brows furrow as you focus on tasting him. He lets go of his cock and grabs the back of your head, slowly pushing you down to take more of him. You whine slightly at the stretch but he pays no mind.
"Fuck that's it. You can take it." You breathe deeply through your nose as his cock hits the back of your throat.
Your lips wrap so nicely around it. He slowly starts to fuck your mouth, tilting his head back as his hand stays pushing your head down on his cock. Your nails dig into his thighs, whimpering as you slide your cunt along your shoe. You've never felt more turned on in your life. Logan feels like a fucking teenager again, he's not gonna last long. Especially not when you look up at him with tears in your eyes a mouth full of cock.
"Hold on sweetheart, wanna come in that mouth of yours." He growls as his hips start to buck rougher.
Drool drips down your chin and a loud groan rips through his throat. You wince at the salty taste of his cum coats your throat. He carefully draws his cock out of your mouth. You sag into the couch, propping yourself up on his leg as you take a couple deep breaths. You look a mess, you can feel the tear tracks on your face and a few drops of his cum still lingering.
"Look at that." He purrs as he wipes his thumb along the side of your mouth.
"Swallowed it all hm? Good girl." You look up at him a smile, happy to have pleased him.
"I think you earned yourself a nice B, but if you want to make it an A I could tutor you some more." He helps you up, sitting you back on his lap and brushing out the wrinkles in your clothes.
Fixing you up so you're nice and pretty again. His hands linger at your sides, fuck he could practically smell you. You nod your head eagerly. Your hands running down his firm chest. Whatever the hell you've gotten yourself into is risky, stupid, and by every definition a bad idea. But god after sitting in his lap and staring in his eyes, you don't fucking care.
cws/tags: ddlg, p in v, oral, labubu mention, suicidal thoughts (throughout), unresolved trauma (leon), idk? it's gross it's ddlg whatever
summary: leon is suicidal (again) and getting involved in this ddlg dynamic only makes it worse (or better?)
a/n: it's a comeback of sorts... i always say i'm gonna stop but it's the only thing ik how to write. one day i will be more poetic, i swear... and ofc the title is the blink-182 song (leon would listen to them) and tbh when i was looking for a title, it was the first song when i shuffled my likes...
not "proofread", per se, but i've stared at this document so long that it makes me want to poke my eyes out, and not beta-read bc most ppl ik are not fans of this content ...
wc: 4.3k
Leon canât bring himself to pull the trigger. The metal in his hand is familiar. Heâs done this countless times, but his finger trembles like it did the first. That was a lifetime ago during his training at the police academy back when he was an optimist, maybe a little too hopeful, somewhere between naive and delusional, thinking heâd save the world someday and come out on the other side without so much as a scraped knee.
He remembers watching his peers shoot before himâ few of them hesitatedâ but when it was his turn to learn how to kill for the first time, the loaded gun weighed more than heâd imagined. The officer who trained him never understood his fear. How do the heroes in the movies and the villains on the news do it?
The gun weighs less than it used to â for one, Leon has amassed a decent amount of muscle in his arms so everything feels lighter. And, heâs become so used to it â the shooting, not the killing â that heâs actually a decent shot. Heâs no Chris Redfield STARS Alpha Team winner of every sharpshooting contest since he began working at the RPD, but Leonâs one of four who escaped the RPD in â98 so itâs safe to say he knows what heâs doing. He knows what heâs doing. Killing. Theyâre not people anymore. Anymore. They used to be people. Every death fills him with a greater void, it empties him, makes him feel nothing.
Leon will do anything in the name of escapism. Sometimes he thinks the only reason heâs never done hard drugs is because he doesnât know any dealers. Weekdays are for work - 9 to 5 most of the time. Then, he goes home to drink until he passes out on the couch. Leon only sleeps when he has a woman next to him. The women who sleep with him are usually impressed that his sheets are fresh, but unbeknownst to them he hasnât changed them in two months. He doesnât like his bedroom. He has to resign himself to his own loneliness when he stumbles through the doorway alone. Thereâs something different about the couch. Itâs a liminal space, an in-between, something he can deal with. He can pretend heâll just rest his eyes for a moment, and he can pretend that this isnât just his life now. Itâs a phase. Itâll end.
It could. It would only take one bullet.
Something in his brain clicks and he realizes he just needs another glass of whiskey and heâll feel better. Itâs not divine intervention leading him away from suicide, and itâs not an intrinsic belief of a greater purpose. Itâs just that heâs sobering up real quick right now. A gun entering oneâs proximity tends to invoke that kind of feeling.
On his short trek to the kitchen to refill his glass, he realizes that this is actually good for him. Itâs one of those self-care techniques his therapist suggested. Well, okay, not exactly. She asked him to tell her what keeps him from these feelings and he lied and said some bullshit about family and friends, but what he meant was: alcohol. And, down the hatch it goes. A quick and easy solution. Now, Leonâs not thinking about all that fucked up BOW shit. No undead children, no shooting the president, not Spain or China or anywhere else. Now that he has a little shot of completely unfounded self-confidence, he needs to make it everyone elseâs problem. Or at least, the local female population.
Everyone knows Leon has a drinking problem, not everyone knows about the sex addiction. Itâs really a shame, though. Getting laid sounds much cooler than blacking out with a half-empty liquor bottle on the table next to him. Yeah, Leonâs almost 40 and he still fucks. Sometimes. When his dick works.Â
If Leon had known how often heâd have trouble getting it up when he was in his 20âs, he wouldâve killed himself. He doesnât have the same shame anymore. You can get Viagra in the mail. He knows this personally.
One time, a woman he was sleeping with graciously grabbed the package from the door and watched him open it. They stopped talking when she left that day, and it didnât matter because there was no way he could face her after that. Not that they really ever fucked face-to-face. It wasnât like that between the two of them.Â
Leon met a new chick recently, a younger chick, much younger. Way too much fucking younger. He met her at a goddamn coffee shop. She wrote her number on his receipt with her name and a heart. What was he supposed to do? Not call? Heâd have to find another place to get his coffee. Plus, she reminds younger version of Claire â the one girl he could never have. The one girl he assumes might have some attraction to men. Heâs yet to get Jill into bed, but the odds are stacked against him there. Not his fault sheâs a lesbian.
This girlâs fucked in the head. Heâs known this since the moment she took interest in him. In what way? He wasnât quite sure yet. Probably some shit with her parents. Trying to piss them off by dating some sleazebag, or whatever. He wants no part of that. Leonâs got enough family issues already, and no family to show for it.
She cried after they had sex for the first time. It wouldnât be the first time heâd left a woman disappointed but he was at least 85% sure the orgasm she had wasnât fake, and his dick was working fine. Until the tears came. Then it went completely limp and hung between his legs like a sad, deflated balloon.
Instead of leaving, she clung to him, and the revelation hit him. He was right about the parental thing. Leon knows what its like to not be held enough as a child. Holding her while she cried was the first time Leon had hugged someone in years.
He wasnât drunk enough to forget that. So now, heâs holding a gun to his head because thereâs no other way out of this. Sheâs in love with him. She hasnât said it yet, but heâs pretty sure she will. And he cannot love her. Leon doesnât have the capacity for that anymore. Itâs not that heâs too cynical or worn down, thatâs only part of it, but heâs got too much grief taking up all the space heâs got for love in his soul.Â
The next time they see each other, because, of course, Leonâs too much of a pussy to go through with it, she doesnât say the âLâ word, which makes him so happy he nearly says it to her. Until, she says another word. The âDâ word. Not âdickâ. Leon says âdickâ all the time â âmy dickâ, âyour dickâ, âyouâre a dickâ, âthis sucks dickâ, âsuck my dickâ, âplease, suck my dickâ, etc. Itâs a word Leon doesnât remember saying ever, really. Daddy. D-A-D-D-Y. Leon has definitely said âmommyâ before. Both to his own mother and to women who looked a lot like her. He never really had a good relationship with his father, not the kind where he ever called his father âdaddyâ. The first âDâ word suited his old man better. So does a third: dead.
Leon, unfortunately, due to his cowardice, is not dead. However, heâd be a total dick (and would earn his dick zero affection) if he turned down her proposition to become her âdaddyâ. Not her father. Itâs not like heâs adopting her. This whole arrangement is fucked up enough already, best not to add any more layers.
Okay, fine, whatever. Heâll be âdaddyâ because who the fuck cares anymore, right? If he doesnât like it, he can just kill himself, he thinks. Or, as she suggests, he could just tell her it makes him uncomfortable. But, thatâs a little too vulnerable for him. Regardless, heâs agreed to worse propositions before. Like, becoming a federal agent, for example â though, that proposition was what some may call blackmail.
Unlike the whole DSO gig, he ends up enjoying the âdaddyâ thing quite a bit. A bit too much. He gets so used to baby talk and speaking in the third person that it spills over into his working hours. As per usual, heâs been fantasizing about sex for most of the day because literally everything about his job is boring when itâs not life-threatening.
When he gets up to take his lunch (an hour or so early), Hunnigan asks him, âWhere are you going?â
To which he responds, âDaddyâs just going to get something to eat. Heâ I mean, Iâll be right back. Iâm taking my lunch early.â
âAre you okay?â she asks.
The answer is, and has always been: no.
âNever better,â he says with finger guns just to make things weirder.
Heâll blame the whole thing on the lack of sleep if Hunnigan brings it up but, knowing her, she probably wonât. She does not want to venture into that side of his life. Leon knows this for certain as heâs asked her out. More than once. Sheâs probably a lesbian too, he likes to think.
Leon doesnât eat lunch during work hours. Instead, he, shamefully, jerks off in his car. An added perk of tinted windows. Heâs deep in the parking garage anyway (even though he has a spot reserved near the elevators).
These days, he rarely gets the post-masturbation clear-headedness that he used to. The only real change one the blood has rushed back to his brain is that his ever-present headache is far more noticeable.
Every time, he swears itâll be the last. Just one more, he thinks. Just one phone call is the same as just one drink. Impossible. Texting his baby girl pairs well with a glass of red wine. Or white wine. Or whiskey. Or a shot of NyQuil. That one makes him real drowsy, and no longer responsible for his actions. Actions including the weird fucking sex he keeps having. Kinky? No. Kinky is spanking or bondage or whatever other weird things normal people do. This is the kind of freaky shit that weird people do.
It doesnât matter when youâre beneath him, smiling like heâs godâs greatest gift to the world. Leon knows that if god is real, he certainly didnât make Leon. Leon was more likely a science project gone wrong. Regardless, he was definitely an accident. His father admitted this to him when he was too young to know how babies could be accidental things.
You, on the other hand, are an angel. A good girl who was probably put in his life to teach him a lesson, like in those made-for-TV movies where the scumbag learns gratitude or kindness.
However, this is merely exposition. Heâs close to climax but so, so far from any sort of resolution. Thereâs a certain stubbornness inside him that forbids him from examining his actions too much. So, some fucked up version of himself takes control and before he knows it, heâs telling you how pretty your princess parts look.
When he was younger, a woman in lingerie did wonders for him. When he got older, it no longer mattered what underwear she was wearing â it was more about getting to the prize hidden behind them. Now, all it takes is cotton panties with a little bow and some polka dots to get him going.
He likes to keep them on, to tease you through them, to tease you underneath them. It doesnât help that you refuse to wear pants around the house. And, it certainly doesnât help when Leon asks to go remote for awhile. He deserves it. He nearly gets killed every time they send him on a mission and then they make him go sit in an office. Itâs downright rude.
Heâs young enough to understand the basic technology but old enough to get incredibly pissed off when he canât remember the password to his email. Virtual meetings, as it turns out, bring him quite a bit of stress. You donât. Quite the opposite, actually. You crawl under his desk and unzip his pants while heâs logging onto a call. He peers down at you and raises an eyebrow. You look up at him and smile.
Okay. Fuck it. Itâs not like anyone will know, and he wonât have to tell you to shut up when his cock is down your throat. Heâs gripping the edge of the desk, saying things like âuh-huhâ, ârightâ, âlet me get back to you on thatâ, or anything thatâs not insanely dirty and would get him fired. No, not fired, thatâd be a blessing. Killed, probably. No, thatâd be good too. The point is something bad would happen if they knew what was happening. Maybe heâd get a spanking. Thatâs what you get when youâre âin troubleâ.
You know his body too well. You know heâs close even if heâs trying to hide it. You pull off â not that he expects you to swallow, he just thinks you probably will but instead, you keep your hand steady, wrapped around his length, close your eyes and open your mouth, ready to take what heâs ready to give.
He slams the laptop closed and paints your face white. Even prettier than before, he thinks.
He has to lift you by the armpits, carry you to the bathroom, and deposit you on the edge of the sink. He takes a washcloth, wet with warm water, and wipes your face clean.
âKeep you eyes closed,â he tells you even after heâs done so he can plant a kiss on your lips.
When he does, he can taste himself. Just bitter enough to make him grimace.
God, you must really love him, he thinks. Because just thinking about swallowing a mouthful of that makes him want to down a bottle of Listerine. Which is something that was confiscated from him long ago. If youâre supposed to spit mouthwash out, then, why make it so tolerable?
Blame it on the corporations. Not because he has the energy to think about his principles, but because he needs a villain, and it canât be him. And, it sure as hell isnât you.
Youâre too sweet. So sweet he caves to your every wish. Fuck me, love me, spit in my mouth, please. Itâs always a yes from him. Slap me, was fine with him too. (No, in the face daddy, took a little while to get used to but you said daddy so nicely that he couldnât resist).
Usually itâs some sex thing, or not sex â because heâs not allowed to call it that â but this time itâs different.
âI want Labubu, daddy,â you announce, breaking a perfectly good silence.
âYou want what?â It sounds vaguely French, and Leon only knows words like Chardonnay and Cabernet etc. âIs that a sex thing?â
âNo,â you huff. âIâll show you.â
You bring him your phone and show him a picture of a weird-looking doll.
Youâre kidding me, right? he thinks.
You pout, giving him those big eyes he canât say ânoâ to.
âFine. Just add them to your cart and Iâll pay for them.â
Leon spends hundreds on whatever the fuck âLabubuâ is.
But what else was he going to do with it? Spend it on booze?
Heâs the one who starts asking if the toys can turn around during sex because he feels like âLabubuâ is about to curse his his lineage for the next ten generations with that grin on its face. More like âla voodooâ, he thinks. Itâll probably bite his dick off with those teeth sticking out.
He swears he can feel its gaze from behind him, and itâs difficult for him to stay hard when the thought wonât leave his mind.
Until you say something that shocks him like heâs stuck his finger inside an electrical socket.
âI wish you were my real dad.â
He short-circuits. Itâs so much worse than he thought. Youâre both so sick in the head. Heâll fuck the idea out of your brain. Harder, harder, harder. Until the brief silence before the bliss wears off.
Before he can get himself too strung out about it, he finds another distraction. He always does.
In a consistent attempt to ignore the massive void inside him that is nothing but grief trying to plant roots in the sand, its tendrils swirling around in the pit of his stomach with nowhere else to go, he lets himself sweat the small stuff. He can find a new way to piss himself off every day if it means not examining his psyche. Not getting a package delivered on time, burning the roof of his mouth on formerly-frozen pizza â that kind of thing.
âIâm gonna kill myself,â he groans at what should be a minor inconvenience.
He doesnât even mean it. If Leon was ever going to kill himself, he wouldâve been dead years ago.
âLeon,â you say, letting the word hang in the air, forcing him to reach out and grab it.
Forcing him respond to the name you should be calling him. The name you used to call him. But now, in this tone, you sound like Claire, he thinks. Your voice is somehow both pitying and chiding simultaneously.
âSorry, baby,â he says. âI didnât mean it.â
You look unsatisfied, which is, not only a real slight to his pride, but also simply out of the ordinary.
âWhat,â he sighs, running a hand through his hair, subconsciously analyzing the volume its lost.
If he catches one gray hair on his head the next time he looks in the mirror, heâll surely kill himself.
âIâm worried about you,â you say, quieter, like itâs some sort of secret.
âDonât be,â he says.
Enough people are already worried about him. Out of love? Maybe. Out of pity? Sure. Out of necessity? Yeah. Leonâs good with a gun.
Except when heâs not.
When he holds it to his head in the middle of the night after a little too much time spent thinking. Each time he ends up putting it away, locking it in his bedside drawer, keeping it safe. Keeping you safe.
Youâve asked him to teach you how to fight before.
âWith what? A knife?â Because, of course, no guns for a baby girl like you.
âNo,â you say, appalled at his suggestion. âLike, self-defense.â
âYou said you wanted to learn self-defense, and based on experienceâŠâ He gestures vaguely, realizing heâs backed himself into an embarrassing corner.
âHuh? Has a girl⊠done that to youâŠ?â You look scared, like somehow you donât know him. And, you know him. Way too well.
âNo, no. I⊠did it to myself⊠wanted to see if it worksâŠâ
He was 20 years old and stupid. Really stupid, considering heâd watched someone else do it first. The police academy was brutal. He had to do a whole hundred push-ups with tears in his eyes. And then, to those who hadnât witnessed the initial incident, it looked like he was crying over push-ups.
And then, youâre laughing. Laughing so hard you get teary-eyed.
âSee? Decades later and the singular spritz is still making people cry.â
Thereâs a glint in your eye. He sees the hit coming quickly enough to grab you by the wrist before your fist makes contact.
âWere you seriouslyâ?â And then the wind is knocked out of him by your elbow.
When he gets enough air back in his lungs to talk, he says, âIâm proud of you, baby.â Another cough and a wheeze. âThat was a good one.â
Standing there all flustered, knowing daddyâs proud of you, he has enough time to recover and throw you over his shoulder before you can dodge him.
âDaddy,â you whine.
âThis is a learning experience,â he says, carrying you to the bedroom. âShouldâve kicked me in the balls when you had the chance.â
Youâd never kick him in the ballsâyou like that part of him too much. Thatâs another thing Leon doesnât understand, but when theyâre in your mouth, he doesnât have a mind to over-analyze it.
He throws you down onto the mattress and keeps you pinned down by the wrists.
âBut you got too busy thinking about making daddy proud,â he whispers.
Even when heâs taunting you, it makes you melt. So entranced that your protests are gone. Not that youâre quiet. Not at all. Not when Leon sucks on your tits like heâs in love with them.
But Daddyâs not perfect. Sometimes his head gets foggy too. Sometimes he forgets heâs supposed to be playing with you, taking care of you, (or whatever pretense or euphemism you use to get him into bed that day), and he ends up rutting into the mattress with his mouth on fixated on one breast.
Leonâs drowned out your noises by now. Not that he doesnât enjoy hearing your voice, especially in such a state, but itâs more symphony than testimony so it all just blends together â quite nicely. So, when he ignores your pleas, he feels your hands on the crown of his head, pushing him down. A gesture that needs no accompanying words regardless.
Drunk on nothing, his eyes flit to yours and he finds his own arousal mirrored. It takes all his willpower not to give in, to keep teasing you, which only drags him closer to the edge.
He lifts himself up so his face is level with yours. âNeed something from Daddy?â he asks, dipping down to kiss your cheeks.
âNeed Daddy,â you confirm.
âUse your words, baby.â
âNeed Daddy to touch me.â
âTouch you where?â
You whine, kick your legs in frustration. You hate saying the words that you insisted he use. But you love to hear them. Your embarrassment is a facade and so is Leonâs disgust. God, he wants to hate this.
âYour princess parts?â he asks, looking you in the eye.
You nod, shrinking into the pillows in embarrassment. At the words you taught him.
âIâll go check on them,â he mumbles, making his way down your stomach with open-mouthed kisses until he reaches your panties. Soaked. âSweetheart, did you pee in your panties?â He knows you didnât. And, honestly, even if you had, he wouldnât give that much of a fuck anymore. A piss kink would be less fucked-up, he thinks. Alas, his psyche wasnât kind enough to just leave him with one of those.
âNo! Iâm a big girl. I donât do that.â
âHow come these are all wet, then, huh?â He plays with the fabric, running his fingers along your clothing-covered slit.
He earns a sharp intake of breath from you. âItâs your fault, daddy.â
âItâs my fault? I havenât even touched them yet, baby.â
You huff in frustration, tired of his rhetorical questions, and thereâs no way he can stop himself from giving into his own urges when you beg him for something he wants as badly as you do.
So, he pulls the thin fabric to the side and wastes no time getting his dick inside you. Not the whole thing of course. Just the tip âcause heâs heâs nice like that.
You look appalled when you realize he doesnât plan on giving you any more than that. If you had words to say, they get lost between your lungs and your lips. Your face says enough for him, as do your hips which buck up in a futile attempt to take control.
He canât help but laugh a little at how pathetic you look trying so hard to get him to fuck you. Itâs a cruel sound.
When he finally gives in and thrusts into you fully, he can see the bulge in your abdomen.
âLook, baby,â he says, looking down when he catches your eye, guiding you to the gorgeous sight. âSee how deep daddy is inside you?â
You gaze at the sight, awestruck.
âYou like it?â he asks as he increases his pace.
You nod, almost frantic like you know you wonât be able to respond in a moment.
He can tell how hard you try to keep your eyes open, to watch as he fucks you but you canât. They flutter closed and you reach out to grasp onto him instead.
He leans forward, fucking you deeper from this angle. He would be worried about coming too quickly if he couldnât see your impending orgasm.
It might wash over you like a gentle wave of pleasure, but it squeezes the life out of Leon. He couldnât pull out if he wanted toâmaybe he could, if he really tried, but youâre on the pill, and if you had the strength for words youâd beg him, andâ
Before a near-infinite amount of excuses can flood Leonâs brain, he fills you to the brim. His ears ring with moans he hopes are yours. God, does he really sound like that? Thatâd be pathetic, so he likes to imagine all he lets out is some sort of gruntâanything thatâs less emasculating.
Whatever. It feels so fucking good that heâs almost grateful that god gave him a refractory period because if he didnât have time for the sense of shame to overcome him, heâd keep going forever. Like one of those lab rats that gets rewarded so hard that it forgets to eat, heâd just fuck until he dies of starvation.
God, youâre a fucking hand grenade wearing angel wings. Youâre going to kill him and itâll be beautiful.
size kink but reader isnât actually small. Youâre small compared to him.
And it throws you off a little bit, because you know youâre about or above average in height. You have a little weight on you, and it all mixed together with that gorgeous face that makes the man swoon just from eyeing you up across the bar.
Itâs maybe your first time dating a man who you really have to look up to. Hes tall, broad shoulders, a large chest and amazing muscles. Heâs the type you can easily spot in a crowd, who will take your hand in his large one and lead you through the mess of a busy Sunday market. Loves looking down on you and rubbing at all your curves while hugging you from behind. Heâll whisper it while kissing along your neck.
âSo fuckin small, so fuckin pretty.â He grumbles.
But youâre not small, but he makes you feel like it. Everytime he lifts you off your feet you get spooked because he sweeps you off your feel like you weight a crumb. How he towers over you when he flirts or reaches for something past you. His shirts actually going mid thigh and barely coving your ass. How he measures where his cock is gonna reach in your pudgy stomachâ
you two play fight a lot because you swear you can take him on. Heâs not that much taller than you. Do you end up getting bent in half, knees to your earlobes, like itâs nothing?
Every fucking time.
Everytime he has to break you in like youâre a born again virgin, his large fingers stretching out your dripping tight walls till he smacks his leaking mushroom tip against you, rubbing through your sloppy folds. He slowly ruts himself inside you, with the power of patience, till it feels like hes stuffed you full. Itâs almost a disappearing act the way you take his thick veiny cock.
â Hah- âs not all the way there Mama, come on baby, biiig stretch.â
And he fills you to the hilt, till he feels his balls smack against you, covering your body completely, his large weight pressing against you ever to perfectly. your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, letting out a pornographic moan. You clench around him making him his. He presses into your stomach with the bass of his fingers, riiiiight where he can feel his tip kissing your cervix and you cream around him from that alone, sobbing at how big he is, how much he stretches you out.
âThatâs my fuckin girl, take my cock so well.â
yk who we should always be talking about? mean!logan. specifically mean logan having you pressed against his chest, overstimulating the hell out of you with a vibrator while also pretending to be insanely bored. you try to squirm away but of course his grip is iron (well actually adamantium but whatever) and you're just forced to take it
ddejavvu's dilf night
--
now my mind immediately flew to a movie night with him đ”âđ«đ”âđ« he's not really a huge movie guy, probably because he's been around long enough to see a billion of them and this one's shitty, only on because you're watching cable tv in a motel room. he's got a vibrator lodged in your cunt and it's on the highest setting, buzzing relentlessly where it's angled into your sex and against your clit all at once. it's big and it's almost painful, and logan's thick, strong hand holds it lazily in place. don't mistake lazy for weak, though- he's stuffing it into your cunt every time your trembling thighs knock it loose, and you're stuffing your face into his armpit begging for him to let you cum. he's got one arm stretched up and over the headboard, like he's just lounging around and doesn't even care, meanwhile your cunt is on fire and you're squirming and almost sobbing at the relentless stimulation. you're writhing against his chest begging for your release and if he deigns you worthy of a response he's merely grunting. it's not permission so you can't cum. it's torture. all you can hope is that when the movie ends he finally lets you have his cock.
finally my entry for @lareinedulune's wet hot logan summer ficathon is done!!
this is for @rosenclaws, who requested 2013!logan getting drenched to the bone. i chose ronin!logan. i'm so nervous, i hope you like it, rose đ
the first thing i googled upon getting the prompt is "can wolverine swim?" (the answer is yes, but it requires so much more strength because of his weight, which is why if he got dropped in the ocean he'd probably drown)
ronin!logan x f!reader, 5.6k
WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!, porn without plot, heiress!reader, reader is alluded to be young ("little miss"), reader's hair is described as 'pinned up' and 'tumbles down' at one point, reader is horny LMAO, depictions of wealth, lampshading the wolverine plot and characters, descriptions of drowning, foul language, hate sex???, unprotected piv, creampie, fingering, rough sex, oral sex, nicknames ("princess", "pretty"), author doesn't know how to end a fic
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is probably the filthiest thing i've written so far lol. also, zaibatsu means "money clan": a large family-run conglomerate, usually highly integrated within the power system
The cream-colored cabin of the limousine and the newly-bought scent lingering in it are real. So is the tarmac under the wheelsâLogan can almost taste the grind of rubber. Sceneries fly past. Rows upon rows of palm oil plantations stretch infinitely under equatorial blue skies. All those are real, too.
Unfortunately for him, so are you.
âI have a feeling this isnât your first rodeo.â
Thereâs nothing imaginary about you. Nothing illusory about your crisp white shirt and neatly pinned hair, sitting with your legs crossed as if this 70 miles-per-hour car is your meeting room. A laptop on your lap, a phone on your hand. With hints of subtle jewelry and a shiny watch under a sleeve, you look more expensive than the Rolls Royce youâre sitting in.
And thereâs that devious curl of your lips, equally capable of causing cars to collide into each other.
âWas it also an heiress, the last time you did this?â you ask, placing the laptop and phone on the seat beside you. âMaybe her daddyâs a big shot, whoâs most concerned about his precious daughterâs safety despite whatâs at stake. A power transfer. Or is it an inheritance?â
The way your eyes are trained on his face is nothing short of predatory. As if talons would materialize at the sight of even the smallest flicker of emotion.
âAnd thatâs where you come in. Big strong man like you⊠protecting poor little princesses like me,â you lean back, crossing your arms. âAm I right?â
No silence. Just the all-too quiet white noise that is the engine.
The truth is, youâre spot on. Almost in a way thatâs supernaturalâor maybe superhuman, like you trespass in minds for fun.
Reminds him of someone red.
How he finds himself here isnât as important as how eerily similar the situation is. Mariko happened a month ago. This feels like a cheap sequel.
Except itâs not cheap, because youâre in line to inherit a multinational mining business worth billions of dollars, and with only a few more days until the last legs of legal paperwork is complete, your security is paramount. Your father made that clearâas clear as when he declared his empire should go to you.
Coincidentally, heâs also dying.
âŠto spend the rest of his days as a retiree, loitering in a five-star resort in Panama.
âLooks like my guess is correct.â
He responds with a glare. You smile.
âYou talk to yourself this much?â he grunts.
âYouâre talking to me now,â you glance down at your manicured nails.
Where Mariko was calm as snowfall, youâre the human incarnation of a lightning strike.
Youâve been nothing but polished smiles, practiced precision, and a dose of cheek. Heâs watched you make countless phone calls since stepping in the car, like a bolt in a thunderstormâstriking at spots in the sky with vindictive accuracy. You welcome stupid propositions like a saint before expertly shutting them down. No room for debate when the argument doesnât deserve any. Politely ruthless.
When youâre agreeable, though? Nothing sounds better. Youâre sweet, and not the kind thatâs artificial and syrupy. The sharpness in your gaze wears off but for a moment, before the call ends, and you close your eyes, breathing before dialling another number.
Now, Logan canât help but look at your eyelashes while you look out the window.
âAlmost there,â comes the driverâs voice, muffled from behind the partition.
âThanks, Anton,â you take off your earrings. Then to Logan: âSo who was it?â
âWho was what?â he grunts.
âYour last princess.â
He narrows his eyes at you. Youâre clasping on a different pair of earrings that appeared out of your handbag, silver streams that dangle near your jaw. Tapered fingernails pop off the buttons of your white shirt, one, two⊠until all he sees is soft a lace braâdark redâand skin. Soft, beautiful skin.
âWell, are you going to answer the question?â you press, tossing the white shirt away and looking at him expectantly like youâre not half-naked.
Logan finally averts his eyes outside. Still oil palms as far as the eye can see. âYashida.â
From his periphery he can see you fish something out of the middle compartment.
âYashida? The Mariko Yashidaâfrom that Japanese tech zaibatsu?â
You laugh, the first time since meeting him. Arms slip into something shiny and Logan canât help but look. A different top, satin and full of sensual promise. He tries to ignore the way your bra disappears from view as you wrap yourself in luxurious fabric.
âWhy, you go to school with her or something?â he grunts, focusing once again on the monotonous view outside.
âYes, weâre Richie Richâs classmates.â You shoot back, tucking the top in your long pencil skirt. He rolls his eyes. You smirk.
âKidding. Met her in a business meeting a long time agoâyou donât get to become Japanâs industrial backbone without metal. Our metal.â
There it is, that tone in your voice. Authority. It drips with confidence and summons subservience. It sounds like the reason you extinguished the competition for your fatherâs business at your notably young age. It sounds like youâre ready for anything.
âHelp me with this.â
Suddenly youâre sitting next to him, a necklace waiting on your nape. He holds back a bristle, fingers brushing yours when he takes it. The clasp is too small in his grip but he manages. The silver latches on, and just like that, youâre back to your seat across him, taking out the pins in your hair. It tumbles down like sin.
âIâd ask you more about Mariko, but youâre the brooding type and we have a luncheon to attend,â you murmur, tossing your hair out carelessly with your hands. You look so different now. That top flows down your body like water, and your hairâŠ
Itâs tastefully messy. Screams at him to look at you like youâre a woman first and a business opponent second. A sly tactic. Looking at you like this, even the most decent men canât help but think about their lovers after a particularly strenuous activity.
âYou seem relaxed,â he notes. The people at lunch would love for you to die to be next in lineâand now that your life is his problem, he expected you to be at least a little concerned.
âYouâll be my food taster, wonât you? Be a good boy and make sure nobody spikes my coffee with cyanide?â
âDonât call me that,â he growls, âand itâs not like I have a choice.â
You chuckle, running a hand through your hair one last time.
âRelax, only a week more till this is over. Iâll survive. So will you, if what Dad said is true. He spoke highly of you, you know?â
Is that because your family loves precious metals? he wonders.
âI know I will,â he mutters.
âIâll crack you open before the end of your contract.â
He glowers.
The limousine slows down to make a turn. Palm trees turn into manicured hedgerows as the vehicle approaches a gate made of curled ornamented iron. Four men stand guard, looking more like soldiers than security. You give them a friendly wave from the rolled-down window.
The gates open.
Then the car drives down a gravel path before emerging into a lavish courtyard. Trimmed garden, central fountain, marble staircase curving up to a colonial-looking mansion. A display of wealth that would inspire rebellion.
Your driver opens the door. Logan steps out first. He doesnât offer his hand to you.
Youâre too focused to look bothered, high heels clacking up the steps. Heâs right beside you. A butler makes himself known as soon as you enter the grand foyer.
âMaâam. The party is seated and awaiting your presence.â
âThank you. Oh, andââ you place a hand on Loganâs shoulder, ââplease make sure this gentleman is seated next to me.â
âRight away, maâam.â
You turn to Logan. âHope you like Southeast Asian food, Roman.â
âItâs Logan,â he grits.
You smirk. Logan huffs.
Youâve found a button. You intend to press it.
Logan becomes your shadow in any given room. Following you from a distance, scanning each crowd, watching your back.
You attend galas and garden parties like a congressman on a campaign trail, a butterfly taste-testing flowers and noting if theyâre sweet enough. Checking in on relationships and picking the fruits of them. Finding out if any are rotten or poisonous.
Itâs war, set to the music of a violin quartet.
Youâre in your element and itâs fascinating to watch.
He hates it.
Finds it frustrating, the way you pirouette and twirl over social minefields, all grace. The perfect timing of your handshakes and smiles as you compliment Botoxed faces and new money suits. Cloak and dagger, velvet and ornamented. The polish of your halo, a crown you fix on before entering a room.
Canât stand you and your designer dresses. How they whisper slivers of your skin, promise more through the slit on your thigh. Sometimes youâre generous and wear one thatâs backless, like youâre welcoming a knife to land thereâboth figuratively and literally.
Logan feels a twinge of pain whenever a hand thatâs not his is on your lower back.
Every piece on you looks lustrous. Every pair of eyes stare.
He loathes the notes of your perfume. Could probably reconstruct it in an olfactory lab, the way it clings to himâeven after the game of glamor is over and youâre back in your mansion, wearing an oversized tee and nothing else.
Guarding you at home is arguably worse. Not just because you somehow look better in your pajamas than you do at parties.
The various states of your undress shouldnât faze him. The crop tops that exposed midriffs, the shorts that barely covered the curve of your assâheâs no stranger to that brand of temptation. Heâs slept with more women than the amount of years in his age.
Yet his hand twitches. They want to touch.
Earthly desires aside, he believes itâs you that infuriates him. You and your smart mouth, faster than a whip whenever you see that window. The way heâs learning the difference between your polite laughs and your real ones. How youâre the only person in a ten-mile radius who happily entertains his drinking habits.
Then thereâs the duality of you. How you wonât leave him alone, then act like he doesnât exist.
His hate stands on a razorâs edge, threatening to fall into something heâd rather not name.
It simmers quietly like a raging summer, low in his stomach, flaring with every flash of your bare legs as you walk around the house doing whatever it is heiresses do days before being named empress. One time he caught you in the living room, ice cream dripping down one wrist while the other scrolls on your laptop. Your gaze was laser-focused, scanning lines and the clauses between them.
He stayed long enough to see you lick at your own skin. Nearly broke a tooth, clenching his jaws that hard.
The worst part? He knows you know.
Youâre far from a fool. Your furtive smiles show just as much.
So when he finds you long after sunset, lounging by the swimming pool with a baggy tee that barely covers the navy blue bikini underneath, he knows itâs a trap.
Thereâs a gravity that pulls him into orbit. His feet lack the wisdom, believing heâs contractually obliged to protect you, and that he needs to be close to do that.
His brain deems it a flimsy excuse.
He walks towards you anyway.
âDrink with me, Nolan?â you smile teasingly, beckoning him over to where you are at the chaise.
âFor the last time, itâs Logan,â he grits.
Past the darkness of the night, illuminated only by the cool blue lights emanating from the pool, he gleans a slight flush dusting your face. On the low side table next to you is a glass, a bucket of ice, and a bottle of artisanal whiskey he hasnât seen in any bar ever.
âYou better not be drunk.â
âIâm not,â you sigh, laying back down while he takes a seat on the chair next to you. âJust tired.â
He knows why. Tomorrowâs the day. After finally suffering the crushing experience that is âgetting through legalâ, your father will issue a statement on the leadership transition in a televised press conference. About thirty media outlets will be there, though the actual amount of people in attendance will easily be double or triple that.
Youâre expected to say more than a few words.
Tomorrow is also the day he stops working for you.
He takes the whiskey bottle in hand. Thereâs about half left.
âThey wonât be nice,â he rumbles, uncapping it.
âYou think I donât know that?â you grunt, standing up unceremoniously. The water calls you.
You walk along the edge of the pool with your bare feet, kicking a bit of water with each step. âIâve gone over the shareholder agreement a hundred times, memorized every single word in the NDA, stalked email threads from communications teams and press. I know what Iâm going to say.â
He believes you. Doesnât doubt youâll be stellar, either.
âMeanwhile, Dad just sent me a link to a hotel in Central America with a shaka emoji,â you laugh, squatting just so your hand can dip into the pool.
Itâs calming, the ripples, the coolness of it. A small escape from humidity and the reality of tomorrow.
Logan takes a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. It burns as it goes down, then tastes a little like fruit, before the warm sensation ebbs like it was never there. You have good taste in liquorâthat much heâll miss, among other things.
The thought sinks in. He stills.
And distracts himself with a question. âHe wonât be around?â
âLeaving on a jet plane right after the conference.â
You watch as Logan stalks closer, rippling muscles in that open button-down and white tank. Maybe itâs the light coming from the pool, but he looks even better like this. Towering over you. Leering.
You smile. What would happen if you splashed him?
The intrusive thought wins. So thatâs exactly what you do.
Water gets all over his face and chest like a rude awakening, droplets of it darkening his clothes. He shakes the water off the way a dog would, hair damp.
And just like that, you laugh, the first earnest one all week that has your head tilted back. The weight on your shoulders momentarily gone.
No high society to hide from. Just you and him. No tomorrow. Just right now.
âThe fuckââ
You splash him again with a grin. It gets on his thighs.
âBrat, gonna pay for thatâŠ!â
Next thing you know, heâs lunging at you, and you squeal as you run away from him.
The only thing you can hear is the pitter-patter of water at your feet and the roar of your heartbeat in your ears. Somewhere in the back of your head, you remember doing this as a child, the butler begging you to stop on top of his lungs. Nobodyâs scolding you this time.
Laughter rips itself out of your throat as you look back at his hot pursuit. Heâs so close behind you, enough to just grab your arm andâ
A patch of pool deck thatâs way too wet. Your foot slips. The world spins, your thoughts blank. Then you collapse headfirst into the pool, shrieking, a loud splash following.
Logan stops, panting. âServes you right, messing around like thatââ
His eyes narrow.
The pool is still.
Youâre still submerged.
Why are you still submerged?
You gasp up like your lungs are flooded. Your shoulders break the surface, chin jerked up, arms flailing. The waters are choppy around your bodyâthereâs no rhythm, none of the practiced precision heâs so used to watching you wear, only heavy thrashes that look like desperation. Jagged outlines of your legs from above the water tell him youâre kicking, but judging by the way youâre barely breathing, itâs getting nowhere.
âHelpâŠ!â
Fuck. You canât swim.
He rips his outer shirt off and launches.
Adamantium body slams into the water and for one second he thinks heâll drown, too. The thought is expelled as soon as his foot touches the tiles beneath. Heâll be okay here. Well-lit and eight feet deep is better than the darkness of Mekong in the middle of war.
He finds you quickly, arms wrapped around your torso, then pushes upwards.
You cough as you surface, throat sputtering out chlorinated water. Your shirt sticks onto your torso the same way hair is plastered all over your face, wet against skin. He parts the drenched strands to see you, cupping your cheek as he keeps the both of you afloat.
He narrows his eyes, aware of the feel of you in his grip.
Youâre light.
Youâre swimming.
And youâre laughing in his face.
Big grin, damp skin. Both your hands are on his shoulders, but you pull them away before he can react, diving back under like he didnât just think you were drowning. You resurface five feet away with a siren smile and a drawn-out exhale.
âCanât believe you thought I couldnât swim,â you say, pushing your hair back.
Heâs still stunned as you wade the waters to the poolâs edge, sitting yourself up. Hazel eyes watch your torso arch as you peel the soaked cotton that clings onto you, revealing inch upon inch of glistening skin. A forbidden expanse that heâs yet to witness, not even with the little amount of clothes you wear at home.
The shirt flops, waterlogged on travertine tiles. Youâre in a two-piece swimsuit that looks much too easy to undo.
The pool is cool, but he feels it againâthe heat in his stomach.
You swim to him, fluid as a mermaid, chin above the surface. You grew up in this mansionâhow was he fooled?
As if making him worry isnât enough, you chuckle. Thereâs something funny. Maybe itâs him: hair flat on his head thanks to the good-for-nothing rescue, glowering like a cat that got tricked into bath time. He pushes it back with one hand, annoyed, letting you see the heat in his eyes.
âAre you mad at me, Ronan?â you coo.
Itâs aggravating, the games you play, but heâs not just mad. Thereâs another emotion in the way he looks at you.
He has a feeling you knowâyou always do.
âWhat do you think?â he barks.
Thereâs no bite in his words.
Thatâs all you need to strike. You smile up at him, coy in a way that spells trouble. Hands find his chest, fingers curling around the wet fabric of his tank top. To bring him close or to undress him, he canât decide.
Your lips hover over his. Thereâs chlorine and promise in your breath. Hands travel up higher, palms flat on his pecs until they land on broad shoulders.
âI think, seeing as weâre already drenched⊠we might as well play for a little while.â
Thatâs all he needs to snap.
His large hands find the flesh of your hips, gripping them as he hoists you up and out of the water, making you squeal and laugh in the process. The sound twinkles in the air, echoing with a lightness that defies the weight of want charging around it.
Heâs got you on the edge again before his body follows, breaking the surface. Youâre under his shadow wearing a half-dazed, all knowing smile.
Then his mouth comes down to maul your neck and you moan.
Logan growls at the sound, lapping at the column of your throat like heâs trying to get rid of pool water from your skin. Biting like he hates you.
And you love it.
Fingers tangle in his plastered hair while a rush of blood down south makes you shiver and grin. You paw at his shirt. He gropes at your chest, parting from your neck only to take off his tank top before forcing his large hand underneath a bikini cup.
Your nippleâs already hard. He thumbs it with lustful spite.
Wordless vengeance for every time he observed the hint of your chest under baby tees and thin camisoles. Your giggle melts into a mewl at his relentlessness, pinching and tweaking while his mouth stays mean on your shoulder.
He pulls away, only to crash his lips to yours, and it feels like homecoming. Whimpers ravenously swallowed. Chest heaves into damp chest. Hands scramble like they need warm skin to surviveâand of course he bites down hard on your bottom lip while you trace his sculpted torso.
With a stern tug, he unties the halter-neck ribbon of your bikini top. The fabric loosens.
He peels it above your chest⊠and leans down.
âOh, fuck,â you sigh shakily, back arching to let more of his mouth on your tit. He glances up at you, eyes glassy, noting the absence of a teasing smile. Pleasure takes over your expression, brows knitted, lips swollen and parted.
The rumble in his chest sounds like approval.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, amazed at the sight of your bodyguard sucking on your nipple like a lover and a babe.
Generously greedy for you.
His other hand doesnât stop working, tending to your other peak until he eventually switches. Your pants and sighs float in the open air, the sounds carried over by the light breeze that rustles through the trees and shrubs that surround the private estate.
Your reverie breaks. Two fingers press at your covered cunt. You let out a choked noise, head lolling to one side.
The sight must be unmistakably scandalous: two bodies drenched to the bone, yours curved into his mouth, letting him lave your chest.
You should be concerned over how exposed you are, but the zing of desire between your legs says otherwise.
âFucking soaked already,â he grunts. âBeen waiting for this, princess?â
You lay back down on travertine, faintly smiling as he pulls at the ribbon on your hip.
âMm-hmm,â you hum, watching the way he undresses you, âyou have no ideaâŠâ
âBelieve me, I have some,â he flings the bikini bottom away. âYou and your damn schemesââ
You spread your legs to let him see you. All of you.
The rapture in his stare is well worth the wait.
His middle finger circles your pussy, almost marveling at the way youâre so wet for him. He coats his finger with your slick, then swipes up languidly to meet your clit, teasing it.
Your pretty hole chooses that moment to clench around nothing. His eyes flash.
âJesus fuckââ
With one fluid motion, he sinks his finger in you, knuckle-deep. Youâre so happy you start smiling and moaning at the same time.
Loganâs eyes stare the way they would in a crowded room, except this time he watches in a trance beyond habitual alertness. He leers at pebbled nipples, the sinful undulation of your hips, that blissed-out look at the way he stretches your walls.
Your eyes are closed, lips curled. Moaning like youâre not outdoors.
In and out, in and out.
He leans down again to suck on your breast, a hand gripping the flesh of it, feeding it to himself.
Then he adds another finger between your legs and you cry out, back hitting the stone deck. One of your hands grip the edge of the pool, the other in his hair, manicured nails gently dragging on his scalp. His reward is the climbing noises wrested out of you. That and your touch almost make him tremble.
âSo fucking tight,â he growls against your skin.
Itâs dizzying. Everything is. The way his fingers ruin you, scissoring, curling, hitting so deep that white spots start appearing behind closed eyelids. You encourage him with noises, sputtering things like âyesâ and âjust like thatâ.
His thumb presses against your clit and youâre electrified.
Youâre over the edge in an instant. Legs twitching, breath stuttering, mouth open in a delicious âOâ. He doesnât stop, still abusing your chest and cunt while you leak all over his fingers. You shake. He slows down.
Your breathing is wrecked as your lungs fight for air.
Air which you lose the moment he presses his fingers against your lips. The same ones that made you come.
âTaste yourself.â
You open your mouth and he presses his fingers on your tongue. The heady taste makes you moan around him, eagerly cleaning up, eyes boring into his. He smirks at the state of you: flushed and ruined, but not nearly enough to call it quits.
He takes his fingers out. Lips meet yours.
The kiss is open. Demanding. A hand sternly cups your cheek, not letting you move. His tongue swirls, and he moans into your mouth like your cum tastes better this way.
âWanna taste you too,â you breathe when you part.
Just like that, heâs on his knees above you, busy shoving his jeans and boxers until theyâre pushed down enough to reveal the raging arousal that is him. His cock looks angry, red with prominent veins all over. A hand slaps it against your cheek. You almost laugh.
Then he presses it right by your lips, another hand coaxing your mouth to open, thumb on your chin.
God, you can smell him. Itâs making you wet again.
If it werenât here and now, you wouldâve teased him mercilesslyâkitten licks and kisses, a word or two about how eager he is for you.
But youâre too hungry to play.
You take the entire tip in your mouth, reveling in the broken groan that rips out of him.
Then you lean forward. Deeper, more, until his cock kisses the back of your throat. Fuck, heâs so big, it almost makes you want to cry. You feel heat behind your eyes and a tingle down your pussyâalready thinking about the way itâll fit.
Or maybe it wonât. That turns you on even more.
âThis fucking mouth,â he rasps, watching you suck him like youâre starving. Your hand wraps at the base of him and his back bows.
âChristââ
He only allows you a few more bobs up and down his length before abruptly dislodging from your mouth. You whine at the loss of his weight on your tongue, but thereâs no time for the loneliness to settle, because he grips your waist and pulls you up.
He sits, legs open over the pool deck. Your knees bracket his thighs but youâre not quite on his lapâhis hands make sure youâre hovering on top of him, core open and dripping above his waiting cock. Your breath becomes shallow with anticipation, trying to ground yourself through your palms on his chest.
His heart is beating so fast.
Then, as you close your eyes to slide down to him, you realize you canât. His hands donât give.
âUh-uh,â he tuts, looking at you. âYou donât get to. Not without asking nicely.â
Heâs so close, the tip of his cock nearly kissing your folds. Itâs just this side of aching, the way your cunt begs to be filled. Dripping. Waiting.
Desire floods your system. Youâre almost dumb with it, but it hasnât rendered you speechless. Not yet.
Pressing your forehead against his, you make sure he can taste every syllable you whisper against his cheek. Your voice is husky with want. Reedy with hunger.
âPlease,â you breathe, âwant you to fuck me with your cock. Wanna scream for you.â
Thereâs a swell in your chest that resembles pride when his exhale turns choppy after you speak. You stay still even as his hold grows lax, waiting while one of his hands rid you of the bikini top that no longer serves any purpose. That same hand travels, groping the flesh of your breast, snaking upâŠ
âŠuntil theyâre around your throat. Not squeezing. Just there. Big, strong. A show of control, in case you misbehave.
He murmurs out an order.
âSay my name.â
The sight of you smiling like youâre in heaven nearly decimates his crumbling self-control.
âThe right one, princess.â
You slant, lips over his ear.
âPlease fuck me, Logan.â
The shape of your voice around his nameâone that youâve annoyingly avoided for so longâmakes his blood sing. Before he knows it, the hand on your throat moves to your hair, tugging you away from his ear, tilting your head back. You let out a weak laugh.
âYouâre no princess. Youâre a slut,â he rasps.
âOnly for you,â you grin.
âThen beg like one.â
You donât spare a beat of silence.
âFuck me on your big cock, Logan. Make me stupid with it. Wanna come all over it.â
The words are emphasized with the impatient roll of your hips. He doesnât relent, still unmoving, but you can tell heâs brittle. Nostrils flared. Eyes pinned on yours like heâs going to eat you alive in a few seconds.
Just a little pushâŠ
âIâll scream your name for you. Let the whole house hear. Let everyone know whoâs fucking their little miss.â
That does it.
He releases your hair. Both hands grip your hips and he drives his entire length up in one squelching thrust.
You almost scream.
âThere. Thatâs the cock you wanted so bad,â he grunts. âSo tight. So wet. Wanted it for so long, hm?â
âY-Yesââ
Fuck, your voice is breaking.
âThen take it.â
Heâs strong, you know this. Seen him carry your suitcase as if it were a shopping bag. You just donât know heâs this strong. Logan uses his hands to slowly pull your entire body up like youâre weightless. You feel every ridge of him as his cock drags, every pulse of him rippling throughout your body.
And on the downstroke, he pummels, slamming you on top of him.
You moan loudly. You feel him in your stomach.
Hips slap up, driving his cock into you with a pace so punishing you feel tears forming in your eyes. Itâs so hard, so fast, so deep. The slick sounds intoxicate you, sending you further down a spiraling abyss youâre not sure you can get out ofâbecause why would you want to?
You sob. Thereâs nothing left but the incorrigible murmurs that escape your lips like streams. Your knees feel raw. You canât care less.
âLook at that. Pussyâs fuckinâ leaking. You like it rough?â he pants.
You hiss âyesâ over and over again, lips open.
âTell me,â he growls, watching your breasts bounce.
âI like it rouâhngâ!!â
âWhose cock is fucking you dumb, princess?â
âYours,â you cry. Thereâs drool out the side of your mouth. You donât care.
He shifts, strengthening the grip on his feet to piston into you, and the slight change in his angle is maddening. You nearly give out above him, hands clamoring onto his shoulders as he grins up at you, all teeth and taunt.
He fucks into you again and you cry out, the noise keening and unmistakably lewd.
âYouâre close,â he husks, watching you with darkened eyes. âCan feel you clenching me.â
âYesââ
âGonna come on this cock, pretty? Wanna show me how good you feel?â
âPleaseâŠ!â
âFucking beg for it, then.â
âPlease, Logan, let me come on your cock, want it so bad, please, pleaseââ
His voice is in your ear, gritted through teeth.
âScream my name like you said you would.â
Then he flicks your clit and you do as he says, throwing your head back with a loud âfuckâLogan!â, thighs spasming, goosebumps all over your skin. Itâs even more intense than the first, making your limbs shake and your vision blur.
He doesnât stop, groaning while pounding into your fluttering cunt. Your release triggers his, and within three hard thrusts, youâre fully seated on his lap as he shoots his cum in you. Your moans mingle with his, chin nearly glued to your collarbone the way you look down at the sight.
Itâs dirty.
Thereâs a mess where your bodies meet, the curls at the base of his cock sticking together with wetness. A creamy ring froths like debauched proof of your shared pleasure. Heâs still coming, his mouth pressed tight on your neck while he twitches inside you.
Youâve never felt so full.
Suddenly, gravity disappears. Heâs lifting you up to sit on his thigh, slowly this time. You shiver from the loss of him, but air quickly fills up your lungsâitâs so much easier to breathe.
The both of you groan in unison as thick milky driblets leak from your cunt, pooling on his skin.
Without thinking, you swipe his spend with your fingers and bring them to your mouth, tongue swirling for a taste. Cheeks flushed. Eyes on him.
The way his cock twitches alive is all too obvious.
You lick your lips, slowly pushing him down, his spine slowly bending to meet stone. Youâre not far behind, leaning over him, lips dangerously close to his. He grits his teeth at the way your pussy settles on his abs, smearing his cum and yours.
âYou know,â you pant, hands splayed on his chest, âIâm becoming CEO tomorrow and a spot for security just opened up.â
âWhatâs the pay like?â his voice is hoarse. You recognize the leftover desire in them, and it sounds like thereâs still plenty.
âAbout the same as yours now,â you purr.
His hands find your ass, firmly squeezing. You smile.
contains: 5.3k words. slight thoughts of dying/suicide. angst!!! loss, pain, mentions/talks about death and character loss. âLoganâ and âDeadpool and Wolverineâ spoilers. smut, unprotected p in v, creampie! breeding kink. fluff at the end â€ïž
a/n: rewatched Deadpool and Wolverine, followed by rewatching Logan. Explanation over <3
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Youâd met Logan at a considerably low point in his life. He was already old, hair and beard gone gray, his mutation unable to fight against the adamantium poisoning his body. He was tired and angry and sick, just about given up on life, when you found him. By accident, really. Nothing more than a friendâs bachelorette party. He was supposed to drive you to the party, then back to your friendâs place. Somehow, you ended up spending the night in the back of the limo, under him and on top of him and then on all fours in front of him.
It wasnât supposed to happen, seeing how he was an older man and you were considerably younger than him. The age gap was noticeable and controversial. Neither of you cared, though.
You hadnât even known who he was. It was only after, when you sought him out and finally managed to convince him to pursue what you two had and see where it led, that he let you in on who he really was.
A mutant, the Wolverine, legend and hero youâd grown up hearing about. You thought you were just another girl in your twenties about to date a regular old man. Instead, you ended up dating a hero who was over two-hundred years old. Still, you never minded.
Under the anger and the pain and the exhaustion, Logan was just a man with a broken, sensitive heart who was scared of getting hurt. He was wounded and he was aching for love. And you slowly brought his walls down, offered him the care and patience and love he never thought heâd have.
He did the same for you. He cared for you like no one else ever had, he protected you and loved you with every cell in his body. He kept you like one would a diamond, closely and jealously, fiercely guarded. If anyone got too close to you, they didnât survive to tell the story.
When you lost Logan, youâd been devastated. Nothing made sense, the world was void of all meaning. You had no choice but to move on. You wouldâve probably tried to go with him, follow him wherever he went, even death, if not for Wade. In a way, he saved you.
After Loganâs death, you went back to New York, unable to follow the young mutants to Canada because Laura reminded you too much of Logan. You just wouldnât be able to live with the pain. And back in the city, you met Wade. Unintentionally, but definitely destined to do so.
For lack of better options, you ended up sharing an apartment with him and Blind Al, and with their companyâodd as it wasâyou ended up finding meaning to your life again.
The woundâthe abyss that Logan left in your heart never healed, never lessened. It still ached. There were still days you would lie in bed, from sunrise to sunset, thinking about him, missing him, considered following himâŠBut you pushed forward, somehow kept finding reasons to stick around. And time went by like that.
Youâd gotten used to Wade disappearing for days or weeks, never caring much because he always turned up one day or another.
Which is why, as you lie in bed after a few days of not seeing him, youâre not surprised to hear the apartment door open, followed by his voice.
You shake your head, hop off your bed, and go to find him, ready to ask him where heâs been so you can hear all about his adventures, when you see the man standing beside him.
You freeze. Legs stop moving, mind stops thinking, lungs stop breathing, heart stops beating. You stand there, mouth agape, eyes trailing over the man with Wade.
Logan.
He looks younger, stronger, somehow angrier. Heâs wearing a hoodie and some sort of yellow pants. Heâs all dirty and uncombed, covered in blood that doesnât seem to be his.
You stand there, frozen, and he doesnât move either.
Logan. Logan. Logan.
Your mind canât form anything beyond that.
My LoganâŠ
In his world, Logan had met you near the end of the X-Menâs existence. You werenât a mutant, only a sweet, smart girl who was friends with some of the older students. A girl he shouldâve stayed away from. But he just couldnât. God, he couldnât. He tried to resist you, time and time again, and it never worked.
He found you alone at the library in the X Mansion one day, waiting for your friends. His curiosity got the better of him. Talking turned into flirting turned into you sprawled on his bed, naked and at his mercy. And he knew then, heâd never be able to let you go.
The time heâd had to love you had been far from enough. Heâd gone to a bar to drink, after a stupid argument with you, and youâd stayed with the X-Men as you cooled off. By the time he stumbled back, shitfaced and needing to apologize to you, the humans had come. It was too late. He found your body piled along with the mutantsâ. He cried for the first time in a long time. He cried for hours, bitter and broken and alone. Lost without you. And then heâd gone on to kill just about everyone he ran into.
And now heâs standing here, with Wade and that stupid fucking dog in this different reality where people seem to like him for some odd reason, and youâre there. Youâre standing in front of him, alive, almost exactly how he remembered you, beautiful as ever.
And he stands there like a fucking idiot for one, two, three seconds before he reaches for you, whispering your name.
Heâs forgotten about Wadeâs presence, forgotten about where he is or why. His focus is entirely on you. You, the love of his life.
His hands find yours and reel you in, and you go willingly. You canât look away from his face, canât react. His touch is familiar, a sensation youâve missed dearly, a feeling youâd forgotten. Itâs home, the home you were stolen out of. The home youâve been needing, yearning, aching for.
He stares down at you, his eyes flickering over your face like heâs making sure itâs you, like heâs making sure this is real and not a dream.
And then Wade speaks. âYou two know each other?â he asks.
You realize, No. We donât.
You pull away at the same moment Logan lets go of you. You take a step back as if burned by him, but you canât look away.
âN-no,â you reply, blinking, eyes glancing at Wade before finding Logan again. âNo. I justââ
âShe looks like someone I used to know,â Logan finishes.
You nod. âHeâŠYeah. Someone I used to know.â Used to love. Used to need. Used to have.
Wade glances between the two of you. âGeez. The sexual tension is killing me. Itâs either that, or you two are about to rip your throats out. In which case, I should warn you, if you get blood on Alâs cocaine, sheâs gonna be pissed.â
His stupid comment doesnât register with you. Youâre busy staring at Logan, even as he shoots Wade a glare.
âItâs gonna be your blood on the walls if you keep talkinâ, bub,â he grumbles, his expression softening when he glances at you again.
âOh, my God. Pump the hate breaks, I was making a joke to lighten the obvious awkwardness. This guyâŠâ Wade then walks further into the apartment, talking to you, saying this or that about some paradox and a void and a dogâŠ
But you canât focus, canât hear him. Logan is standing here, in front of you. And itâsâŠunsettling. Unsettling and amazing and revitalizing.
After staring at each other for a long while, you and Logan break apart. He follows Wade's tour of the apartment and you retreat into your bedroom with your jumbled thoughts.
In the days that follow, you feel alive again. The sun seems to shine brighter, itâs easier to get out of bed, your smile comes more willingly.
And you know itâs because of him.
One day, when Wade goes with Blind Al (to get more coke, probably) and takes Mary Puppins along, youâre about to go into the living room and watch TVâas you often do when left aloneâonly to find Logan is already there.
âOh. Hi. Sorry,â you say, heart fluttering, stomach filled with butterflies. âIâŠI didnât know anyone else was home.â
âWhatâre you apologizinâ for?â he asks, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. âYou ainât done nothinâ wrong, hon.â
Your heart squeezes itself at the nickname. He used to always call you that. Hon, sweetheart, sugarâa sweet nickname for my sweet girl, he told you once.
âRight. I justâŠI donât know. I was just surprised to see you here, is all.â
He nods in understanding. âMe too,â he admits quietly. âI never thoughtââ He stops abruptly, seems to rethink his words. âWell, it donât matter now. Technically, youâre not her.â
It hurts to hear him say it, even though you know heâs right, even though you know itâs true. âYeah. I guess youâre not really him either,â you say as you walk a little closer and plop down next to him on the couch. âItâs still a little weird.â
He huffs. âWeird ainât the word to describe it.â
âItâs between relief and pain,â you murmur after a pause, glancing away from him when you feel tears in your eyes. âFeels like youâreâLike heâs here, but then I remember heâs actually not.â
He nods. âLike I found what I lost but didnât really.â
âYeah,â you whisper.
Thereâs a long moment of silence before he speaks up. âWell, Wade told me how your Logan died. It sounded pretty brutal, Iâm sorry.â He leaves out Wadeâs exact wording because chest-fucked by a tree doesnât feel like something to say to a grieving girl.
You tear up, lower lip quivering. âThank you,â you whisper, voice cracking.
His heart breaks when he sees youâre going to cry. Almost instinctively, Loganâs hand finds yours and he rubs your knuckles with his thumb before he can think it through. âHey, itâs okay. Iââ He cuts himself off. Iâm right here is on the tip of his tongue. But heâs not. Not really, is he? Heâs someone else, so are you. Just because youâre like her doesnât mean one can replace the otherâŠ
You sniffle, eyes on your lap. Logan wants to grab you gently, kiss the corner of your mouth, kiss your tears away, hold you until youâve cried it all out. He doesnât think youâd be okay with that. Heâs not your Logan, heâs a very different man. No matter how much he looks like yours.
So he focuses his gaze on your knuckles, the way his thumb traces over the familiar skin. He focuses on his senses. You smell like her. Although the perfume youâre wearing is different, your essence is just like hers. Your heart beats identically too. And when you look up at him with those beautiful eyes, wide and big, eyelashes wet with tears, heâs almost convinced you are her.
âWhat happened toâŠto her?â you whisper, and Logan grimaces.
âNah, that ainât somethinâ you wanna hear.â He shakes his head, a knot forming in his throat just at the thought. âIt ainât somethinâ you need tâknow, sugar. Ainât gonna do you any good.â
You accept it quietly, silently, like the good girl youâve always been. You just sit there beside him, letting his thumb trace your knuckles, your breaths and heartbeat filling the silence heâs become so accustomed to.
âIâm sorry you lost her,â you say gently, eyes finding his again.
âMe too,â he replies, voice low. âShe was the best damn thing to have ever happened to a bastard like me. Shouldâve left her well alone, the people I love always get hurt.â He shakes his head, self-deprecating. âShe would still be fine and happy if I hadnât gone and loved her.â
You squeeze his hand gently. âFor what itâs worth, I wasnât happier before my Logan,â you tell him. âI loved him with everything I had. He was the best thing that ever happened to me, even with all that baggage he always claimed he was dragging around. He was the best thing in my life.â
Loganâs eyes are shiny with tears, and heâs trying to hold them back. âMy girl was the best thing in the world for me too. I hope she felt for me like you did for your Logan.â
You nod, tears flowing freely down your pretty cheeks now. âI know she did,â you whisper.
Logan stifles a sob as a tear rolls down his face. He should be embarrassed about crying in front of a stranger, but you feel so familiar, so like herâŠItâs like heâs back home after being lost for too long.
âOh, baby,â you say quietly, grabbing his face in your hands. âShh, youâre alright,â you coo, gently wiping his tears away. âOh. Donât cry, donât make that face, youâre breaking my heart.â Your voice cracks.
He can feel his tears falling and falling and falling with absolutely no intention of stopping soon. But heâs not crying out of grief anymore, not crying because he misses his girl. Heâs crying because your touch feels like home, familiar and safe and loving. All the love he hasnât had in so long, youâre offering it to him freely and itâs breaking him apart.
He leans closer, melting into your touch, and you press your forehead against his like you always used to do. âI know Iâm not her,â you whisper, âI know Iâm not her. But justâŠjust maybe, for now, we can pretendâŠâ
He gently nuzzles his nose against yours. âIf youâre okay with pretending Iâm not the fucking bastard I really am, I can be him,â he replies.
You hold his gaze for a second. âYouâve always been a good man, no matter how much of a bastard you think you are.â
Logan gives you a soft, sad smile. âNo, honey, I ainât. Iâm a bad man.â
You shrug minutely. âI loved you regardless,â you whisper.
And then he kisses you. Softly, a brush of his lips against yours only to feel his heart race, only to hear your breath hitch, only to try and fill the void you left behind.
He cups your face in his hand as he pulls back to meet your gaze, your eyes still wet with tears, lips parted slightly, and then heâs leaning in for a proper kiss.
He kisses you hard, messy, desperate. He needs to feel you, needs to make sure this isnât a dream.
How the fuck did he get lucky enough for Wadeâthe idiot that he isâto bring him back here? To bring him to a world where you still exist, where you could be his again? What lucky stars favored him and gave him a second chance? What deity forgave the horrors heâs done and blessed him with you?
Heâll never understand it. But heâll never, ever complain.
You kiss him back, matching his fervor, and Loganâs mind is too far gone. His heart feels like itâs growing, full of hope and love, and itâll pop in his ribs any time soon.
Itâs been too long since heâs felt you, since heâs smelled you, since heâs loved you. All the nights spent together, all the dates, all the kisses and the sex and the feeling of his naked body tangled with yours come rushing back.
And youâre not her. He makes the effort to remind himself that youâre not really what he lost. But youâre just too close to being her, you feel too familiar, and heâs been alone for too fucking long.
His body is heating up, and he needs you closer, needs you more, needs you now.
He pulls you onto his lap, his mouth finding your jaw, moving to your neck before traveling up to your ear. âPlease,â he rasps, voice low and thick in your ear. âBaby, please, I need you. I need to be with you, need to be in you. Please, give me this.â
He can hear your heart racing, can smell your arousal gathering between your thighs. You nod. You were always so eager and willing to give yourself to him. âIâm yours. Iâve always been yours.â
He picks you up, carries you over to your bedroom. He kicks the door shut after himself and sets you down on the bed gently before climbing over you.
Heâs missed this sensation, the feeling of you under him, the knowledge that heâs got you, that youâre his in body, mind, and soul. All his.
My girl. My love.
He nips at your neck as one of his hands goes to pull your shorts off. The scent of your arousal grows thicker in the atmosphere, and Loganâs cock is already getting hard, eager to be where it belongs: deep in you.
Your panties are soaked, Logan finds, as his hand traces between your thighs. You gasp softly, spreading your legs more, inviting him farther. He chuckles lowly, burying his face into your neck to kiss and lick and leave hickeys there as he pulls your panties off.
His thick fingers, calloused and warm, spread your folds, making you shiver as the cool air hits your naked cunt. This thumb runs up and down your slit before finding your clit and pressing down there.
Logan groans when you whine and push your hips against his hand. Heâd almost forgotten how gorgeous you looked and how sweet you sounded when he touched you. His thumb finds that rhythm you like so much, as he holds it steady, wanting to give you as much pleasure as possible.
He keeps his eyes on your face, every expression already etched into his memory, every sound locked deep in his heart. Itâs familiar but somehow new; heâs exploring territory he once knew by heart but somehow forgot. Heâs relearning it all, in a way, while also, technically, learning you.
He makes the effort to remind himself that youâre not really what he lost. But heâs been alone for too fucking long and youâre just too close to being herâyou feel too familiar.
Itâs too close a call and the line has already begun to blur.
He slides a finger into you, curling it up and finding that sweet, spongy spot in you that has your legs quaking.
âYeah, I know you like it like that,â he says lowly as he leans down, busying his mouth on your neck. He kisses down, to your collarbone, before moving lower, mouth tracing over your tits through your shirt, down your stomach, and then over your womb.
He pauses there a moment, a pain blooming in his heart and tainting the moment blue.
âI wanna give you babies someday,â youâd told him once. Safely tucked in his bed at the X mansion, youâd admitted, âWanna be the mother of your children.â
And Loganâs heart felt like it had stopped. Heâd been hesitant at first, not really convinced he could be father material. But then time went by until eventually, he felt settled and safe enough for it. You two just never got around to actually trying. Heâd lost you too soon.
He shakes the memory off, trying to focus, and kisses over your womb gently. He doesnât even notice the tears spilling down his face until you sit up a little, eyes on him, hand grabbing his wrist to stop him from touching you.
He withdraws his hand, glances away from you even as you reach to grab his face gently.
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask quietly, a crease forming between your eyebrows.
He shakes his head. âNothinâ. JustâŠmemories, is all.â
Your gaze softens with comprehension, but you donât back down. âMemories about what?â Your voice is quiet, reverent, understanding and feeling the pain that youâre asking him to confess to.
Without looking at you, Logan replies, âYouâSheâd asked me for babies. She wanted to have babies with me, and I said no for a long time. But I ended up realizing I did want them. We just never got the time to try.â
Youâre quiet a long time. When he glances at you, he sees your gaze is clouded and far away, lost in your own world.
âSugar?â he prompts.
You remember having that conversation with your Logan, lying in bed, curled up against him. You remember the pain in his eyes, that look that said he felt he couldnât offer you all you wanted.
âI wanted babies too,â you murmur, still caught in that memory that hurts you. âI wanted his babies. He always said he was too old, too broken for kids. He never wanted them. But I think he just felt unworthy of having a family. Charles told Logan he still had time, but Lo just neverâŠâ You trail off, shake your head. âI think he was coming around to it after finding out Laura was his. I think he realized he was capable and deserving of it. But they took him away from me before any of that could happen,â you say, voice trembling, lip quivering. âI didnât get enough time with him.â
Logan nods. âI didnât get enough with her, either.â
And somehow, the shared pain and the understanding adds fuel to the desperate, aching desire between you.
Logan prowls over you, his body covering yours before he kisses you hard, demanding, reminding you that youâre hisâif only for now.
You gladly give in, meeting his lips, aiding him in pushing his pants off and spreading your legs more.
Loganâs hips press down on yours, his hard cock resting against your cunt, making you both shiver. When he pulls away from the kiss and meets your gaze, his eyes are wild and dark with lust. He looks every bit the animal people always thought him to be, but you know that the beautiful man you love is under that primal surface.
You caress his jaw gently, fingers running over his beard as his hands squeeze and knead at the flesh of your thighs, your hips, your waist. Heâs touching you like he needs to be sure youâre here, like he needs to be sure heâs not only dreaming of you again.
He grinds his hips against yours, his cock slotting between your folds, gathering your slick. The bulbous head, leaking precum, nudges against your clit until youâre whining and shaking, hands holding onto his arms, nails digging into the skin there.
You reach down, grabbing his cock, leading it to your entrance. You meet his gaze, a silent plea that says youâre ready and eager for him to fill you.
But he pauses, hesitates.
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask, holding his gaze, the lust in your eyes subsiding when you see the seriousness in his.
âI justâŠIâm sorry,â he whispers, tears filling his eyes again. He buries his face into your neck. âIâm so sorry.â
âWhat are you apologizing for?â you ask quietly, voice breathless.
âIâm sorry I wasnât there to protect you that day. Iâm sorry I left. Iâm sorry I didnât tell you everyday how much you meant to me. Iâm sorry I was always a cold bastard, always trying to pull away from you. Iâm sorry.â
And youâre not her. Youâre well aware of that. But the words come from your heart, knowing not only that he needs to hear them, but also that she forgives him. âItâs okay, Logan. Itâs alright, you donât have to carry that burden forever. I forgive you. I always have,â you say gently.
And he breaks down, his shoulders shaking and heaving with every hard sob that wracks through his body. You hold him close, let him cry, gently caress the back of his neck to remind him youâre here for him. And youâre not going anywhere any time soon.
He rests there, his head on your shoulder, his face hidden in your neck for a long while. The weight of the pain heâs been carrying all these years is easing, the fear of spending the rest of his life alone is fading. And for the first time in too long, Logan feels calm. Not happy, not sad, not angry. Just at peace, like the world has paused to give him a moment to breathe. And heâs not enough of an idiot to let the chance go.
When his tears subside, he kisses up your neck and to your jaw, his hands sliding to your hips. âYou okay to keep goinâ, sweetheart?â he asks lowly, voice raspy from the crying and from his lust.
Even so, heâs still hard, body still thrumming with desire, and he can smell your arousal, still strong.
You nod. âYeah,â you say in a soft whisper. âI want you.â
He loves the way you say it, somewhere between a demand and a plea, the kind of tone one would use in prayer. You make everything sacredâlove, lust, sex, loss. Something about you is sacred to him. Maybe because you made him a better man. You shaped his world, turned it upside down and made it something better than it was. It was paradise with you, and it became hell when you left. He wouldnât know how to exist if he lost you again.
He kisses you softly, his eyes shut tight, and then he slowly pushes into you.
You gasp and Loganâs body shudders. Itâs familiar, a sensation heâs missed dearly and thought heâd never, ever experience again. Itâs home, the way his body slots against yours, the way you feel perfect underneath him, the way you stretch to fit him.
You two were made for each other, that much he knows. Regardless of where or when, what universe youâre in or what version you each are, you were made for him as much as he was made for you.
He starts out slow. Deep, languid thrusts, just dragging his cock in and out of you, feeling you.
You gasp, burying your face into his neck, moaning quietly.
He holds your hip softly, steadying your body as he thrusts. He feels you around him, feels his heart melt as his body falls into the familiar rhythm that he knows you enjoy.
He kisses the side of your head, his voice raspy and quiet as he murmurs, âJust like that, baby. Just lemme take care âf you, you know itâs what I was made for.â
His hand slides from your hip to your leg, making you bend your knee and pushes it up to your chest. He thrusts deeper, a little harder, his cock filling you up perfectly.
You squeal at the change, nails scratching at his shoulders, and he chuckles. âMhm. Still got it, donât I?â he teases into your ear, nibbling his way down your jaw, then moves his mouth over to your lips.
He kisses you desperately, heatedly, grunting now as he fucks you deeper. You squeak and moan, pussy tightening around him, and Loganâs cock twitches.
âFuck. Sugar, ease up a little before I come in you. We canât have that, can we?â
âWhy not?â you ask breathlessly, nails dragging down the length of his back, leaving marks in their wake.
He chuckles softly. âSweetheart, you know itâs not the stork that brings the babies, yeah? I could get you pregnant.â
Your breath audibly hitches and your cunt tightens around him. âOh,â you squeak, and Loganâs eyebrows raise.
He pauses his thrusts and glances down at you. His breathing is heavy, eyes wide and dark with lust. âYou like that idea?â he asks.
You blink up at him, cheeks flushing. âY-yeah. I justâŠIs that weird?â
He gives you a sideways smirk. âNot weird at all. Itâs very, very far from weird, sweetheart.â He leans down and places a kiss to the tip of your nose. He starts thrusting again, picking up that hard, fast pace again.
You squeal, eyes fluttering shut, and Loganâs eyes watch your beautiful face.
âYou really want a baby, donât you, honey?â he murmurs. âYou want my baby.â
You whine, nails scratching at his shoulder blades. And Logan takes that as a yes.
âMhm, thought as much. You want me tâfill up your pretty pussy with my cum, hm? Fill you up, make you keep it in there until you get my baby.â
You mewl and throw your head back, hips pushing against his desperately. âPlease!â
âPlease, what? Say it for me,â he says, kissing up the column of your neck.
âPlease, give me your baby.â
And it breaks him. Logan fucks you twice as hard, twice as deep. The bed creaks, the headboard slamming against the wall, and Logan is too close.
He reaches down, rubs your clit how he knows you like, messy and quick, and your orgasm builds until it crashes over you. You come hard, body trembling, and your back arches. Your body quivers, eyes rolling back as your pussy clenches his cock too tight for him to move.
Which is fine, anyway, because he comes right after you. His orgasm is strong, and it wracks his entire body. His arms shake and he grunts, making a considerable effort to keep his claws retracted because he can feel his control over his own body slipping. And the lack of sex heâs had these last years donât help at all. He comes so much, rope after rope of thick, sticky cum filling you, his cock twitching as his load spills into you.
When heâs finally spent, he collapses on top of you, unable to hold himself up. You two stay like that a while, curled up together and entangled. Slowly, Logan rolls off you, spooning you, but doesnât pull out.
âNeed to keep my cum in you, honey. Keep it all in there so it takes,â he whispers into your ear, kissing your temple.
You hum softly, weak and content, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to fall asleep.
Thereâs a long silence, and then he speaks up. âI know Iâm not him,â he whispers, âand I know youâre not her. But weâre just different versions of the other, arenât we? If we try, we can make this work. If-if you want to,â he adds quickly.
You glance at him, and something about the calmness and certainty in your eyes settles his nerves. âI want to.â You nod. âI always want you.â
He lets out a small sigh, the tension in him easing away, and kisses you. âGood. Because I always want you too.â
oh to be the slutty coquette wife to the origins version of wolvie. don't get me wrong, their all good but origins is by far my favorite. rawr rawr ah ah ah or whatever lady gaga said
SMUT! A short smut to practice my writing! Enjoy :)
"Stop faking it", he growled in your ear, fingers digging into your cheeks while he held your face. His other hand trailed down your side until it rested on your hip. "Don't worry baby, I'll make you sing for real". Your breath hitched, fuck, you were excited.
You've worked in the adult film industry for years, mainly videos of just yourself, or with others, on a low quality camera. But it was always so bland, your body was starved, practically begging every time you were on screen with another person; but you were always let down and had to put on a show.
Logan on the other hand, (a prominent figure in the industry), could make any woman feel good, every one of his videos had millions of views, and you were excited to finally get recognized when you heard he wanted to 'collaborate' with you. But you had no idea his videos were real, it just seemed he was one excellent actor. But Logan relished in making others feel good, he was a master at it; his videos aimed for the female audience.
So when a fake, high pitched moan slipped your lips as Logan got on top of you; oh that just wouldn't do.
You knew there were multiple cameras on you both but it seemed to fade away when you felt his lips trail down your neck. You pressed your head back into the pillow, a breath escaping you as you relaxed. You were both completely naked and you were already soaked from seeing the size of him. His cock was huge, standing tall and proud, a flushed pink tip with a bead of pre-cum sitting at the tip.
"Please, sir", you said your line, soft eyes staring up at him.
"What do you need? Need my big cock? Hm?"
You nodded and he grinned. oh fuck.
He pressed his tip to your clit, earning a whine from you. He slid his cock down and out of habit you let out another fake moan slip for the cameras. Logan's gaze darkened and he grabbed your face again. He leaned in an whispered so the cameras couldn't hear.
"What did I say about the fake shit?"
"That was real", you lied. He tilted his head and gave you a cocky smirk, seeing through your bullshit.
He was staring directly into your eyes, almost through you- like a challenge. A hint of a smirk on the corners of his lips as he looked so intently at you; and he finally, slowly, pushed his cock into your cunt- his eyes never leaving yours. Your mouth opened in an 'O' shape and you kept your eyes on his. You let out a breath when he bottomed out.
Then he moved his hips, a steady but hard rhythm- and there it was, a long moan, a real one. His expression turned smug, a grin spread on his lips, his eyes still never leaving your face. Your hands clutched his biceps, nails digging into his skin.
"Feels good, huh? Needed this right? Needed somethin' real" Logan whispered into your ear. He bit down on your neck, licking the skin in forgiveness immediately after.
Moan after moan, whine after whine, you were pushed into bliss. It had been so long since a man in this industry made you feel something real; God, this was better than your fucking dildo. He knew how to work you, how to touch your skin to make it feel on fire.
And fuck, this was going to be the best (and definitely not the last) collaboration you'll ever have with Logan Howlett.
Omg omg love your writing and I think you would absolutely be the best person for this but Logan dating reader whose mutation is to turn invisible and while heâs fucking her she turns her like stomach invisible so they can both see his member inside of her đđ
anon anon anon, you have a beautiful mind, but i have a counter-proposal under the cut that I hope you can enjoy...
18+ SMUT MDNI, f!reader
Youâre prone to lose control of your mutation when under... intense circumstances.
Like right now. Youâre a panting mess, sweat making hair stick to the sides of your face, your lips glossy with that beautiful swollen shade of red he likesâproof that heâs kissed you silly. You lost your clothes while he made you lose your mind with his mouth, and that was not too long ago.
Ruined. Thatâs how you look. He loves it.
Hasnât even put his cock in yet and youâre already gone. Came twice. He didnât give them to you easy. Made you beg and say all sorts of dirty things (âTell me this pussy belongs to me, honey,â he commands with two fingers curling deep), and even then he didnât let you succumb fast. You had to earn it by being a good girl for him.
Yeah, he is in some kind of mood tonight. One that yearns to make things last longer, especially torment.
Not that youâre complaining.
When he finally stretches your cunt with his cock, your jaw goes slack, eyes glazing over. God, heâs so big, it feels like the first time you had him all over again. He watches closely, hot breath fanning the side of your face as eyes flicker down to where youâre joined.
His favorite view.
âFeels good, huh?â he taunts through gritted teeth, finally bottoming out and feeling you squirm with pleasure beneath him. âYouâre drenched, pretty girl, takinâ big cock so good.â
âL-Loganââ
It doesnât take long till he thrusts. The movement is shallow, pulling back only halfway before driving his hips into yours, but itâs enough to make you cry out. Your blood sings, nerves alight, and he sees you phase in and out of invisibility, appearing and disappearing a few times in a second like a short-circuiting light.
He laughs breathlessly. Even when he canât see you, he can feel your tight hole clenching around him.
But that wonât do.
A hand flies to your unseen face, fingers squishing your cheeks. You reappear. The look you wear is deliciousâdrool escaping the side of your lips, a bead of sweat dripping down your brow, hypnotized eyes...
Heat burns under his skin.
Yes. This is what he likes to see. A true feast for his eyes.
âFocus, sugar,â he purrs, fucking into you again, his hand still forcing you to look up right at him. Your eyes clench shut at the friction of his veiny cock against gummy walls, a wet sound lewdly ringing in your ear. Shit, he feels so goodâ
You phase out again. Logan huffs. It looks like heâs humping air like this, except for the fact that his dick is clearly sunk into somethingâthe best thing heâs ever had.
Slowly, he pulls out of you, and you sob at the emptiness while your bare body flickers back into sight.
âDonât fuckinâ hide,â he growls, the hand on your face trailing down to your neck, gripping there. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you the power he has over you.
A languid smirk enters his face.
âIf you disappear, I ainât movinâ.â
You whine, a wordless protestâitâs not that youâre doing it intentionally.
âWanna see this perfect body when I fuck you,â he breathes, hips thrusting into you again, harder this time. You let out a throaty groan, but manage to control your powers to remain visible.
âTurn you into a cock-drunk slut,â he rasps between thrusts. He brushes against a deep spot in you that sends sparks flying in your veins, and you disappear for a split second.
Mercilessly, he takes his cock out all the way, and you feel tears forming in your eyes. The words escape you, airy and rushed.
âPlease Iâm sorry I didnât mean toââ
The chuckle that escapes him is dark and threatening, but the way your stomach churns signals something other than fear. Excitement.
âGonna be a looong night for you, sweet thing,â he murmurs against your mouth, teasingly pressing his tip against your soaked slit.
somehow all these good vibes have washed back on me and it's great. y'all are manifesting writing mojo for each other and me and I love it. keep going. don't stop.
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