A/N: this entire series is dedicated, specially, to my beloved @chateaubarnes
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, eventual Steve x Reader x Bucky
Word count: 12k (completed)
Warnings: reader, Bucky, and Steve have very vivid imaginations, SMUT, p in v, vouyeurism, captain kink, metal arm kink, blindfolds, authority kink, brat taming, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, cum eating/cumplay, overstimulation, masturbation, threesome, SLIGHT DUBCON BUT NOT REALLY BUT IF YOU'RE UNCOMFY DO NOT READ!!!!!! MINORS DNI! 18+
Summary: Tale as old as time. Steve is righteous and he couldn’t, for the life of him corrupt such a sweet thing like you, right? Except that’s the only thing you want and you could only be more upfront if you made him motorboat you.
summary: Your roommate Logan lets you practise giving a blowjob on him for your date with another guy.
warnings: smut, 18+, oral sex (f&m receiving, reader’s first time), Logan is a liittle mean but just a little and he gets softer towards the end, spitting, jerking off, Logan keeps his socks on I think it’s hot okay 😭😭, Logan calls reader bub, baby, good girl, pretty girl; Wade is mentioned but I’m imagining a younger Logan than in DP&W
word count: 3.2k (this was supposed to be a drabble lol idk what happened)
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Logan asks from the sofa as you walk past him in your pretty date outfit. You’ve got some time left before your date but you decided to get ready early in a bout of nervousness.
“This guy I’ve been seeing,” you tell him, trying to seem nonchalant. You haven’t yet mentioned to Logan that you’ve been on a few dates. He spends a lot of time in his room, away from you and Wade, and he just never happened to be there to hear about your dates.
Logan mutes the tv. “What guy?”
“Met him online.”
“And he’s so good to you that you get this pretty for him?”
You smile at his indirect compliment and sit down next to him.
“Yeah, he’s nice. I… I think we might go a step further today,” you feel your cheeks heating up, “I’m kind of nervous.”
You see his jaw clench slightly, “If he’s a good guy he shouldn’t make you nervous.”
“I’m not nervous because of him, it’s just that it would be my first time. And I don’t want to be bad.”
He chuckles and leans back, “You won’t be bad. Just make him go on top.”
Logan isn’t taking your hint, so you take a deep breath to gather your courage. “What if he wants me to go down on him and I don’t know how to do it? Will you…” your voice falters as his eyes meet yours.
“Will you help me?” you stutter and Logan immediately begins to smirk. Embarrassment spreads through your body.
“Help you how?” He asks, smug.
It’s too late to go back now. “Well, I don’t know. Like, explain how it works or.. you could show me?” you shrug.
“You probably know better than me how to find porn online.”
“No, I mean show me on you.” That’s all the courage you can muster for the day and you wonder if you will even have the strength to look back into Logan’s eyes. He solves that problem for you, putting a finger under your chin and pushing it up so you’re looking at him.
“You wanna suck my cock?” He sounds annoyed and you immediately want to die.
“It wouldn’t have to mean anything,” you look at his cheeks, his nose, anywhere but his eyes, “I just wanna know if I’m doing it right. It’s okay if you can’t cum, I just want to practise.”
Logan scans your face for a sign of discomfort – other than your embarrassment – but he doesn’t find any. His features soften, “You really wanna go down on me, bub?”
You nod quickly, “For practice.”
“Mhm, for practice.” He’s mocking you, but all you can do is ignore it.
A thrill shoots through your body at his next words: “C’mere then.” He spreads his legs, clothed in jeans that strain around the thickness of his delicious thighs. You can see the outline of his abs through his tank top. You can’t believe this is happening – you’ve had a crush on him since you saw him for the first time.
Logan beckons you between his legs and you move to sit on the carpet, its fluffiness stopping your bare knees from hurting. Your short skirt rides up your ass and you pull it down self-consciously despite what you’re about to do.
“You sure about this, bub?” Logan asks again from above you. You gulp when you look up at him. How does he look even better from below?
“Yeah,” you assure him, your panties already growing wet. You sit down and try to patiently wait for instruction but you end up squirming. When you look back up at Logan he’s got one of his eyebrows raised.
“You don’t know how to open a belt either?”
“Well, yeah but don’t we have to–” your mouth starts to water when the rough clink of his belt interrupts you. He’s all but ripping open his belt; he unbuttons his jeans and takes out his hard cock. You almost get goosebumps.
“Oh,” you say.
“If a guy likes you, he doesn’t need any time to get ready. Foreplay is just to get the woman nice and wet,” Logan tells you, although you’re barely listening. All you know is that you wouldn’t need the foreplay either, you’re uncomfortably wet, trying to get friction against your legs that are folded underneath you.
Logan watches you stare at his erection, “Take your top off. I like seeing your pretty face but that’ll make it an even nicer view.”
“But I’m not wearing anything underneath,” you thumb at the thin straps of your top.
He smirks, “even better.” He reaches down to pull the top up by your waist but then hesitates.
You nod but Logan rolls his eyes. “Use your words.”
“You can take it off,” you say but you nevertheless put your arms in front of your tits when he pulls your top over your head.
Logan chuckles, “Baby, I’ve been dying to see your tits since I first met you. You really think you gotta hide?” The nickname makes you melt and your arms immediately drop to your sides.
You sit up straighter as Logan lets out a low moan, “God, look at you. So fucking perfect.” He reaches out to grope your tits almost clumsily. His cock bobs in front of you as he leans down to touch you and you feel yourself getting addicted to him already. You just want to start.
With a last rough squeeze of your tit, Logan leans back. “Wet your lips,” he instructs. You lick your lips.
“Wetter,” he says, and your eyebrows crease in confusion as you lick your lips again.
Logan huffs, spits into his hand, and smears his spit over your mouth, “There. Don’t you look fucking pretty like this.” You just about purr against his hand and then push against it with your cheek.
You place your hands on either of his knees and lean in to kiss the tip of his cock, all swollen and ready. You immediately feel the urge to go further but your shyness takes over, so you keep pressing wet kisses to his length.
“God,” Logan groans, leaning his head back in pleasure as you keep kissing, and you start to use some more spit.
“Look at you, don’t even need me to tell you what to do,” he pulls his arms behind his head smugly, like an asshole, and you smile, getting shy again. You kiss along the underside of his cock some more, getting more desperate with every second.
“What now?” You ask.
Logan softly smiles at you for a second, pulling his jeans and boxers further down his thighs. You pull them off completely as he pulls off his top. He’s naked in front of you now, except for his socks, and you take a second to appreciate all the broadness and his muscles. The hair from his chest all the way over his abs and down to his cock is begging for you to kiss every inch of it but you force yourself to focus.
Logan takes his cock in his hand to lift it out of the way, and slowly starts to jerk off. His eyes go to you and then to his balls, and you get what he wants you to do. Still, he gives you one word: “Lick.”
You move forward, inhaling all his manly smell, instinctively going to press another wet kiss to his cock. You let spit pool in your mouth and begin to lick all over his balls, feeling the heaviness of them on your tongue.
“Take as much as you can, baby,” he rasps, continuing to jerk off. You almost slap his hand away – you want to be the one making him feel good – but you stop yourself.
You do as he tells you, opening your mouth to cover as much of him as you can, the warmth of his balls against your tongue making you drool.
“Yeah, baby, juuust like that. That’s a good girl,” he breathes heavily.
Your pussy clenches around nothing at his words, and you have to take a deep breath to focus on anything but the wet ache between your thighs.
His balls move against your tongue from his jerking off, and you gently suck on the skin, moving around a few inches every few seconds. But the movement from his hand on his cock is becoming distracting and, without thinking, you instinctively push his hand away.
He stills and then smiles, lifting his hand away. He lightly leans his elbows on the back of the sofa to the sides of him.
“You can start sucking my cock now if you’re ready, baby. Been doing such a good job.”
“I don’t know if I can take all of it,” you pout. Even just imagining his dick down your throat feels too much, though not in a bad way. He’s just so fucking big.
“Just take as much as you can. I bet you can take more of me than you think.”
His words motivate you. You go up slightly on your knees, carefully wrapping your hand around his cock. You spit on it, letting it slowly slide down the sides as you begin to spread it with your hand.
Logan huffs out a laugh from above you, “So adorable. You don’t need to be so careful. Here, do it like this.” He wraps his much bigger hand around yours and he starts to jerk off with your hand, showing you how rough you can be as he starts to fuck your fist.
You clear your throat, “Can I use my mouth now?”
He bites his lip, “Ready when you are, baby. Just breathe through your nose and relax.” Oh, you’re relaxed. Being between Logan’s meaty thighs is the best you’ve felt in your life.
You press another kiss to the tip of his cock and part your lips to take him in your mouth. The first second you feel the heaviness of his cock on your tongue is like heaven. Logan lets out a low moan and you look up to find his eyes already on your face. He looks like a god from below, his muscles starting to glisten with a thin layer of sweat.
Opening your mouth wider, you take more of him. You start to jerk him off where your mouth can’t reach but you do your best to go as deep as you can, moving up and down with your wet mouth.
The feeling of Logan’s cock in your mouth is addicting, and the quiet sounds he is making even more so.
“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he whispers, voice weak. You look up into his eyes as you suck his dick, spit starting to run down your hand, and a smirk spreads on Logan’s face.
“Such a pretty girl,” he leans his head back.
Your jaw is starting to strain because he’s so big but you never want to stop doing this. You swallow down the taste of his precum and can’t wait to actually make him come. He’s starting to pulse in your mouth, abs contracting with every time your tongue moves.
You’re wondering how much long–
“Y’gonna make me come, baby. Gonna come so hard,” Logan moans, and you figure he’s warning you but you want nothing more than his cum in your mouth.
You put in all the effort you can, sucking Logan’s cock further down your throat, cheeks hollowing. You start to feel him at the back of your throat, spit spilling from your lips.
Logan groans, and then he’s filling up your mouth, pumping his cum down your throat as you eagerly swallow. You look up at him through your lashes, taking in his face, his eyes shut and mouth hanging open in pleasure as a long, almost pathetic, groan comes out.
He’s coming longer than you’d expect, coming in your mouth in sticky ropes, a hand guiding the back of your head. You still pout when he’s finally drained and he slowly pulls his hips back.
Logan sighs a last breath of pleasure and holds his hand in front of your mouth. “What?” you ask.
“Spit.”
“Uh, I swallowed,” you say.
“Really?”
You stick out your tongue for Logan to see your empty mouth.
He smirks. “God,” he huffs, “so fucking perfect. C’mere.” He pulls you up to the sofa and sits you on his lap, your bare chest against his. Logan pushes his mouth against yours, kissing you like he’s filled with a new desire, as if you didn’t just make him come.
You don’t get to kiss him for very long though, because he pulls you to lie down on the sofa, turning so your legs are spread around him.
“‘m gonna show you what it’s supposed to feel like for someone to eat your pussy. Just so you know your date is doin’ it right, ‘kay?”
What date? You almost ask. You remember for a second but then, looking at him, all of your thoughts are replaced with Logan again. “Yes,” you nod hornily, “Please.”
“There you go, got you even saying please now. You want it that bad, huh?”
All you can do is nod as he pulls down your skirt and panties. He almost goes cross-eyed when he sees your pussy for the first time.
“God, baby, you coulda said something. Such an eager little thing. You got that wet from having my cock in your mouth, hm? Gonna make you come so good, yeah?”
You nod again and he bends down to press another sloppy kiss to your lips, kissing down your neck and stopping at your chest, “Can’t get enough of these,” he plays with your tits, desperately grabbing at them like a man seeing a woman naked for the first time.
He smiles up at you when he realises how much time he’s spent at your chest, pressing a last kiss to your sternum before placing one of his big hands on your tit and kissing further down. You assume he’s going to stop before he gets to your pussy, just to tease you, but he kisses all the way down from your belly button to your clit, starting to make out with your pussy.
“Logan,” you moan, your hand flying to his hand on one of your boobs.
“Feel good?” He asks, and you almost faint when you look at his head pushed between your thighs. He looks exactly right, as if this is where he was meant to be the entire time.
“Mhmm.”
He chuckles against your pussy, tongue darting out to play with your clit. The ache between your legs starts to get worse with him there, and you feel your pussy clenching around nothing.
Logan smirks and pushes your thighs further apart with a rough hand. He starts to gently rub your clit, and you’ve finally got the friction you’ve been needing this entire time. You’re already close.
You let out an involuntary moan as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you, and you grip his hand on your tit harder, and he squeezes you there, lovingly.
“I got you, baby,” he says into your pussy before starting to fuck you with his finger, pushing another one in as he begins to rub a sweet little spot inside that you can never reach yourself.
He leans in to start licking your clit again, circling it with his tongue and, ever so slightly, beginning to suck.
You’re so close, the waves of pleasure almost, just almost, flooding over you. You squirm, your knees pushing together, held open by his broad shoulders.
Logan sucks harder, fingers fucking into you with your clit pulsing against his tongue.
It only takes a few more seconds of Logan’s mouth on your pussy for you to come. Pleasure explodes within you and floods your entire body as you arch your back, pushing further into him and his wet mouth and thick fingers.
Logan doesn’t stop until you’re satisfied and your legs go numb around him.
He grins at you, biting his lip to stop his smile from spreading too far, and he presses a kiss to the middle of your belly, squeezing your tit gently before letting go. You feel cold without him there.
With your legs still around him, you instinctively pull him in and he lies down next to you on the sofa, gently caging you against the back of it to give you the more comfortable side as he balances on the edge.
“You wanna know how good you taste?” Logan asks, not waiting for an answer before he kisses you. You slide your hand behind his neck to pull him in, tasting yourself on his tongue.
He stops kissing you. “So.. you still going on your date?”
You feel your cheeks getting hot, “What if I told youuu…” you twirl a strand of Logan’s hair that’s hanging over his forehead, “that there never was a date. Or a guy.”
Logan breaks out in a smile, “You were too shy to ask me to fuck you so you made up an entire person?”
You hear the key turning in the lock in that moment, and even though you’ll be covered by the back of the sofa Logan shields you with his hands as best as he can, reaching for your clothes.
Wade comes in and you immediately sit up, holding Logan’s hand and forearm to your tits to cover them.
“Guess what happened?” you squeal at Wade.
Wade’s eyes go over to you and then to Logan, and he drops his bags of grocery shopping to jump up and down, “Was it my plan? I told you my plan would work!”
You grin, “It was your plan.”
Logan looks between you and Wade, rolling his eyes but he’s unable to hide a smile.
“It was a good plan, right? I told her she could just ask you out but she was too shy so I told her to make up a guy she’s dating,” Wade explains.
“Alright,” Logan laughs quietly, “Now fuck off so I can fuck my girl again.”
Wade’s eyes go wide and he says what you’re thinking, “My girl? I’d faint if he called me that. You owe me,” he points at you.
You blow a kiss at Wade and he pretends to catch it, pressing it to his lap. You roll your eyes and smile, waving at him, “You heard him, we’ve got stuff to do.”
The almost animalistic smirk Logan gives you when Wade is gone should scare you, but it only makes you want him more. He picks you up in his arms, carrying you to his room. You can’t wait for what’s to come.
-
P.S. Logan thinks good girls reblog and comment on the fics they enjoy 🩷🫣
need bucky to be fucking you while in missionary and your knees are pressed as far as they can go towards your chest and his giving him support by holding onto the headboard — his flesh hand holding the back of your head and tipping it down, making you watch his cock slowly pump in and out.
“look how your pussy stretches for my cock — like she was made for me.” he purrs, his eyes never leaving the way your cream covers his shaft with each stroke, your heavy breathing and whining when his tip kisses that sweet spot deep in you from a long stroke.
“love fillin’ her up, hearin’ how fuckin’ wet she gets with daddy’s dick,” he grunts, as his cock twitches, your hands gripping any part of him that you can get. he chuckles, “wrap your legs ‘round me, doll.” and you do as he says, pulling him in closer by the waist.
“atta’ girl.” he praises, while he cock pumps deeper into you, his flesh hand letting go of your chin and to press on the bottom of your tummy where his cock pokes under your stomach.
“daddy…” you can only mewl, head resting back on the pillows as your arms come to his shoulders. he grins wickedly, before moving that same flesh hand down further to thumb your clit
“what is it, pretty baby? what do you need? daddy’s dick not good enough?” he fake pouts as his thumb presses harder on your clit and you try to shake your head ‘no’ but you’re cumming on his cock in a second without even realizing it.
you were that deep in subspace.
“that’s right, good fuckin’ girl. didn’t even know you were gonna cum, did you doll? no, i know you didn’t. little slut.” he growls, letting go of your clit and pulling out, before flipping you on your stomach and pulling your hips up enough for a pillow to be shoved under neath
“since my little cocksleeve already came,” he said, before spreading your asscheeks and teasing pussy with the tip of his cock. “i’m gonna fuck this pretty cunt until i’m done cumming. and you know i don’t get tired, sweetheart.”
he bends over you as his cock slides in, moans leaving your mouths as his lips ghost the shell of your ear.
“buckle up, baby, daddy’s gonna fuck a baby into you.”
“please, daddy…oh please…” those were the only pleas that left your lips that night.
chapter summary: You're Scott's younger sister and for months you've been secretly dating Logan. How much longer can you and him keep the secret?
word count: 10.9k+ (19.3k+ total)
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: don't ask how or why this is so long, it was meant to be be less than 10k words but it just kept going. i was having a lot of fun writing this, and if people want to see a continuation or some other part of the story with these two, don't be afraid to ask! for now, enjoy cause there are like 3 smut scenes
the notes and the tags are the same as part 1! this is the second part!
warnings/tags: smut, unprotected piv, slight exhibitionism, slight pain kink, creampie, age gap (that's obvi), oral (f!receiving), slight praise kink, fingering, secret relationship, jealously, some possessiveness, peter maximoff being a little shit, fluff, slight angst
❀ part 1 ❀
Your shirt was tossed to the floor, your skirt pushed above your waist, and Logan was currently kissing his way down your chest, rough hands gripping your thighs, his stubble scratching against sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver.
But every so often, his eyes flicked to the side.
At first, you ignored it, too caught up in the heat of his mouth, the way his fingers kneaded into your skin. But when he stopped—lips hovering just above your stomach, brow furrowed—you huffed out a breath.
“Why do you keep looking over there?”
Logan glanced up at you, then back to the side, exhaling sharply. “…That fuckin’ teddy bear keeps lookin’ at me.”
You blinked before glancing toward your bed—where the massive stuffed bear from the carnival sat propped against your pillows, its black button eyes staring blankly into the room.
You snorted. “Pickles isn’t looking at you.”
Logan pulled back slightly, expression scrunching in absolute bewilderment. “The hell did you just call it?”
You grinned. “Pickles.”
His face was priceless. “You named the goddamn bear Pickles?”
“Yep.”
He shook his head, lips twitching in amusement. “Why the hell would you name a teddy bear that?”
“Because,” you said, smirking, “he’s named after the fried pickles we got after you won him for me.”
Logan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. That’s terrible.”
“You love it.”
“I really don’t.”
You laughed, but before you could tease him further, Logan suddenly sat up and reached over, grabbing the bear by its soft, oversized head.
Without another word, he turned it around so its face was pressed into the pillow, its back to both of you.
“There.” Logan exhaled, satisfied. “Didn’t want him seein’ what I was gonna do to you.”
You burst out laughing, but it was cut short when Logan pounced, his mouth crashing back against yours, his hands slipping under your skirt with zero hesitation.
Pickles had seen enough. And Logan had work to do.
He pushed a thick finger into you, slow, deliberate. Your head fell back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as he moved—one finger, then two, curling just right, dragging moans from your lips with every precise stroke. His calloused palm pressed firm against your aching core, dragging a friction that had your breath stuttering.
"Fuck," you gasped, hips shifting instinctively.
Logan huffed a rough chuckle, his lips ghosting along the inside of your thigh. "That’s it," he murmured, voice low, thick with satisfaction. "Knew you’d be this fuckin’ needy."
Your fingers twisted into the sheets, knuckles white as he set a slow, torturous rhythm, two thick fingers stretching you, filling you. Your legs trembled, thighs twitching with every precise curl.
"Logan," you breathed, half a plea, half a warning.
He hummed against your skin, tongue flicking over your hipbone. "What, sweetheart? S’too much?"
You shook your head, chest rising and falling in ragged motions. "No—just—just stop teasing."
Logan grinned against your stomach, lips rough from his stubble. "You think I’m teasin’?"
And then he pressed in deeper, his thumb brushing over your clit at the same time, sending a sharp jolt through you. Your back arched, a choked moan slipping from your lips.
"That’s what I thought," he said, voice smug, rough.
His fingers worked you over with ruthless precision, stroking that spot inside you that had your toes curling, your body writhing against the mattress. Every slow press, every drag of his thumb over your clit wound you tighter, hotter, until you were gripping his wrist, eyes fluttering.
"You gonna come for me?" Logan murmured, breath hot against your skin.
You clenched around his fingers in response, earning a low, pleased growl from him. He didn’t let up, didn’t stop, watching with dark, hungry eyes as you unraveled beneath him.
And when the tension finally snapped, your whole body tensed—then shattered, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your cry filled the room, and Logan didn’t stop until you were trembling, until every aftershock had been wrung from you.
Only then did he pull his fingers from you, slow, deliberate, watching as your body shivered from the loss. His gaze met yours, heated, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you again, his mouth crashing against yours, stealing every word, every thought.
His mouth was all heat and hunger, claiming yours in a way that left no room for thought—just sensation. His stubble scraped against your skin, rough and real, and the taste of you was still on his tongue, mingling with the whiskey he’d had earlier. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel owned.
But you weren’t about to let him have all the control.
With a sharp push, you shifted your weight, rolling him onto his back. He grunted in surprise, his grip tightening instinctively before he let you take the lead, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up at you.
"Bossy tonight, huh?" His voice was low, rough with amusement, but his eyes—dark, hungry—told a different story.
"You don’t mind," you shot back, settling yourself over him, your thighs bracketing his waist.
His smirk widened, hands running up your thighs, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin there. "Hell no, sweetheart. Knock yourself out."
Your hands found his chest, tracing the solid lines of muscle, the ridges of old scars. Logan was all hard edges, rough hands, and sharp words, but right now, beneath you, there was something else—a quiet patience, a slow-burning restraint that only made you want to push him further.
You shifted, rolling your hips over the hard line of his jeans, feeling the heat of him through the fabric. Logan let out a sharp breath, fingers tightening on your thighs.
"Fuck," he muttered, his head tipping back slightly against the pillows. "You keep doin' that, I ain't gonna be responsible for what happens next."
You grinned, leaning down so your lips barely brushed his. "That a threat or a promise?"
His hands slid up, palms rough against your waist as he pulled you down the rest of the way, closing the distance between you with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and heat. His hands wandered, slipping beneath your bra, fingers teasing over sensitive skin, thumbs rolling over your nipples in a way that had you arching into him, your breath catching.
"You gonna take this off, or you want me to rip it?" Logan murmured against your lips, voice low, teasing.
You huffed a laugh. "Don’t you dare. I like this one."
"Fine," he said, but he still had that damn smirk on his face as he reached behind you, undoing the clasp in one smooth motion. The second the straps slipped down your arms, Logan's hands were on you, rough and greedy, palming your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples just to watch you shiver.
"Perfect," he muttered, his voice thick, almost reverent.
You rolled your hips again, dragging a groan from him, and the sound sent heat pooling low in your stomach. You could feel him, hard and thick beneath you, the friction between you just enough to tease, not nearly enough to satisfy.
Your hands trailed down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans. You slowly unbuckled his belt before tossing it to the side.
Then, your fingers worked the button of his jeans open, dragging the zipper down with deliberate slowness, teasing. Logan’s breath hitched, his hands gripping your hips just a little tighter, thumbs pressing into your skin.
"You’re playin’ with fire, doll," he muttered, voice thick, rough with impatience.
"Good," you shot back, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, pushing the denim down over his hips.
Logan lifted just enough to help you shove them lower, his cock springing free, thick and heavy against his stomach. Heat coiled in your belly at the sight of him—flushed, hard, already leaking at the tip.
"Fuck," you breathed, running a teasing finger along his length, just enough to watch his jaw tighten. "You’re already this worked up?"
Logan let out a low growl, hands flexing on your thighs. "You been grindin’ on me for ten fuckin’ minutes, what do you think?"
You smirked, shifting so you were straddling him fully, your bare core brushing against the head of his cock, dragging a sharp hiss from his lips.
"Then quit talking," you murmured, reaching between you to guide him to your entrance.
Logan’s breath was ragged as you sank down onto him, slow, deliberate, stretching around the thick length of him. He was big—he always was—but the burn was just right, just enough to make you shudder as he filled you, inch by inch.
"Christ," Logan rasped, his head tipping back against the pillow, fingers digging into your hips. "Tight as fuck—"
You exhaled a shaky breath, adjusting, rolling your hips experimentally. The stretch, the fullness—it sent sparks dancing up your spine, heat pooling low.
Logan groaned, eyes snapping back to you, dark, hungry. "Move, sweetheart."
You did. Slow at first, grinding your hips in slow, deliberate circles, feeling every inch of him drag inside you, your clit rubbing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. Logan's grip on your waist tightened, like he was fighting the urge to just flip you over and take control, but you weren’t about to let him.
Your hands planted against his chest for leverage as you lifted yourself up, only to sink back down, setting a rhythm that had both of you panting.
"Fuck, that’s it," Logan groaned, his fingers trailing up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, keeping you close. "You ride me so fuckin’ good, doll."
You leaned down, biting at his lower lip. "You like watching me fuck myself on your cock?"
His response was a guttural growl, his hips bucking up hard enough to make you gasp.
Your pace quickened, riding him harder, chasing the pleasure curling in your belly. Every drag of his cock inside you hit deep, the friction perfect, the angle just right. Logan was watching you, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every moan, every gasp.
"Touch yourself," he rasped, voice wrecked.
Your breath caught, but you obeyed, fingers slipping between your bodies to circle your clit. The added stimulation made you whimper, your thighs trembling as you rode him faster, harder.
Logan was unraveling beneath you, his muscles taut, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there’d be bruises.
"You gonna come for me?" His voice was strained, hoarse. "Come all over my cock, sweetheart?"
The tension snapped. Your orgasm slammed into you, stealing your breath, your whole body shaking as pleasure tore through you. Your walls clenched around him, dragging a curse from Logan as he thrust up into you, chasing his own release.
A few more erratic thrusts, and he was gone—his hips jerking, a growl tearing from his throat as he spilled deep inside you, fingers flexing against your waist, holding you down as he rode out every last pulse.
Silence hung between you, both of you catching your breath, bodies still tangled.
Finally, Logan exhaled a low, satisfied chuckle. "Pickles better not be lookin’ right now," Logan muttered, still breathless, his hands running idly over your thighs.
You let out a weak laugh, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as your body still hummed with the aftershocks. “I don’t think he’s judging you.”
Logan scoffed, his fingers trailing lazily up your spine. “He better not be. Ain’t gonna have some stuffed bear watchin’ while I wreck you.”
You groaned, shoving at his chest. “Can you not?”
Logan chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you in place. “What? You embarrassed now, sweetheart?”
You huffed, rolling off him and onto your back, still catching your breath. “No, I just think it’s weird you’re this bothered by a stuffed animal.”
Logan turned his head, glaring at the bear like it had personally offended him. “He’s just… there. Starin’.”
You threw an arm over your face, shaking with silent laughter. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, a soft thump.
You peeked out from under your arm just in time to see Pickles on the floor, face down, having been very unceremoniously shoved off the bed.
Logan stretched his arms behind his head, looking smug. “Problem solved.”
You snorted. “You are so petty.”
Logan just smirked, rolling onto his side to look at you. “Damn right. Now c’mere.”
You let out a squeak as he pulled you against his chest, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. His body was warm, solid, and you knew you should probably get up—clean up—but right now, wrapped up in Logan, you didn’t want to move.
---
“Hey. Would you mind checking the irrigation system? I just feel like something is wrong with it.” Ororo said, leaning against the counter in the kitchen while you ate a sandwich at the island.
You swallowed your bite and glanced at her. "What's wrong with it?"
She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I don’t know exactly, but some of the plants in the greenhouse are drying out too fast. I checked the timers, everything should be working, but something’s off."
You nodded, already pushing your plate aside. "Yeah, I can take a look."
"Thanks." She gave you a small smile. "I’d check myself, but I promised the kids I’d help with their flight training today."
"No problem." You stood, grabbing your water bottle. "I’ll head over now."
As you turned to leave, Logan strolled into the kitchen, looking way too smug for no reason.
"Summers," he greeted casually, nodding at Ororo before his gaze flicked to you. "Goin' somewhere?"
"Irrigation system," you answered, reaching for an apple from the bowl on the counter. "Something’s off with it."
Logan raised an eyebrow. "You callin’ yourself an expert now?"
You smirked. "I literally have a degree for this, Logan."
His lips twitched, but before he could say something smart, Ororo let out a tired sigh. "You know what? Logan, why don’t you go with her? Two pairs of eyes are better than one."
You barely stopped yourself from choking on your water.
Logan blinked. "What?"
"You don’t have anything better to do," Ororo said, giving him a look. "And I’d rather not have to ask Hank to take apart the whole system if it turns out to be something simple."
You opened your mouth to protest, but Logan beat you to it. "Yeah, alright," he said, way too easily, like he wasn’t even remotely bothered. "Guess I could help out."
Ororo smiled. "Great. Let me know if you find anything."
With that, she left the kitchen, completely unaware of the absolute disaster she’d just created.
You turned to Logan, narrowing your eyes. "You are way too happy about this."
Logan smirked, grabbing a beer from the fridge. "What? I can’t enjoy a little quality time with my girl?"
"Not when we’re supposed to be keeping this quiet, you can’t," you muttered, grabbing your jacket. "Scott is literally somewhere in this house right now. You wanna take a wild guess at how bad things will go if he finds out?"
Logan shrugged, twisting the cap off his beer. "Guess we just gotta be real subtle then, huh?"
You groaned. "I hate you."
"No, you don’t," he said, smirking as he followed you out the door.
---
The greenhouse was quiet when you got there, the sun filtering through the glass, casting everything in a warm glow. You walked over to the control panel, Logan leaning against the workbench beside you, watching.
"So, what’s the verdict, doc?" he asked, sipping his beer.
You rolled your eyes. "That’s not even remotely the right title."
He smirked. "Still hot, though."
You ignored him, pressing a few buttons on the panel to check the irrigation schedule. Everything looked normal—no skipped cycles, no errors. "Huh," you muttered, frowning.
Logan raised an eyebrow. "Bad ‘huh’ or just confused ‘huh’?"
"Confused," you admitted. "The system says it’s running fine, but if the plants are drying out, that means the water’s not getting distributed properly."
Logan tilted his head. "Could be a leak somewhere."
"Yeah, maybe." You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "Looks like we’re gonna have to check the pipes."
Logan smirked. "So, what I’m hearin’ is, you need me to crawl around in the dirt while you stand there lookin’ pretty?"
You shot him a look. "No. What you’re hearing is that we both have to crawl around in the dirt because this system runs through half the property."
His smirk didn’t fade. "Still think you’d look real cute just supervisin’."
"Logan," you warned, crossing your arms.
He chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let’s check your damn pipes."
---
After an hour of checking different lines, you finally found the issue—a cracked section of piping near the east gardens.
"See? Leak," Logan muttered, wiping dirt from his hands. "Told ya."
You huffed, brushing soil off your knees. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell Ororo she needs to replace this part of the system."
Logan stretched, rolling his shoulders. "You wanna tell her now, or you wanna take advantage of the fact that we’re conveniently outta sight?"
You turned, giving him a look. "We’re in the middle of the garden."
Logan stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Yeah. And?"
You swallowed, glancing around. The mansion was a good distance away, and the gardens were quiet. Still, it was risky.
"Logan," you started, but before you could finish, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
"Relax, doll," he murmured, his fingers trailing down your jaw. "Just sayin’, we got a little privacy."
Your heart pounded. You should’ve shut this down. Should’ve reminded him that literally anyone could walk by.
But then Logan’s hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, and every ounce of common sense you had went right out the window.
You let out a shaky breath. "You are such a bad influence."
Logan smirked. "And yet, you keep comin’ back."
Before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours—just a tease, just enough to make you chase him. Your hands curled into his shirt, pulling him in for real this time, kissing him like you didn’t care about the risk.
Because right now, you didn’t.
Logan hummed against your mouth, his grip tightening. "Told ya sneakin’ around was fun."
You sighed, pressing your forehead to his. "You’re impossible."
"And you love it," he murmured, kissing you again.
---
It was late at night when Logan snuck in through your window, one you conveniently left unlocked. It was around three in the morning—he knew you wouldn’t be awake at this time. Your room was dark, save for a soft glow from a nightlight in the corner. What stopped him was you curled up next to that damn bear—Pickles.
Logan stared, standing motionless beside your bed.
You were wrapped around the oversized stuffed animal, arms tucked beneath your chin, your face half-buried in the bear’s fuzzy head. One of your legs was thrown over it, keeping it locked against your body like it was an actual person.
Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
You shifted slightly at the sound of his voice, mumbling something incoherent. He watched as your fingers curled into the bear’s fur, pulling it even closer.
He narrowed his eyes. Then, with zero hesitation, he reached down and yanked Pickles right out of your arms.
A confused whimper escaped you as your grip slipped, but you didn’t wake up—just frowned in your sleep, instinctively reaching out to grab at something.
Logan smirked, tossing the bear toward the chair in the corner. Pickles landed with a soft thud, face down, abandoned.
“Not tonight, bub,” Logan muttered, sliding into bed beside you.
Without the stuffed barrier in the way, your body naturally curled toward his, your hand finding his chest, your head tucking beneath his chin. Logan huffed out something close to a laugh, wrapping an arm around you, his palm resting warm against your back.
"That’s better," he murmured against your hair.
He expected you to settle, maybe even murmur some sleepy complaint before drifting back off. What he didn’t expect was for you to suddenly mutter—half-asleep, barely audible, “bring him back.”
Logan blinked. “What?”
Your fingers twitched against his shirt, your face scrunching slightly. "Pickles. Give him back."
Logan stared at you like you’d just insulted his entire existence. "Not happenin’, sweetheart."
You let out a sleepy, frustrated sigh, shifting against him. "He’s soft."
Logan scoffed. "So am I."
You made a small, disgruntled noise, but didn’t argue—just burrowed deeper into him, apparently deciding he was an acceptable substitute.
Logan smirked. "That’s what I thought."
A comfortable silence settled, your breathing even, your body warm against his. He let his hand wander up and down your spine, slow, absentminded. Maybe sneaking around was a pain in the ass, but moments like this?
Yeah. Worth it.
---
In the morning, you found yourself still curled around Logan. His arm was slung lazily over your waist, his body warm against yours. His steady breathing tickled the top of your head, and for a second, you just stayed there, soaking in the quiet.
Then—his voice, still rough with sleep. "You know, if you wanted somethin’ to hold onto at night, you could just call me over instead of clingin’ to that damn bear."
You barely cracked an eye open. "Pickles."
Logan huffed. "Not callin’ him that."
You smirked, burying your face against his chest. "You’re just mad he’s softer than you."
"That right?" His hand slid down, fingers squeezing your hip. "You sure about that?"
You let out a soft laugh, shifting against him. "Mmhmm. You’re all muscle and stubble. Pickles is fluffy."
Logan muttered something under his breath, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your back. "Still don’t get why you sleep with that thing."
You hesitated for half a second before mumbling, "’cause he smells like you."
Logan stilled. You felt the way his fingers paused against your skin, the way his breathing slowed just slightly. Then—his voice, quieter this time. "Yeah?"
You swallowed, suddenly regretting saying anything. "Forget it."
His hand slid up, catching your chin and tilting your face toward him. His gaze flickered over yours, something unreadable in his eyes.
"Nah," he murmured. "Say it again."
You rolled your eyes, but your face was warm. "I said forget it."
Logan smirked, but it was softer this time, less teasing. "So what you’re tellin’ me is… every time you curl up with that stupid bear, you’re actually thinkin’ about me?"
"Don’t make it weird."
"Too late." He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. "That’s real fuckin’ sweet, doll."
You groaned, shoving at his chest. "Ugh, never mind. Give Pickles back."
Logan laughed, tightening his hold around you. "Nope. You lost stuffed animal privileges."
"That’s not a thing!"
"It is now."
You huffed, but you didn’t fight him. Not when he was warm and solid against you, not when his fingers were still tracing slow circles against your hip.
After a moment, Logan murmured, "you really don’t gotta wait for a goddamn stuffed bear to smell like me. Y’know that, right?"
You hesitated before answering. "I know."
His grip on you tightened, just slightly. "Good."
And even though he was an ass about it, even though you knew he was gonna bring this up at the worst possible moment just to mess with you—you still let yourself relax against him, letting his warmth, his scent, his presence wrap around you.
Because, yeah, you could’ve just called him over. But right now, he was here.
---
Later that morning, you were in the kitchen, making coffee when Rogue strolled in, looking far too amused for this early in the day.
“So,” she drawled, leaning against the counter. “Have a good night?”
You didn’t look at her. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Rogue smirked. “Uh-huh. Funny, ‘cause I coulda sworn I saw Logan sneakin’ outta your window when I got up.”
You sighed, sipping your coffee. “Mind your business.”
“Oh, sugar,” she grinned, “this is my business.”
You groaned, setting your mug down. “If I tell you to shut up, will you?”
“Nope.”
You gave her a flat look. “Fantastic.”
Rogue chuckled, stealing a piece of toast from your plate. “So, what’s the deal? You two ever gonna stop sneakin’ around?”
You hesitated, fingers tightening around your mug. “It’s just easier this way.”
“For who?”
You exhaled, leaning against the counter. “Scott would lose his mind if he found out.”
Rogue raised an eyebrow. “And? He ain’t your keeper, Y/N. You’re a grown-ass woman.”
You shot her a look. “You don’t have a brother like Scott.”
“True,” she admitted. “But Logan’s actin’ like he’s gettin’ real tired of all the sneakin’ around.”
Your stomach twisted. “…He said that?”
“He didn’t have to.” Rogue smirked. “Man’s already borderline feral for you. Pretty sure the only reason he ain’t dragged you away yet is ‘cause he knows you’d feel bad ‘bout it.”
You swallowed. She wasn’t wrong.
Rogue nudged your shoulder. “Just think about it, sugar. Logan ain’t exactly patient.”
You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Yeah. I know.”
She gave you a knowing look before grabbing another piece of toast and walking off.
You sat there, staring into your coffee, Rogue’s words circling in your head. This was getting harder. And you had no idea how much longer you could keep up the lie.
---
Every month you and Scott had a designated night where you would play chess and ‘catch up.’ You weren’t sure when it started, or why the game you played together was chess, but you didn’t have it in you to argue or skip out on it.
You sat across from him in the study, the old wooden chessboard set up between you. A lamp cast a warm glow over the pieces, making long shadows stretch across the table.
Scott studied the board like it held the secrets of the universe. You, on the other hand, were barely paying attention. Because Logan was somewhere in the mansion. And you were painfully aware of it.
“You good?” Scott asked, glancing up from the board.
You blinked, snapping out of it. “Huh?”
Scott frowned. “You seem distracted.”
You forced a casual shrug. “Just tired.”
Scott didn’t look convinced, but he moved his knight anyway. “You’ve been acting weird lately.”
You tensed. “Weird how?”
Scott leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don’t know. You disappear a lot. You keep missing training or showing up late. Jean said your heart rate spikes randomly during dinner—”
Your stomach dropped. “She what?”
Scott waved a hand. “Not in a weird way. She just notices things.”
Yeah. You were sure she did. You picked up your rook, trying to ignore the way your pulse picked up again. “Scott, I have a life outside of training, you know.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
You gave him a look. “Yes, I do.”
He huffed, moving a pawn. “Fine. Who is he?”
Your hand froze mid-air. “What?”
Scott smirked. “Who’s the guy?”
Your brain short-circuited for a full three seconds. “Why would you assume it’s a guy?”
Scott shrugged. “Because I know you. And the only time you get this distracted is when someone’s involved.”
Your stomach twisted. You scrambled for something, anything, to throw him off. “How do you know it’s not a girl?”
Scott snorted. “Because I know you, and if you were seeing a girl, I’d have noticed by now.”
You moved your rook without thinking, mostly just to keep your hands busy. “Pretty sure you just admitted you haven’t noticed.”
Scott narrowed his eyes at you, clearly not letting this go. “So there is someone.”
Shit. “I didn’t say that,” you said quickly, trying to sound bored, like this conversation wasn’t sending your pulse through the roof.
Scott leaned forward, arms braced on the table. “Then say it now. There’s no one.”
You hesitated for half a second too long.
Scott’s smirk widened. “Gotcha.”
You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Scott—”
“No, no, now I have to know,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Who is he?”
“There’s no—”
“Do I know him?”
You exhaled sharply. “Scott.”
Scott ignored you. “Is it one of the new recruits? Someone in town? Oh God, tell me it’s not Warren—”
“Ew, no!” You made a face. “Gross.”
Scott smirked. “That was a strong reaction.”
“Because that’s disgusting.”
Scott chuckled, moving his bishop. “Okay, so not Warren.”
You huffed, leaning back in your chair. “This conversation is ridiculous.”
Scott tilted his head slightly, watching you too closely. “So there is someone.”
You were going to kill Rogue. Somehow, this had to be her fault.
You inhaled through your nose, trying to steady your voice. “Not that it’s any of your business, but if there was someone, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
Scott frowned, his entire demeanor shifting from teasing to overprotective in record time. “Of course it’s a big deal.”
You groaned. “Scott—”
“I just wanna know who’s dating my little sister.”
You moved your queen, taking his bishop, and shot him a flat look. “And if I don’t tell you?”
Scott didn’t even blink. “Then I find out myself.”
Your stomach clenched. He wasn’t bluffing. And if Scott started looking—really looking—he’d figure it out. Fast. Logan wasn’t exactly subtle, and you were running out of ways to dodge questions. You needed to throw Scott off your trail, fast.
So, you did the first thing you could think of. You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Fine. It’s Peter.”
Scott blinked. Then he stared at you, his expression somewhere between disbelief and outright horror. “…Peter Maximoff?”
You nodded, keeping your face as neutral as possible.
Scott made a strangled noise. “Quicksilver?”
“Yeah.”
Scott recoiled like you’d just told him you were engaged to a war criminal. “No. No way.”
You shrugged, picking up your knight and moving it. “You wanted to know.”
Scott ran a hand over his face. “You cannot be serious.”
You fought the urge to smirk. “Why not? He’s nice.”
Scott groaned, pushing away from the table like the thought alone was physically painful. “He’s annoying.”
“He’s funny,” you corrected.
“He’s reckless.”
“He’s spontaneous.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “He’s immature.”
You shrugged again, making a show of considering it. “I think it’s kind of charming.”
Scott groaned again, rubbing his temples like this conversation was causing him actual pain. “How long?”
You tilted your head. “Hmm?”
“How long have you been…” Scott waved a hand vaguely. “Seeing him?”
You forced a thoughtful look, like you had to think about it. “A couple months?”
Scott let out an exasperated breath, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it,” you said casually, moving your piece. “Check.”
Scott didn’t even look at the board. “We’re not done talking about this.”
You smirked. “Pretty sure we are.”
Scott muttered something under his breath, looking thoroughly unamused, but he didn’t press.
You had successfully dodged the bullet. For now.
---
It had been four days since your little chess game with Scott, and while you’d managed to throw him off your trail with the whole Peter Maximoff thing, you were starting to regret it.
Because now, Scott was watching you and Peter like a hawk.
You knew it had been a bad idea the second Peter found out. He thought it was the funniest thing in the world. He kept winking at you during meals, slinging an arm around your shoulder whenever Scott was around, and making ridiculously suggestive comments just to see your brother’s eye twitch.
And Logan? Logan was not amused.
He’d barely reacted when you first told him, just raised an eyebrow and muttered, “you couldn’t come up with a better lie?”
But as the days passed and Peter continued to mess with Scott, Logan’s patience was wearing very thin.
So, when you walked into the rec room and found Peter sprawled out on the couch, grinning at Logan—who was standing over him with his arms crossed, looking one second away from snapping—yeah, you knew this was about to be a problem.
You sighed, closing the door behind you. “What are you two doing?”
Peter smirked up at you. “Hey, babe.”
Logan exhaled sharply through his nose.
You shot Peter a glare before turning to Logan. “Please tell me you haven’t threatened him.”
Logan’s lips twitched slightly, like he wanted to smirk but was still too pissed. “Didn’t have to.”
Peter propped himself up on one elbow, grinning. “Your boyfriend is jealous.”
Logan’s head snapped toward him so fast Peter actually flinched.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Peter, I swear—”
“What? It’s true!” Peter grinned, looking entirely too entertained by the whole thing. “Big, bad Wolverine doesn’t like that Scotty thinks we’re together.”
Logan’s jaw clenched. “You enjoy makin’ my life harder, don’t you?”
Peter gasped, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Me? Never.”
Logan’s fists curled, and you could see the patience draining from his body. Before he could make a very bad decision, you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. “Alright, enough.”
Peter snickered. “You guys gonna go make out now?”
Logan turned so fast that Peter actually rolled off the couch to avoid him. You yanked Logan out of the room before he could kill him. The second the door shut behind you, you sighed. “You cannot murder Peter, Logan.”
Logan’s teeth were clenched so tight you were surprised they hadn’t cracked. “Give me one good reason.”
You squeezed his arm. “Because Scott cannot find out about us.”
Logan exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, well, if that little shit calls you ‘babe’ one more time, I can’t be held responsible.”
You fought back a smirk, but you didn’t entirely succeed. “You are jealous.”
Logan scoffed. “Jealous? Of Maximoff?” He snorted. “You serious?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. That’s why you were about to throw him through a wall.”
Logan didn’t answer, just crossed his arms and looked away.
You stepped closer, tilting your head up to look at him. “You know Scott’s buying it, right? That was the whole point.”
Logan’s jaw ticked, but he still wasn’t looking at you.
You smirked. “Aww. You mad I haven’t kissed you in public?”
Logan’s eyes snapped back to yours, dark and dangerous. “Sweetheart,” he muttered, voice dropping, “you better be real sure you wanna start somethin’ right now.”
Your stomach flipped. You knew that look. You swallowed, pulse picking up. “Maybe I do.”
Logan’s smirk was all teeth. “Then get your ass upstairs.”
Your breath hitched. “Logan—”
“Now,” he growled, stepping closer, his body heat swallowing you whole. “Unless you want your brother to walk by and see me pushin’ you against this wall.”
Your face burned. You turned immediately, heading straight for your room.
Logan’s low chuckle followed you all the way up the stairs.
---
Two weeks.
It had been two weeks since you’d started the fake dating Peter disaster, and while it had successfully kept Scott off your back, it had come with its own set of problems.
For one, Peter was still milking it for all it was worth. He’d taken to calling you babe and sweetheart in the most obnoxious ways possible, always just within Scott’s earshot. He threw an arm around your shoulder in the halls, made jokes about our song at dinner, and once—just to piss Logan off—winked at him across the room while sliding his hand into yours.
You’d nearly died. Logan had nearly killed him. The second problem? Logan was getting real tired of keeping things quiet.
It wasn’t just the usual sneaking around anymore. It was the way he was getting bolder about it. The way his hands lingered too long when he passed you in the hall. The way his eyes followed you across a room, sharp, hungry, like he didn’t give a shit who noticed.
And then there were moments like this. Logan had you pressed against your bedroom door, one hand braced above your head, the other gripping your waist. His mouth was at your ear, voice rough with frustration.
“This bullshit needs to end.”
You swallowed, your breath coming a little too fast. “Logan—”
He leaned in, his stubble scraping against your jaw as his lips brushed your skin. “Tell me you’re done playin’ pretend with Maximoff.”
You were done. You had been for days. But you still hesitated. “Scott—”
“Fuck Scott.” Logan’s grip on your waist tightened, his voice dropping lower. “You’re mine, Y/N. Not his, not Maximoff’s—mine.”
Your stomach flipped. “Logan…”
His teeth grazed your pulse, just enough to make you shiver. “Say it.”
You clenched your jaw. “We still have to be careful—”
“Sweetheart,” Logan growled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark, dangerous, “I ain’t ever been careful with things I want.”
Heat coiled in your stomach, your fingers curling into his shirt.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? Because Logan wasn’t just some stupid crush. He wasn’t just a fun secret to keep. He was… everything. And the longer you kept this hidden, the harder it was getting to breathe.
Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, there was a sharp knock at your door.
Logan rolled his eyes but moved toward the closet, muttering, “déjà vu,” under his breath.
You smoothed out your shirt, inhaled deeply, and then cracked the door open.
Scott stood there, arms crossed, looking vaguely annoyed. “Why was your door locked?”
You gave him a flat look. “Because I was changing?”
Scott frowned, like he almost believed you, but not quite. “Right.”
You sighed, opening the door more. “What do you want, Scott?”
Scott hesitated, then ran a hand over his face. “Look. I just…” He sighed again. “I need to talk to you about Peter.”
Your stomach dropped. “Peter?”
Scott nodded, his expression tight. “Yeah.”
You felt the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding so loudly you almost didn’t hear what he said next.
“I don’t trust him.”
You blinked. “Wait, what?”
Scott exhaled, crossing his arms again. “I don’t trust him with you.”
You almost laughed. That’s what this was about?
Scott continued, completely oblivious to the actual disaster happening just a few feet behind you. “He’s too reckless. He jokes about everything. I just… I don’t think he’s taking this seriously.”
You resisted the urge to rub your temples. “Scott—”
“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”
Your stomach twisted. Goddamn it. You might’ve been lying to him, but Scott wasn’t the enemy here. He was just looking out for you. And you hated how guilty that made you feel. You swallowed, forcing a small smile. “I am, Scott. I promise.”
Scott studied you for a second longer before sighing. “Okay. Just… be careful, alright?”
You nodded. “I will.”
Scott exhaled, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping back. “Alright. I’ll see you at dinner.”
You nodded again, waiting until his footsteps faded down the hall before shutting the door and pressing your forehead against it.
“That’s it,” Logan muttered, stepping out of the closet. “I’m ending this.”
You turned, brows furrowing. “What?”
“I’m tellin’ him.”
Your stomach plummeted. “No.”
Logan scoffed. “Y/N—”
“No,” you repeated, stepping in front of him. “We can’t just tell him.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t have an answer to that. And Logan knew it.
His expression softened just slightly. “Sweetheart…”
You swallowed, voice quieter. “I just… I don’t want to fight with him. I hate fighting with him. He’s the only family I have left.”
Logan’s gaze softened, but his jaw was still tight, his hands curling into fists like he was holding back every single thing he wanted to say.
“I know, sweetheart,” he muttered. “But lyin’ to him ain’t gonna fix that.”
You swallowed hard, arms crossing over your chest. “And telling him is?”
Logan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s gonna happen sooner or later.”
Your stomach twisted because, yeah, he was right. Scott was already suspicious, and keeping up this stupid fake thing with Peter was exhausting. But every time you thought about actually telling him—about watching his face change, seeing the way he’d probably look at you like you’d betrayed him—you couldn’t do it.
“I just need more time,” you said quietly.
Logan’s expression flickered, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. “Time for what?”
You hesitated. “Time to figure out how to tell him in a way that won’t make him hate me.”
Logan scoffed, shaking his head. “You really think he’s gonna hate you?”
You pressed your lips together, looking away.
“Doll,” Logan muttered, stepping closer. “Scott’s a pain in the ass, but he loves you. He’s not gonna stop because of me.”
You exhaled shakily. “You don’t know that.”
Logan reached out, his fingers curling gently under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Yeah, I do.”
You swallowed, staring at him. His hand was warm, his thumb brushing slow against your skin, his grip solid, grounding. But it wasn’t that easy.
“I just…” You shook your head. “I don’t wanna lose him, Logan.”
Logan sighed, his forehead dropping against yours for a second before he pulled back. “You ain’t gonna lose him. But you keep this up, you’re gonna lose your damn mind.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t really funny.
Logan studied you for a moment, then his fingers traced lightly down your arm before he let go. “You do what you gotta do. But I’m done sneakin’ around like some kid hidin’ from his girlfriend’s old man.”
Your stomach clenched. “So what? You’re just gonna start making out with me in the middle of the kitchen?”
Logan’s smirk was all teeth. “Hell yeah, I am.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Logan, I swear to God—”
“What?” he said, tilting his head. “I already told you, I ain’t sneakin’ around anymore. So if I feel like grabbin’ my girl and kissin’ the hell outta her in the middle of the damn kitchen, I’m gonna do it.”
Your stomach flipped, but you scowled. “You’ll get us caught.”
Logan just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Maybe.”
You threw your hands up. “That’s not a good thing!”
Logan huffed a laugh, stepping closer, backing you up against the edge of your desk. His hands landed on your hips, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Sweetheart, I ain’t the one lyin’ to your brother. That’s all you.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You agreed to this.”
“Yeah, and now I’m un-agreein’.” His hands slid higher, thumbs brushing against your ribs. “Gettin’ real tired of pretendin’ I don’t wanna put my hands on you every time you walk into a room.”
Your pulse spiked, and he definitely noticed. His smirk widened, and you knew you were losing this argument.
You exhaled sharply, putting a hand on his chest. “Just—give me a little more time, okay?”
Logan’s jaw ticked, his grip tightening for half a second before he sighed, stepping back. “Fine. But I ain’t makin’ it easy for you.”
You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Logan’s eyes gleamed with something downright smug. “Means if I wanna touch you, I’m gonna. If I wanna look at you like I’m thinkin’ about takin’ you apart right then and there, I’m gonna.”
Your mouth went dry. “Logan—”
“And if Summers gets suspicious?” Logan shrugged. “Not my problem.”
You gaped at him. “That’s literally the entire problem!”
Logan just smirked, brushing past you toward the door. “Better start thinkin’ of an exit plan, sweetheart.”
And with that, he strolled out of your room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, brain short-circuiting.
---
You were, in fact, completely screwed. Because Logan wasn’t bluffing.
It started small—little touches, barely noticeable. A hand resting on the small of your back as he walked past, fingers brushing yours when he handed you something, his knee knocking against yours under the table at dinner. Subtle things that could’ve been brushed off if you didn’t know him.
But then he got bolder.
Leaning in close whenever he talked to you, his voice dropping low enough that it sent shivers down your spine. His hand lingering on your waist just a second too long. The way he looked at you across a room—dark, intense, like he was daring you to react.
And Scott? Scott was starting to notice.
He wasn’t outright suspicious yet, but his eyes would narrow every time Logan got too close, every time Logan made some offhand comment that sounded just a little too familiar. It didn’t help that Peter was still being an ass about the whole thing, grinning like he knew Logan was barely keeping it together.
And then came the moment everything almost fell apart.
---
You were in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, minding your own business when Logan walked in. You knew it was him before you even looked up—the scent of cigar smoke and leather, the way the air in the room seemed to shift.
He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped up behind you, real close, one hand bracing on the counter beside yours. “You sleep okay?” he murmured, his voice low.
You swallowed. He wasn’t touching you, not really, but the heat of him at your back had your pulse spiking. “Fine,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Why?”
Logan hummed. “Thought maybe you’d have trouble, seein’ as how I wasn’t there.”
Your stomach flipped. Before you could tell him to knock it off, Scott walked in. Logan didn’t move.
Your breath caught in your throat, but you kept your expression neutral, forcing yourself to casually step away from the counter and grab a glass from the cabinet. Logan still hadn’t backed up, still standing too close, but at least he wasn’t blatantly touching you.
Scott paused in the doorway, glancing between the two of you. You braced yourself. But instead of questioning anything, Scott’s frown deepened, and then he said, “I need to talk to you.”
Your stomach sank. “Me?”
Scott nodded. “Now.”
You hesitated, then set your glass down. “Okay.” You didn’t look at Logan as you followed Scott out of the kitchen, but you could feel his eyes on you the whole way.
Scott led you to the study, shutting the door behind you. He didn’t say anything at first, just turned and studied you like he was trying to read your mind.
You crossed your arms. “Okay, what’s up?”
Scott exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s about Peter.”
You barely stopped yourself from groaning. “Again?”
Scott’s expression tightened. “You know I don’t trust him.”
You sighed. “Scott—”
“No, listen,” he said, crossing his arms. “I get that you don’t wanna hear it, but I don’t think he’s serious about this. I think he’s just screwing around, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Guilt punched you straight in the chest. Scott thought he was protecting you, looking out for you. And you were standing here, lying to his face. You swallowed hard. “Scott, I told you—I’m fine.”
Scott frowned. “You don’t even look happy when you’re with him. And I don’t mean, like, in some overprotective big brother way—I mean you don’t act like someone in a real relationship. There’s no… I don’t know. No connection. It’s like you’re just going through the motions.”
Your mouth was dry.
Scott exhaled, looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “So tell me the truth. What’s really going on?”
Your heart pounded. You could lie again. Dig yourself deeper.
Or—
You took a slow breath. “Scott…” You hesitated, stomach twisting, then forced the words out. “It’s not Peter.”
Scott’s brow furrowed. “What?”
You swallowed hard. “I’m not dating Peter.”
Scott just stared at you. “But—you said—”
“I lied,” you admitted, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “I only said it to get you off my back.”
Scott’s expression darkened. “So there is someone.” You hesitated. Scott took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Who?” You opened your mouth—then shut it. Scott’s gaze flickered, sharp, calculating. And then, like a switch flipping, realization dawned across his face. His jaw clenched. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Your stomach plummeted.
Scott took a sharp breath, hands curling into fists. “It’s Logan.”
Your pulse roared in your ears. He knew. Your heart raced as Scott’s entire body tensed, his face twisting into something between anger and disbelief.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, voice dangerously low.
You couldn’t. And that silence? That was enough.
Scott exhaled sharply, turning away like he physically couldn’t look at you. His hands went to his hips, his head dropping forward as he took a moment, his breathing tight, controlled. Then he turned back, expression like stone. “How long?”
You swallowed. “Scott—”
“How long?”
You hesitated. “Eight months.”
Scott inhaled through his nose, like he was trying very hard not to explode. “Eight months?” You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. Scott let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
You clenched your fists. “Scott, I—”
“No,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “You don’t get to explain this away.”
Your jaw tightened. “I wasn’t going to explain it away. I was going to tell you the truth.”
Scott scoffed. “Oh, now you wanna tell me the truth?”
You exhaled sharply. “Look, I get it, okay? You’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react exactly like this.”
Scott threw his hands up. “How the hell did you expect me to react?”
“I don’t know, maybe without immediately jumping down my throat?”
Scott’s glare was sharp. “You’re seriously gonna stand there and act like I shouldn’t be pissed that my best friend has been sneaking around with my little sister?”
Your frustration flared. “Logan isn’t just your best friend—he’s mine, too. And I didn’t plan for this to happen, Scott. It just… did.”
Scott ran both hands over his face, pacing. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.
You crossed your arms. “I know you don’t like it—”
“You think?”
You groaned. “Scott, I love him.” Scott’s pacing stopped. He turned, staring at you like you’d just said the most impossible thing in the world. You swallowed hard. “I love him,” you repeated, quieter this time.
Scott’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I need to talk to Logan.”
Your stomach twisted. “Scott—”
“No,” he said firmly, already heading for the door. “He wants to be with you? Fine. Then he can explain himself.”
And just like that, Scott was gone.
Your heart pounded as you stood there, frozen, bracing yourself for what came next. Scott was already storming down the hall, and you knew exactly where he was headed.
Shit.
You forced yourself to move, shoving away from the desk and hurrying after him. “Scott, wait—”
He didn’t. He was on a mission, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense as he turned the corner and entered the kitchen, where Logan was still leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world.
Logan barely had time to look up before Scott was right in front of him. “You and my sister?”
Logan set his coffee down with zero urgency, his expression unreadable. “Guessin’ she told you, huh?”
Scott let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Eight months. Eight months you’ve been sneaking around with my little sister, and you never thought to tell me?”
Logan crossed his arms. “Didn’t think you’d take it well.”
Scott scoffed. “Yeah, no shit.”
You stepped forward, pulse still racing. “Scott, I—”
“No, you stay out of this for a second,” Scott snapped, pointing at you before turning back to Logan. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
Logan’s face remained infuriatingly calm. “And?”
“And you didn’t think that maybe—just maybe—I deserved to know?”
Logan exhaled slowly, like he was thinking very carefully about what he was going to say. “Look, Summers. You’re pissed, I get it. But me not tellin’ you? That was her call.”
Scott turned to you, eyes flashing. “Seriously?”
You squared your shoulders. “I knew you’d react like this.”
Scott threw his hands up. “Like what? Like someone who just found out his best friend has been messing around with his sister behind his back?”
Logan’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to something more dangerous. “Watch it, Summers.”
Scott’s head snapped back to him. “Or what?”
Logan’s hands flexed at his sides, but he didn’t move, didn’t take the bait. Instead, he just held Scott’s glare, unmoving. “You really think I’d do somethin’ to hurt her?”
Scott clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
“C’mon, man,” Logan continued, his tone lower now, less defensive. “I get why you’re pissed. I do. But I ain’t some asshole just messin’ around.” His gaze flicked to you for half a second before he looked back at Scott. “I love her.”
Your breath caught.
Scott’s shoulders tensed. “You what?”
Logan exhaled sharply, like he hated repeating himself, but he still did. “I love her.”
Scott’s jaw was tight, his whole body still stiff, but for the first time since he walked in, he didn’t immediately fire back. He was processing.
You didn’t wait for him to figure it out. You stepped forward, voice quieter now. “Scott… I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s not your decision. I love him.”
Scott closed his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. When he opened them, some of the sharp anger had faded, replaced with something more complicated. Frustration. Conflict.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I need a minute.”
You hesitated. “Scott—”
“I just—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I just need a second, okay?”
You exchanged a glance with Logan, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Scott sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out. The second he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, shoulders slumping.
“Well,” Logan muttered, reaching for his coffee, “that coulda gone worse.”
You shot him a look. “Are you kidding?”
Logan smirked. “No punches were thrown. I call that a win.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “He’s so pissed.”
“Yeah,” Logan admitted, taking a sip of his coffee. “But he’ll get over it.”
You exhaled sharply. “You sound real confident about that.”
Logan shrugged. “He’ll come around. Might take a bit, but he will.”
You swallowed, staring at the spot Scott had just been standing. You weren’t so sure.
---
Scott avoided both of you for two days.
Not in a dramatic, storming-out-of-the-room way—more like a tight-lipped, jaw-clenched, very obvious avoidance where he refused to be alone with either of you. If you walked into a room, he’d suddenly have somewhere else to be. If Logan so much as glanced in his direction, Scott’s entire body would tense like he was physically restraining himself from starting a fight.
And when he did speak to you, it was short. Civil, but distant.
It sucked.
Rogue had been the first to break the silence, dropping onto your bed the night after the whole blow-up with an exaggerated sigh.
“Well, sugar, I gotta say, it could be worse.”
You shot her a look. “How?”
She smirked. “He hasn’t tried to kill Logan yet.”
You groaned, rolling onto your side. “Yet.”
Rogue nudged your arm. “He’ll get over it.”
You exhaled sharply. “You sound just like Logan.”
She grinned. “Well, maybe he’s got a point.”
You sighed, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not just that he’s pissed. It’s like… I don’t know. Like he’s disappointed.”
Rogue’s smirk softened. “Scott’s a control freak, Y/N. He likes things a certain way, and you dating Logan? That wasn’t in the plan.”
You didn’t answer.
Rogue tilted her head. “You ever think maybe it’s not just about Logan?”
Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Rogue shrugged. “I think Scott’s got it in his head that you’re always gonna be his baby sister. That he can always look out for you, make sure you don’t get hurt.” She gave you a look. “And now? You don’t need him like that anymore.”
You hadn’t thought about it like that.
Rogue sighed, patting your arm before standing. “Just give him time. And maybe don’t rub it in his face too much.”
You huffed. “Tell that to Logan.”
Rogue snorted. “Oh, I did. He just smirked at me and said, ‘Summers already hates me. What’s the worst that could happen?’”
You groaned. “I hate him.”
“No, you don’t,” Rogue said with a grin, already heading for the door. “Night, sugar.”
You sighed, flopping back against your pillows. Time. You just had to wait.
---
It took four days. On the fifth, Scott finally cornered you outside, catching you by the greenhouse just before dinner. “Hey.”
You turned, heart jumping slightly. You hadn’t talked alone since he’d found out. “Hey.”
Scott shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “You got a minute?”
You nodded, following him to one of the benches near the garden. The silence stretched between you, awkward and heavy.
Finally, Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m still not… thrilled about this.”
You swallowed. “I know.”
“But.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I’ve been thinking. And… you’re not a kid.”
Your lips twitched. “Glad you finally noticed.”
Scott huffed, but his expression softened. “I can’t say I like it. And I definitely don’t like Logan.”
You snorted. “Yeah, I got that.”
Scott gave you a look before sighing again. “But I know he’s not just screwing around with you.”
You hesitated. “No. He’s not.”
Scott’s jaw tightened for half a second, but then he nodded. “And I know you wouldn’t be with him if you didn’t really want to.”
You swallowed hard. “I don’t just want to, Scott. I—” You hesitated before finishing, “I love him.”
Scott exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead like the very idea gave him a headache. “Yeah. I know.”
You bit your lip. “So…?”
Scott sighed. “So I’m not gonna fight you on it.”
Your chest tightened. “Really?”
Scott gave you a look. “I still don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“But… if this is what you want, then I’ll deal with it.”
Something in your throat clenched. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed to hear that.
Scott sighed, shaking his head. “Just—if he does screw this up? I’m kicking his ass.”
You smirked. “I think you’d have to get in line.”
Scott snorted, finally—finally—cracking a small smile.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was enough. And for now? That was all you needed. With a quick dive, before he could push you away, you hugged him.
Scott stiffened for half a second—because, yeah, you weren’t exactly the most affectionate siblings—but then he sighed, relenting, patting your back once. “Okay, okay. That’s enough.”
You grinned, squeezing him tighter just to be annoying before finally letting go. “You’re such a softie.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Yeah, don’t spread that around.”
You smirked. “No promises.”
Scott exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “So… Logan.”
You sighed, already bracing yourself. “Scott—”
“I’m not gonna lecture you,” he interrupted, then paused. “Much.”
You crossed your arms. “That’s reassuring.”
Scott gave you a look. “I’m serious. Just… be careful, okay? Logan’s not exactly the easiest person to be with.”
Your stomach twisted, but you nodded. “I know.”
Scott hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but then he just sighed. “And if he ever—”
“He won’t.”
Scott frowned. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“Yes, I do.” You met his gaze. “And he won’t.”
Scott studied you for a second, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. But if he does screw this up, I’m still kicking his ass.”
You smirked. “You can try.”
Scott scowled, but you could see the reluctant amusement in his eyes. “Alright. We good?”
Your chest loosened. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Scott nodded, then exhaled sharply, muttering, “Can’t believe you made me have this conversation.”
You snorted. “Hey, technically, you cornered me first.”
Scott huffed, shaking his head as he turned away. “Whatever. Just… don’t be weird about it.”
You grinned. “Define weird.”
Scott shot you a glare over his shoulder. “I swear to God, Y/N—”
You laughed, and even though he rolled his eyes, you caught the way his expression softened just a little. Maybe things weren’t completely back to normal, but it was close enough. And that was a hell of a lot better than days of radio silence.
---
Later that night, you were in your room, scrolling through your phone when a quiet knock sounded at your window.
You already knew who it was. Rolling your eyes, you got up and pulled the curtain back. Sure enough, Logan was standing outside, arms crossed, looking way too smug for someone sneaking in like a damn teenager.
You cracked the window open. “You know, we have doors.”
Logan smirked. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”
You sighed, but stepped back, letting him climb inside. The second his feet hit the floor, his hands were on your waist, pulling you close. “So?” he murmured, voice low, his breath warm against your temple. “How pissed is he?”
You leaned into him, resting your hands on his chest. “Less than before.”
Logan snorted. “That ain’t sayin’ much.”
You smirked. “Well, he didn’t try to kill you today, so that’s progress.”
Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Guess I’ll take what I can get.”
You hummed, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. “Told you he’d come around.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Logan’s lips skimmed your throat, his hands sliding lower. “You want me to tell you that you were right?”
You grinned. “It would be nice.”
Logan huffed. “Ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”
You laughed, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him down into a kiss. His hands tightened on your hips, his body pressing closer, and suddenly, you weren’t thinking about Scott or the last few days or anything else. Just Logan—his mouth, his hands, the heat between you.
He pushed you down onto your bed, Pickles’ legs separating you from your mattress. Logan froze. You blinked up at him, still breathless from the way he’d kissed you. “What?”
His eyes flicked down, jaw clenching. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
You followed his gaze and nearly lost it. Pickles was wedged between you two, his oversized plush limbs keeping Logan from pressing you fully into the mattress. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “What, is he in the way?”
Logan’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Move him.”
You grinned, making no effort to do so. “I don’t know, Logan. Maybe he wants to chaperone.”
Logan exhaled sharply, sitting back on his heels. “That’s it. He’s gotta go.”
Before you could react, he grabbed Pickles by the torso and chucked him across the room. The bear hit the chair in the corner, flopped onto the floor, and landed face down. You gasped, sitting up. “Logan!”
He just shrugged, completely unapologetic. “He had it comin’.”
“You are so petty,” you said, glaring at him.
Logan smirked, pushing you back down, his weight settling over you again. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?”
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m getting him back later.”
He chuckled, dipping his head to brush his lips against your jaw. "Not obsessed. Just don’t like sharin’." His teeth scraped against your skin, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "And you—" His hands slid lower, gripping your hips. "—are mine."
Your breath caught. "Yeah?"
Logan hummed against your throat. "Damn right."
You barely had time to register the shift before he had you flipped onto your stomach, your body pressing into the mattress as his weight settled over you. His hands smoothed over your sides, slow, teasing. "This okay?"
You exhaled shakily, tilting your head back slightly before repeating, "yeah."
Logan made a satisfied noise, his lips trailing along the back of your shoulder as his fingers curled around your wrists, pinning them against the sheets. "Good," he muttered. "Now let’s see if I can make you forget about that damn bear."
You barely bit back a laugh—before his teeth sank lightly into the side of your neck, and any smart-ass response you had completely disappeared. You were definitely screwed.
You were eighteen when your parents first allowed you to start dating boys, that’s how strict they were, and not much has changed in the past two years since then. The rules stayed the same: no parties, no staying out late, no smoking or drinking- typical for someone in their teens, not a young adult. As you grew you found yourself getting tired of your parents’ harsh boundaries, and you always had the nagging feeling of needing to break free, you were just never sure of how to do it, until you met him.
Logan was your dad’s older step-brother, and he had come just a little while ago to stay with you for a few weeks. You don’t really know all the details, something about his girlfriend kicking him out, you weren’t sure. Your dad had told you he didn’t really speak to Logan much, and once you met him, you understood why. The man was a douchebag to say the least. Rude, short-tempered, vulgar. Despite this, you found yourself strangely attracted to him.
The looks were definitely part of it, all dark-haired, muscular and tall, you would be a fool to not be into that- but his attitude was starting to grow on you too. You were respectful, pleasant, the opposite of everything he was. Perhaps his own nature was sparking a bit of rebellion in you the more time you spent with him, and he just never knew.
It was late when your parents had left, deciding to have a date night to themselves, leaving you and your uncle all alone in the house. You had cooked dinner, and after eating, decided to join him in the living room. The tv plays some random movie that the two of you are barely watching.
“You drink?” Logan suddenly asks, breaking the quiet between you two, his eyes still on the tv screen just ahead.
You look over to him, watching his lips around the rim of the beer bottle in his hand as he takes a sip.
“No,” you shake your head. “My parents don’t let me.” It sounds silly, a grown adult who doesn't drink because their parents won’t allow them to, and the little chuckle Logan lets out confirms what you’re thinking.
“Who gives a fuck about what they think?” he dismisses.
“I do,” you respond with a slight frown.
Logan finally looks at you, and scoffs after a moment of silence. “You don’t have to listen to them, you know?” He takes another sip of beer. “You’re what- twenty? Maybe it’s about time to start thinking for yourself.”
You shrug. “Maybe… I just-” You’re cut off by Logan.
“What? Afraid you’ll make them upset at you?” He asks, almost taunting you. “Scared they’ll be disappointed in their perfect little girl?” His smirk widens, and he can clearly sense the slight fear in you when you don’t respond.
“C’mon,” he urges, scooting closer to you and holding the half-drank bottle of beer in your direction. “Take a little sip.”
Your body noticeably heats up at the older mans close proximity. You look down at the bottle in front of your face, then back up at him. “I dunno,” you mutter. “Mom and dad will get mad.”
“Ah, come on.” His arm goes around your shoulder, and he feels you tense slightly. “No one’s here but us, they’re not gonna know.” Rough fingertips graze the top of your chest, just barely. He knows what he’s doing, the little look in his eyes telling you all you need to know.
He presses the bottle to your lips, and with hesitation, you take a sip. The bitter flavor passes over your tongue, and you grimace at the taste. Logan watches with amusement.
“Good girl,” he praises, pulling back the bottle just enough to let you speak once you swallow. “You don’t like it, do you?”
You shake your head, using your sleeve to wipe away the liquid that had dripped on your face. “Not really.”
Logan laughs quietly. “It’s not about the taste, baby.” He brings the bottle closer again. “It’s about the feeling it gives you.”
Half a bottle later, and you can definitely notice the feeling he was telling you about. Your brain feels a bit fuzzy, so sensitive to the alcohol you hadn’t even had a mere sip of before tonight.
“How are you feelin’?” Logan asks you, knowing damn well just how you’re feeling. He’s seen drunk people enough times to know you’re getting there.
“Mm,” you hum. “Feels funny.”
Logan smiles, amused by the sight before him. “Yeah?” His arm around you pulls you closer, to the point that you’re practically on top of him, nearly sitting on his lap. A hand snakes down to your thigh, and he gently squeezes the soft flesh there.
“I think I might know a way to make you feel even better than you already do…” His voice is low in your ear, and your already warm body flushes even deeper. His movement is slow as his touch comes up your thigh, to your hip, his fingertips dipping just under the elastic waist of your shorts.
“You’ve never been touched before, have you, baby?”
Those words make your breath stop in your chest, both out of surprise and slight embarrassment. It’s almost a shame to admit that you’ve never had sex, let alone kissed anyone at your age- but he already knows so much, no shame in admitting this to him now.
You shake your head sheepishly, your voice going soft as you answer with a meek little “no,” which makes Logans dirty grin widen a bit.
“Oh, nothin’ wrong with that.” His fingers sink lower into your shorts, making his way beneath the lace of your panties now too. “Just means I get to be your first…”
You turn your head to the side to look at him, his lips dangerously close to your own. The distance is too tempting, and you both lean in to close it, meeting halfway. He can tell you’ve never been kissed before, the way you freeze for a second before his own lips moving goad yours into doing the same. He finds it cute, and all the more arousing how inexperienced you are.
His tongue presses against your own, wet and hot, just like the cunt he finds himself rubbing his fingers against. You’re already soaked just from the kiss, and he would chuckle at that if his lips weren’t on yours at the moment. You can’t help but moan into him as he circles your untouched clit, making you spread your legs further, instinctively wanting more.
Logans lips part from yours, leaving you breathless. “You like this, don’t you? Like how uncle Logan plays with your pussy?” His voice is low and deep in your ear when he says it, nipping at your neck with his teeth. You can only respond with breathless moans. A stuttered little “yes” leaves you.
“Mm,” he grunts against your soft skin. “Good. Such a good girl, letting me touch you like this.” You could almost cum just from his filthy praises.
Your panties are soaked through at this point, a wet spot on your shorts being the embarrassing sign of your arousal, and Logan is eating it up. You, young and innocent, ripe for the taking. He feels so incredibly lucky to have you like this.
Logan's fingers continue to rub your clit, just at the perfect pace so as to not overwhelm you. His face is buried into your neck, sucking and leaving marks that he’s sure will bruise. You’ll have fun explaining that to your parents tomorrow.
He knows when you’re close, when you start to whine like a puppy more and more, when your hips start to twitch ever so slightly, when your hand tries to desperately wrap around the thick of his wrist. You’re just about to tip over the edge, gripping him so tightly, when he stops.
“You think I’m gonna let this end that quickly?” He asks, voice low in your ear. He gives your cunt a light slap, making you whimper, before he pulls his hand from your shorts. “I wanna take my time with you. Lay down and take off your shorts.”
You’re a bit frustrated that he didn’t let you cum first, but you find yourself obeying his orders, too needy now to even think twice about the fact that you’re doing all this with your dad’s step-brother. You lie back on the couch, and Logan is quick to slot himself between your spread legs, already assisting you in pulling your shorts off. He tosses them along with your panties, forgotten in the corner of the room somewhere and leaving you bare for his eyes to take in. You’re a sight to see, he thinks- his step-niece all laid out for him, ready to be taken. He almost growls at the thought.
His hands are quick in working off his own belt, undoing his pants and hastily shoving them down his strong thighs. Out comes the thick length of his cock, sprouting from a bush of dark pubic hair, and your eyes go wide at the sight. You had never seen one in person before, but you were certain his would be considered big- way too big. It’s long, girthy with a couple veins coming up to the uncut tip.
Logan seems to notice the sudden unease in your demeanor, and your eyes finally meet his again when he speaks. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure it fits. pretty doll.” His smile would be more reassuring if not for the perverse way he looks at you.
He brings a hand between your legs, rubbing his calloused fingertips through your slick folds, feeling how incredibly soaked you are for him before he pushes two fingers inside you. You let out a breath at the stretch, an unfamiliar feeling. You had fingered yourself before, but Logans fingers were much thicker and longer compared to your own slender ones. He starts to push them in and out, climbing on top of you and coming closer as he does.
Your lips meet, the kiss initiated by you this time. Perhaps the alcohol in your system has you getting a bit confident, but Logan quickly reminds you of who’s in charge of this whole situation when he brings his free hand up to give you a light slap on your hip, making you whimper into his mouth. The same hand then moves up your body, pulling your shirt up past your chest before Logan roughly gropes one of your breasts. Two fingers pinch at the hardened bud of your sensitive nipple, a muffled moan leaving your lips at the feeling.
His fingers seem to speed up, plunging in and out quickly, until he pushes them in deep one last time before pulling them out. A string of saliva connects you two, the evidence of your messy kiss when he pulls away. You’re left panting afterwards, your breath hitching when Logan suddenly grabs your face, clearly not trying to hurt you but not being gentle either as he squishes your cheeks with one hand while making you look up at him.
Before you are his fingers, soaked with your essence, which he pushes slowly between your glossy lips. If you weren’t a bit buzzed at the moment, you’d push his hand away and gag at what you’re currently doing, but you don’t. Logan watches, pleased as your eyes seem to relax and your stiff jaw goes slack.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Good…” You suck your slick off his fingers, the taste slightly salty yet bitter, something you can’t quite put your finger on. The last thing you thought you’d ever do was taste yourself on someone else’s fingers, but here you are. Rough fingertips press down on your tongue, making you gag just a bit, before they slip out of your mouth, and a chuckle leaves Logan.
“Didn’t think you’d be such a nasty little thing so quickly.” He gives a soft pat to your cheek. “Couldn’t even get my girl back home to do that.” You try to ignore that, reminded that the man you’re about to lose your virginity to has a girlfriend. He really is a dick.
“C’mon,” Logan says, big hands reaching for your hips. “Turn over, yeah?” You do as he says, allowing him to help you get adjusted in your new position on your arms and knees on the couch, legs spread with your back arched. As soon as you get settled, Logan takes the opportunity to admire the view from behind, a bit of a smirk gracing his rugged features at the sight of his little niece all bent over and spread out for him.
He mutters a soft “damn” as his hands grip the soft flesh of your hips, closing in on you to the point you can feel his body heat on your skin and the head of his stiff cock pressing against your thigh.
“Nice ass you got here, girl.” He gives a soft slap to your left ass cheek with his compliment, snickering a little as he does so and admiring the way the flesh jiggles from the force of his hand.
You glance over your shoulder, watching with anticipation as he keeps one hand on your hip while the other wraps around his swollen cock, giving it a few pumps. He brings himself closer to you, rubbing the pinkish tip through your slicked up folds with a soft sigh at how wet you are. He makes sure to focus on your clit, swiping the sticky slit against that swollen nub just enough to make you twitch slightly with pleasure, before he glides back to your opening. Logan presses himself against you, not enough to slide in, but enough so you can feel it. You tense, and he notices.
“It’s ok,” he assures, tone soft as he seems to try to genuinely comfort you to the best of his ability. He was never good at being nice. His hand on your hip squeezes slightly, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin. “You’ll tell me if it hurts, won’t you, baby?”
You nod, taking in a breath. “Yeah…”
His lips curl into a smile. “Good girl.” Logan moves in so his chest is pressed to your back, his warmth slightly distracting you from the feeling of your heart pounding nervously in your chest. Your hands cling on to the couch cushions, your breath hitching as he presses in, the thick tip sinking just past the tight little opening.
You whimper, and he shushes you, kissing at one of the pink marks that’s just starting to bruise on your neck. He pushes in further, slowly but you feel as though you’re ripping apart when the thin membrane of your hymen stretches and tears. You bite down hard on your lip, stifling back any pained sounds as Logans hips still when he’s halfway in.
“You ok, pretty?” He asks, a low whisper against your ear. “Yeah, ‘m ok, Uncle Lo.” His lips press against your cheek, a way to show you he cares, at least a little bit. For him being so mean all the time, he’s somewhat gentle with you.
He starts to move his hips again, pushing into you more and more, inch by inch. You bite down on your lip, so hard you swear it might bleed. Your hands grip the throw pillow you’ve decided to cling on to. He’s so thick you think he might just split you in two when he’s fully sheathed, all the way inside you. He stills again, not wanting to overwhelm you and letting you adjust to his size for a moment, despite how much he’d love to just lose control and start pounding you into oblivion. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a monster.
His hand goes from your hip to the small of your waist, giving the soft curve a comforting squeeze. “Feel ok? Ya ready for me to move?” You nod, the discomfort fading into a desperate need for more. “Please.”
Logan seems pleased to hear you so eager for him, a low growl leaving his lips. He pulls his hips back, only to push himself inside you with a bit of force, making your body jolt forward slightly. The motion of his hips repeats, in and out, back and forth, until he sets a steady and slow paced rhythm for now.
He’s starting to feel it now, the way your virgin hole is wrapped so tightly around his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, breath hot and moist against your skin. “Never would’ve guessed my little niece would have such a tight cunt.” Logan feels the way you seem to squeeze him even tighter for just a moment when he says it, and an amused yet dirty grin crosses his lips.
“You like that, don’t you?” His thrusts speed up, going harder. “Like uncle Lo tellin’ you what a tight little pussy you’ve got?” You just whine, unable to say anything when you can already feel your brain going numb at just how good his big cock feels ramming into you- but clearly your lack of a response doesn’t suffice for him. A firm slap lands on your rear, making you squeal, before the same hand comes up to grab your hair at the scalp.
“Answer me,” he growls. You would be surprised at how suddenly rough he’s being with you if you weren’t so into it. “N-nnh- Y-yes, Logan,” you answer meekly. “Fuckin’ love it so much.” Logan grins. He’s never heard you swear before.
“That’s a good girl,” he praises, his voice low and barely audible above the ‘plap’ sound of his tanned flesh meeting yours. “Gonna turn you into such a perfect slut for me.” His promise seeps into your brain. You can feel it, your body and mind melting, molding perfectly into being his and his alone.
Logan sits up properly on his knees, no longer with his sweaty chest pressed into you as he continues to pound into you with rough and intense vigor. You can’t see what’s happening behind you, but you can feel when he suddenly grips your ass. He squeezes and spreads the round globes of your cheeks, eyeing the little hole hidden between. A dirty looking grin crosses his face, one like no other.
“Cute,” he murmurs. You’re not sure what’s happening, what he’s doing, but you know you feel suddenly more conscious in the moment, just when he presses the tip of his thumb into the tight ring of your ass. A gasp leaves your parted lips, the feeling foreign and so incredibly dirty. “Nice and tight too. Maybe I’ll fuck this hole next time.”
Humiliated is the one word you could think to describe what you’re feeling. Logan can sense it too, and it gives him a sort of sick satisfaction to know that he’s doing this to you, that he’s corrupting you like this. He decides to take it a step further when he speaks next.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya’, baby?”
You could almost cry, lip quivering. But you can’t deny it. “Y-yes, uncle Lo.” Pathetic, he thinks. “Hmm,” he hums, sinking his thumb slightly deeper, feeling the strong grip you have around his finger, just before pulling it out. “I’ll have to keep that in mind then.”
He gives your ass a hard slap, making you whine pitifully before his grip returns to your waist. “God, ‘m gonna fill this pussy up soon,” he mutters low beneath his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. You should be freaked out by that, you know. You can’t be having anyone’s babies at this age, especially not your much older step-uncles babies- but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything other than a thrill at the thought.
“Please, Logan,” you plead. “Give me your cum. Need it so bad.” Logan could bust just hearing that sweet voice of yours begging for it, sounding like the call of the purest of angels. He’s unsure if he’s died and gone up to Heaven or not.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it, baby.” He comes down so his chest is to your back again, and his strong arm wraps around your neck instantaneously, being careful not to hurt you. His thrusts speed up, pounding into you harder than previous. You moan loud, an almost choked sound when his cock head hits your cervix, hard and deep. “Gonna make sure you’re full to the brim.”
It’s not long before Logan fulfills that promise. A few more pumps of his hips against yours, his bicep bulging against your throat when his arm tightens around your delicate neck, and you feel it. ”Fuck-” A low grunt escapes his thin lips, burying himself as deep as he can inside the tightness of your cunt as a torrent of hot cum floods your insides. You gasp at the unfamiliar feeling, trying to squirm away, but Logan keeps you there with his body pinning you to the couch.
“Not gettin’ away from me,” he grumbles. “Let your uncle breed you like you need.” He gives one final, deep slam into you, ensuring that his seed stays planted in your womb before he slips out with a hiss.
You collapse on the couch, body hot and exhausted, but Logan isn’t done with you. His hands grab at your waist, trying to pull you back. You quickly peer over your shoulder, watching as he gets down between your legs, maneuvering your hips to be lifted off the couch again.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Logan’s eyes meet yours when he hears your question. “Lady’s gotta cum too, yeah?” He doesn’t give you any time to answer before his lips meet with your used cunt. A gasp leaves you, a sound of surprise and pleasure. His skilled tongue licks a long stripe from your clit to the end of your slit, going back up and sucking on the sensitive nub and making you squeal with delight.
His tongue laps at your hole, eating the filthy mixture of his cum and your juices from out of you, soaking his stubbled chin. It’s clear he’s done this before, having no problem with doing such a nasty thing.
Your hand reaches back, taking grip of his dark brown locks, styled neatly with gel until your fingers get ahold of it. Your hips push back against his face, and he happily takes it, letting out a muffled growl into your pussy as his hands squeeze the soft flesh of your thighs tighter. He starts to eat you out faster, with more vigor, desperate to get you to your peak, and you can feel it approaching.
“O-oh-” Your fingers nearly dig into his scalp, holding him impossibly tighter, as close to you as you can get him. “Fuck. Feels so good, daddy.” Logan grins against your cunt. Never in a million years did he think he’d hear that coming from you, but he just did. You weren’t sure why you said it either, it just came to you. You’d heard it used in porn a few times, and this seemed to fit the sort of situation you’d see in one of those videos. Perhaps it was just instinct.
Your hips tremble, grinding back against Logan’s aged face. The heat in your belly pools, hot like fire before it hits you. You practically scream. “L-Logan!” If you weren’t home alone he would’ve shoved the throw pillow into your face to shut you up real quick, but thankfully, he’s able to relish in your pretty sounds just the way he’d like to.
He sucks harder on your clit as you cum on his face, grinding against his face wildly, and he lets you- because what kind of man would he be if he didn’t? It seems to be over just as quick as it happened, to you at least, and you’re left panting, head spinning as he pulls back.
Logan gets up, coming to stand in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing you by your jaw and guiding your head so you’re facing him. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip. He clearly wants you to open your mouth, and you do, sticking your tongue out. Logan leans down, and spits the mixture of his cum and your own right on to the center of your tongue. You retch at first, but Logan closes your mouth. “That’s it,” he urges, giving your face a soft pat. “Swallow it.” You do, with a bit of reluctance, letting the salty taste run down your throat with a shiver going up your spine.
“Good job,” he praises, ruffling the top of your head before he turns away, leaving you on the couch, numb and soaked in your own sweat.
It’s quiet for a while, you sitting there collecting your thoughts. processing what all has just happened, until Logan breaks the silence.
“So, daddy, huh?” He asks with a smirk as he pulls his pants back on, and you scoff.
“What? You don’t like it?”
“Now who said that?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he clasps the buckle on his belt. “Just wondering where such a sweet lil’ thing like you got the nerve to say something like that.”
You shrug. You weren’t really sure either.
“Maybe you’re already rubbing off on me.” Your eyes meet his, a little smile cracking your previously tired expression.
Logan can’t help but grin at that. You’re cute, he thinks. He’s not a very sappy guy, but damn if he could just see you like this all the time- all soft and pretty after he’s just had his way with you, all his.
Summary: You’ve never felt fully at home in your own skin, but that has never stopped Joel from showing you just how much he wants you. One night, you gather the courage to show him what you’ve been too afraid to share, and he shows you exactly what it means to be wanted, worshipped, and seen.
|| smut MDNI 18+, Joel is down bad in love, self conscious reader, no physical description (except 'soft belly') but reader is insecure of their body, no specific timeline, age gap mentioned but not specified, pinv, f!receiving oral, little bit of (f!receiving) ass play, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, soft!joel, he calls you like every pet name in the book. some aftercare ||
notes: joel miller in reading glasses hello? dont kill me for being a little bit of a cornball in here. joel is a cornball when he's in love. Yes I know I wrote the word pretty a lot! That’s the point!!!
Inspired by this request
Joel’s bed became home long before you were ready to admit it.
It’s where you feel safest. It’s where he tugs you into his chest first thing in the morning, rough hand splayed over your back like it belongs there, murmuring something low and sleep-thick against your temple. It’s where you read curled into his side at night, him propped up against the headboard in that worn old Henley, eyes flicking lazily over the pages of whatever book you handed him, while yours is gripped a little tighter, the latest thriller mystery that has your heartbeat ticking up by the final chapters.
He had told you to stop reading them before bed once, but he didn’t really mean it. Not when you curled tighter into him, not when your hand slid across his stomach and stayed there gripping him like you needed to be close to something steady, something warm. Something like him.
Joel loves you like this. Warm and soft and pliant in his bed.
It’s one of his favorite places. Not just for pressing you down into the mattress and filling you, not just for the pretty, breathy sounds you make when you’re too far gone to think about what you look like or where his hands are. No—he loves the quiet moments, too. The ones where your limbs are tangled up with his, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, your skin still carrying the ghost of his touch.
And every now and then, when you’re asleep on his chest or laughing at something dumb he said, he still finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up with a girl like you.
You’re so much younger. So much softer. He doesn’t know what you see in a man like him—older, rougher, carved from all the years you haven’t had to carry yet. You could’ve had anyone. But you chose him.
You’ve been together a few months now, and he still hasn’t wrapped his head around it. Still doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, your sweetness, your sharp quick wit when he least expects it.
He tried to keep his distance at first. Tried not to look too long when you smiled, not to follow the sound of your voice like a damn tether every time you were in the room. Told himself it wasn’t right. You weren’t for him. You were good. But you kept coming closer.
And once you started to pursue him—sweet and fearless and so goddamn certain—his resolve didn’t just crack. It collapsed.
The years between you didn’t matter to him anymore. The guilt didn’t matter. The voice in his head that told him to stop, that warned him he was too old, too jaded, too broken to ever deserve you—it all went quiet the second you looked at him like he was worth wanting.
He had to have you. To feel you, hear you, know you. So he gave in.
But there was still something there he didn’t quite understand, even now. Something that never quite leaves him.
Because every time he takes you to bed with the singular thought of getting you naked, of taking you until he gets his fill, until you’re trembling and wrecked and crying out his name—every single time, he sees it.
That flicker of hesitation.
He watches your shoulders shrink inward. Watches the way your hands move to cover your belly the second his fingers slip beneath your shirt. The way your breath stutters like you’re already bracing for something—even if it’s just his eyes.
You never say it out loud. You don’t have to.
And every time he settles over you, broad chest looming, palms sliding down your sides with reverent slowness as he lays you down on his bedspread, you ask him in that sweet, uncertain voice:
“Can we turn the light off?”
And Joel… hesitates.
Just for a second. Just long enough to take one more look at your face—flushed and perfect and lips swollen from letting him kiss them until they’re bruised. He always obliges. Always reaches over and clicks off the bedside lamp without a word, even if something in his chest aches as the room goes dark.
In the low moonlight, he can still see pieces of you. The softness of your belly. The curve of your thighs. The arch of your back when you start to melt beneath his touch. And he reveres it. All of it.
Worships you like you’re something holy.
But even in the dark, he notices everything.
The way your breath hitches when he kisses down your body—not with pleasure, but with discomfort. The subtle tension in your limbs when he trails his lips past your ribs. The way you squirm when his mouth lingers at the tender skin between your stomach and mound. Not because it’s too much. But because you don’t want to be seen.
And it kills him a little every time.
Because he wants to see you. All of you. Wants you to know that there is not a single inch of your body he doesn’t adore.
But still, like many nights before, he obliges you tonight and reaches over to turn out the light at your request.
The room falls into darkness.
Joel wakes to the warm and golden light of the morning, the kind where sunlight filters through the blinds in soft, slatted beams, pooling across the hardwood floor. The kind where the world outside feels far away, like it can wait a little longer while the house stays quiet.
His mind fully catches up to the scent of coffee and the soft creak of floorboards.
The bed is empty beside him, blankets still warm, your pillow carrying the shape of your head. He rubs the sleep from his face and swings his legs over the edge, the weight of last night still humming low in his chest.
He finds you in the kitchen.
You’re at the counter, barefoot, wearing nothing but his t-shirt—one of those older ones, soft and stretched out, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair’s a little messy, skin still marked in places from where his mouth had worshipped you in the hours of the night.
You’re so focused on pouring coffee into your favorite mug—the pink one with the little chip at the rim, just big enough to catch your lip if you’re not careful—that you don’t hear him come in.
He steps in behind you, silent as ever, warmth radiating off his chest before you even feel his hands.
One arm slips around your waist, the other gliding up beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—until his hand splays flat across your stomach. His lips find your neck a second later, soft and unhurried, brushing along your skin as he breathes you in.
You stiffen, just a little. It’s not resistance, you could never resist him, but your body goes still beneath his touch, that automatic flicker of self-consciousness rising to the surface like it always does when he touches you in the daylight.
Still, you don’t move away.
Joel’s voice is low and rough in your ear, all gravel and morning warmth, “‘Mornin’, darlin’.”
You smile, small, a little sheepish, but it’s there. “Morning.”
His hand drops lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hip, then sliding up again, slow and lazy. His other arm tightens around your front, keeping you pulled against him as his lips trail from your neck to your cheek.
“Joel—” you murmur, half a protest, half a laugh, squirming under his touch.
“You look so pretty like this,” he says, voice thicker now, rougher with sleep and want. “So sexy in my shirt, honey.”
You go quiet. Not because you don’t like it. But because it still hits that spot—the part of you that flinches at being seen. You press your lips together, focus on the coffee in your hand, as if the words might disappear if you just don’t look at him.
But Joel sees it. Feels the shift. The way you tense ever so slightly when he calls you nice things. Like the words don’t fit, not yet. Like you still haven’t figured out how to wear them.
He kisses your cheek again, slower this time.
“I mean it,” he adds softly.
You nod once, a breath catching in your chest before you murmur, “I know.”
Joel leans in and kisses the back of your head, just behind your ear, then murmurs against your skin, “Put the coffee down for a second.”
You glance over your shoulder, suspicious but smiling. “Why?”
“Just do it, baby.”
With a soft sigh, you set the mug back on the counter. Before you can ask again, he’s turning you in his arms, hands firm but careful on your hips and over the shirt, as he spins you to face him.
He steps in close, real close, until the backs of your thighs press against the cabinets and his hands come up to cradle your face. Big, warm palms on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the softness there like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his touch.
Then his hands squish your cheeks between his hands, just enough to puff your lips out like a fish.
Your brows furrow as you try in vain to pull away. “Joel—!”
“Say it,” he says, dead serious despite the ridiculous hold he has on your face.
Your eyebrows knit further as you still. “Say what?”
He smirks, dipping his head until your noses bump. “Say: I’m pretty.”
You groan, giggling despite yourself as you try to wiggle free. “Joel, oh my god—”
He holds on, pressing exaggerated kisses to your squished face—your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your puffed out top lip. “Say it. Go on. I’ll wait all day.”
“Fine!” you huff, lips barely moving from the way he’s still holding your face. “I’m pretty.”
He grins, loosening his hold just enough so you can speak properly, though he keeps his hands right where they are. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I’m pretty,” you repeat, cheeks heating as you say it, soft and unsure but not sarcastic. Not deflecting.
Joel beams, eyes crinkling at the corners, kissing your lips as he loosens his hold on your face. “Damn right you are. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”
You can’t help but smile now, wide and a little bashful. You duck your head, but he catches you again, presses a kiss to your lips again, sweet and unhurried.
And when he backs away and you finally reach for your coffee again, cheeks still warm, he’s watching you like he’s already counting the seconds until he gets to do it all over again.
That night starts like any other night.
Late, quiet, the house dipped in soft shadows. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze, the hum of cicadas drifting in with the warm air. Joel’s in bed already, reading glasses sliding down his nose, thumbing through the same page of his book he’s read three times without taking in a single word.
He’s waiting for you to join him, your book is still closed on the side table. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom before you could even cuddle up in bed beside him. You had said you needed two minutes.
That was fifteen minutes ago.
He figures you’re brushing your teeth. Or lost in one of your little bedtime routines—rearranging things on the counter or doing your 10 step nightly skincare. He doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to your rhythms the more you stayed over. Grown to love them, even.
But then he hears the bedroom door open, and when he glances up, expecting to see you in one of your usual pajamas, his breath catches. You’re not wearing one of his big T-shirts or those soft cotton sets you like so much.
You’re standing in the doorway in white lace, delicate and sheer and almost ethereal in the low glow of the lamp light.
It damn near knocks the air out of him.
He forgets all about the book in his lap—doesn’t even feel it fall to the mattress as his gaze rakes over you, slow and disbelieving. His jaw goes slack as he removes his glasses and sets them on the side table.
The bra—he doesn’t know what it’s called, not that it matters—looks daintier and more delicate than anything he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. Feminine in a way that hits him right in the chest. It wraps around you like it was made for your body, hugging your curves in all the right places. The straps are thin, dipping into the softness of your shoulders, and the lace cups give just enough to let his imagination blur with what’s already in front of him.
The matching bottoms sit high on your hips, scalloped lace tracing the tops of your thighs, giving him a perfect view of the skin he’s only ever touched in the dark.
Your hair is pulled back behind your shoulders—intentionally, he thinks, like you wanted him to have the full view.
Your lip is tucked under your top teeth, and your eyes flick down for a second, uncertain—then back up again.
But then you smile.
Shy, but proud. Like you’re showing him something precious and a little terrifying. Like you finally believe, even just a little, that he might actually mean every word he’s ever said about you.
Joel shifts to the edge of the bed, jaw tight with restraint as he beckons you to him. Slowly, you make your way over, and he soaks in the look of your thighs as you move, the way your body is begging to be marked and taken. His hands curl against his own thighs like he’s afraid to touch you too fast, too hard, and shatter the moment.
But when you move to stand between his knees, and he lifts his eyes up to meet yours, you don’t flinch.
He lets out a long, shaky breath. Then his hands lift slowly, reverently, palms brushing along the outside of your thighs, up to your hips.
His voice is low, almost reverent. “Christ, baby… look at you.”
You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping for a second—but you don’t cover yourself. Don’t twist away like you usually do. You stay right there, between his knees, close enough for him to smell the soft scent of your lotion and whatever little perfume you’d put on just for him.
Joel lifts his hands, slow and sure, and holds your hips, warm, steady, splayed wide like he wants to cover all of you. His thumb strokes gently over your skin where the lace ends, just above your hipbone.
“You did this for me?” he murmurs, looking up at you.
You nod once, eyes still shy but glowing with something soft. “I wanted to. I…I know I usually…”
“I know,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking your skin under his touch. “Don’t gotta explain nothin’ to me.”
His voice is gentle, but there’s something else beneath it now. Thicker. Hotter. Like he’s barely keeping a lid on what he really wants to say.
You bite your lip again, tucking it under your top teeth as you gauge his reaction. Joel leans in, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss between the valley of your breasts—slow, open-mouthed, just wet enough to make your breath stutter.
You exhale, body already leaning into him, melting under the heat of his mouth, the drag of his stubble, the way his hands are rubbing slow circles along your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem of the lace between your legs, pinching the delicate fabric between them, like he can’t decide whether to rip it off or worship it.
“You know what this does to me? What you do to me, angel?” he rasps, voice rough now, filthy and unfiltered. “You got me starin’ like a damn animal. Don’t even know where I wanna taste first.”
He kisses the underside of your breast, and even though it's covered by lace, he bites softly at the curve, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands move to grip your ass tightly now, pulling you closer, positioning so your stomach and hips are flush against his chest.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Every time I think I’ve seen all of you, you go and give me this?”
His eyes flick up, hungry and reverent. You squirm, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips, but Joel doesn't back off. He presses another kiss to your stomach, then just above your belly button, murmuring into your skin.
“Timid little thing—but deep down you like it, don’t you? Like when Daddy talks like this?”
Your thighs twitch under his hands and you nod.
He grins, feral and soft all at once. His hands slide up your sides, palms hot and steady against your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of lace as his mouth follows—slow, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, tongue flicking against the fabric covering your breasts. His tongue pokes out over the lace of your bodice right where your nipple would be, teeth grazing over the hidden but pebbled skin. Your jaw falls open as you watch him.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, breath catching against your sternum. “You wore this just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
One hand lifts, fingers tugging gently at the strap of your bralette, sliding it down your shoulder. Then the other. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he peels the lace down and away, baring you inch by inch.
And when your breasts spill free, his breath catches audibly.
“Jesus Christ.”
He sits back just far enough to look. Just for a moment. Just to see you.
“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, thick with awe and heat. He brings his hands up to grip the flesh of your breasts, kneading them together, “Bet you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”
You bite your lip again, that flicker of shyness still dancing across your face—like you have to physically restrain yourself from trying to cover the revealed skin. But no. Not this time.
Joel leans in and licks a slow stripe over one nipple, making you gasp. He drags his tongue in a lazy circle, then sucks it into his mouth, groaning low in his throat like he’s tasting heaven.
You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers gripping him as your back arches on instinct.
“That’s it,” he growls, pulling back just to press a kiss between your breasts before taking the other into his mouth, this time sucking harder, leaving it damp and peaked from his tongue. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna hear every sound you make when I touch you like this.”
Your hips roll against him, thighs trembling as you stand between his legs.
“Sensitive little thing,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Just needed someone to show you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”
He kisses lower, down the underside of your breast, then back up again, licking softly, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark.
“M’gonna take good care of you tonight, baby,” he breathes, dragging his mouth back to your nipple. “Gonna take my timeand take every fuckin’ inch of this sweet body. You gonna let me?”
You nod, breathless, voice caught somewhere in your throat,“Y-yeah.”
Joel looks up, eyes blazing, lips slick from kissing you.
“‘Yeah’, what? Tell me, honey.”
Your begin to squirm as you tell him, “I want you to, Daddy. Please.”
Joel groans like it physically knocks the air out of him. His hands trail back down your sides, slow and reverent, fingertips grazing the lace waistband still hugging your hips.
“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower.
He kisses down your stomach, tongue peeking out to trace the little dip of your navel, his hands smoothing down your hips and behind to cup your ass again, fingers squeezing tight. The lace panties are all that remain, soft and delicate, slightly damp already with your arousal. He noses along the waistband, breathing you in.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he growls, teeth catching gently at the fabric. “Bet you taste even better.”
Your hands slide into his hair, tugging gently as he tongues over the lace, not pulling it down yet—just feeling you through it, his mouth wet and hungry over your hips and tummy.
You moan, your hips grinding against him again as he teases you, his one hand reaching down to drag his fingers over your clothed mound, the slick of your folds soaking through. He groans at the feeling before pulling back with a sharp exhale, looking up at you with wild eyes.
“On the bed. Hands and knees. Now.”
You blink, heart leaping, but you don’t hesitate. You scramble onto the mattress, crawling forward on shaky limbs until you’re positioned right where he wants you—on all fours, back arched, breath quick and needy.
Joel groans behind you at the sight, pulling his shirt over his head before dragging a hand up your spine, slow and heavy.
“Goddamn, baby. Look at you.”
Once he’s climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your knees a little wider, he kneads at your ass with both hands, reverent and gentle. He settles his body lower, shifting on the bed until his face is level with your center. He drags his thumbs along the backs of your thighs, spreading them a little wider, groaning low when he sees how soaked the lace of your panties is—slick and clinging to your folds, a perfect puffy outline of everything he’s about to taste.
“Look at this,” he breathes, like it’s something sacred. “Fuckin’ drenched for me.”
You gasp when you feel his mouth again—not on your skin, but over the lace. A slow, deliberate kiss right to the center of you, hot and wet and perfectly placed. His lips part, tongue nudging against the fabric, teasing your clit through the sheer barrier.
It’s maddening.
He hums, the vibration making your hips twitch.
“Fuck, baby… I could spend all night like this. Kissin’ you through these pretty little panties. Smellin’ you. Feelin’ how worked up you are for me.” He nuzzles in deeper, breathing hot against you, licking a wide, slow stripe up the center of your heat—through the lace—then mouthing at it, sloppy and wet, soaking it even more.
You sob, spine arching, thighs quivering where they try to stay upright. Joel groans against you.
“Can’t believe you wore this just for me,” he mutters, dragging his tongue back down. “So fuckin’ soft. So sweet. Pussy’s beggin’ for it, ain’t she?”
You nod frantically, already breathless. “Yes—God, Joel, please—”
He chuckles darkly, biting gently at the fabric. “Please what, baby?”
“Take them off,” you gasp. “Please—need you.”
Joel pulls back, and you feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands—rough palms curling under the waistband of your panties, fingers brushing the skin of your hips as he peels the lace down slow. Agonizingly slow.
“Anything for my girl,” he says.
Joel’s broad, warm hands palm at your ass, kneading every inch as he situates himself behind you. He dips lower, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses into the flesh of your left cheek, then the right, before his teeth sink down into the soft meat.
You yelp, hips jerking at the sharp nip.
“Prettiest noises too,” he murmurs into your skin, kissing the sensitive mark he left behind. His hands spread your cheeks, thumbs firm as they open you up for him—and when you peek over your shoulder, you find his eyes locked on your center, gaze dark and fixated, the pupils blown wide.
When he catches you looking, his eyes flick up to meet yours.
“She’s flirtin’ with me,” he says, grinning like the devil.
Your face burns, and you let your head drop into the pillows, hiding from the embarrassment that curls through your belly—hot and helpless, tangled with molten want.
Joel’s lips find your skin again, slower now, more reverent as he holds you open. His tongue drags between your cheeks, a deep, teasing stroke that makes your whole body tense. He kisses your slick folds with a wet, lewd sound that makes you gasp.
He hums, low and satisfied, then laps at your dripping arousal like it’s his first taste of water in weeks.
“And the prettiest pussy,” he rasps, lips brushing your folds. “You know that, darlin’?”
You moan, unable to answer, as his tongue pushes deeper. He flattens it and licks slow, wide strokes up your slit before circling your clit. His nose bumps your entrance, barely prodding, teasing you as his tongue works your clit in tight, filthy circles.
Your hips start moving without your permission, grinding into his face, seeking more.
Joel groans like you’re his favorite meal, tongue flattening again, letting you push into him.
“That’s it, baby,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “Ride my face.”
You mewl, your body bucking, wild and desperate, grinding into him like a goddamn bronco at the fair. Your walls flutter, your core pulsing with pressure as it builds, and builds, and builds.
Your thighs begin to shake.
Joel’s grip on you tightens as he takes over, tongue working your clit with expert flicks, fast and relentless.
The pressure in your belly snaps like a pulled cord, your spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as you come, loud and wrecked, your fingers gripping the sheets.
Joel moans into you like he’s the one coming undone, tongue never faltering, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Even as you start to come down, breath catching in your throat, he doesn’t stop. He just slows, letting you twitch and gasp and shake through it.
Then, you feel it. The warm, wet pressure of his tongue pushing up past your folds, over the skin between, then circling your tighter hole. You jump at the intrusion, a sharp gasp breaking from your lips—but the haze of your orgasm makes your body soft, receptive, already melting for him.
You whimper, hips twitching. Joel just groans again, closing his lips around your sensitive rim, suckling gently.
“F–fuck,” you whisper, unable to think, to move, to breathe.
He licks you there once more before planting slow, open-mouthed kisses up your spine, up to the small of your back, your shoulder blades, and finally your neck.
Then he’s curling over you, beard scratchy against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek.
“Turn around,” he whispers, voice low and rough, "Wanna see your face when I stuff you full a'me,"
You can’t help but giggle at the tickle of his scruff against your neck, still dazed, still boneless, but do as you’re told—twisting under him until you’re on your back, staring up at him.
Joel’s eyes, though dark with hunger, hold something else too. Something deep and aching. Something sweet.
And then, with that same steady tone he uses when talking patrol routes or fixing fences, he says, “Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart.”
His lips brush your jaw, then your ear.
“I’m gonna fill you up so deep, fuck you so full of my cock, my cum, me, that when you look in the mirror tomorrow, all you’re gonna see is how fuckin’ beautiful you are—‘cause you’ll still be wearin’ what I did to you tonight.”
Your chest heaves, the words settling deep in your stomach, curling there like heat and honey.
“Joel, I—” you start to say, only to gasp when you feel the hot, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance.
“You feel this, honey?” he murmurs, pulling back to look down between you, voice rough and reverent. “Feel how bad he wants you? How bad I want you?”
You nod, gripping his forearms tight, your thighs falling open even wider for him.
He notches just the bulbous tip inside you and hisses at the wet heat.
“Jesus,” you breathe. “I feel it, Joel, I—I… pleasepleaseplease—”
“I know, angel, I know,” he pants, his thumb stroking your inner thigh, grounding you. “Now I wanna hear you say it.”
Your brain lags, thick with need, swimming in lust and love and the ache to just feel him.
“W-what?”
Joel watches you, eyes burning into yours.
“Say, ‘I’m pretty, Daddy.’”
Your whole body flushes, lips parted in disbelief, already whining at the way he just knows how to unravel you.
You groan wordlessly, bringing your hands to your face to hide. He is so on your shit list for this.
Joel chuckles darkly, pushing in another inch, and you whimper behind your hands.
“I’m waitin’, darlin'.”
You squirm under him, thighs trembling, skin turning hotter and hotter by the second. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him to move, to fill you, to do something.
But Joel waits. He always waits—until you give in, until he gets what he wants.
You lift your hands from your face slowly, eyes hazy, cheeks heated, lips parted. He’s watching you like a man possessed, one hand gripping your thigh, the other wrapped around his pulsing member with agonizing patience.
“M’pretty,” you whisper.
Joel’s brow arches, lips curling, “Not quite, sweetheart. You know how I want it.”
Your chest heaves. Your pussy clenches around just the tip of him, and even though you see the twitch in his jaw, he still waits.
So you gather your courage, heart pounding in your throat: “I’m pretty, Daddy.”
Joel’s smile breaks across his face, so bright and full of something so tender it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. It almost pulls you out of the heat of it, the haze of arousal, until your core clenches and he sinks into you just a little deeper.
You gasp, the stretch sharp and perfect.
He leans down slowly, hands braced in the pillows beside your head, lowering himself onto his forearms until his chest is flush with yours, until there’s no space left between your bodies.
He’s still not fully sheathed in you.
“Again.”
“I… I’m pretty, Daddy,” you breathe, voice shaky as your pussy tries to adjust around the thick stretch of him.
“The prettiest,” he nods, and his lips mold to yours as he finally pushes all the way in. Your mouth falls open with a gasp, the sound swallowed by his tongue slipping between your lips, hot and hungry, as he bottoms out. His balls press firmly against the slick, wet crevice of your ass, and the mess between your thighs is obscene—your arousal dripping, sticky and hot, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Joel groans into your mouth, loud and wrecked like its been trapped in his chest for hours. His hands come up to cradle your head, keeping you right there beneath him as he begins to move, slow at first, pulling out a few inches before rolling back in, the full weight of him rocking your body with every deep thrust.
“Shit,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. “Pussy’s so damn tight.”
He pulls out slowly again, then drives back in hard, enough to jolt you up the bed, the sound of it lewd and perfect. His brow furrows, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses on the way your walls cling to him.
“Fuckkkk,” you mewl as he continues sawing into you, filling you and stretching you around him, buried to the hilt.
Joel grins, feral and hungry, sweat starting to bead at his brow.
“Sound even prettier when you take my cock.”
He sets a rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that hit all the way up, filling you to the brim. His body covers yours, chest brushing your nipples, beard scratching your throat as he nips and kisses every inch he can reach.
“Been thinkin’ about this for so long, baby” he grits out between thrusts, hips slapping against yours. “The way you’re always hidin’ yourself from me, coverin’ up like you’re not the most beautiful fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
Your hands claw at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.
“I got you, honey,” Joel pants, head dropping to your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him even tighter. “And you’re gonna start seein’ it for yourself,”
His pace picks up, rougher now, slamming into you with the kind of need that’s barely human.
“Gonna fuck you so full you forget every goddamn lie you ever told yourself in a mirror. Gonna make sure the only thing you remember is me—how you sounded, how you looked, when I wrecked this perfect little body.”
You’re gasping, whimpering, shaking beneath him, stars flashing behind your eyes as he pounds into you like he’s never going to stop.
“That’s it, baby. You take it,” he growls. “Take my cock so good, like the good girl you are for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”
“Joel—” you cry, voice breaking.
He lifts his head, eyes wild and tender all at once.
“Say it again, sweetheart. Tell Daddy how pretty you are.”
“I—I’m pretty,” you choke out. “I’m—fuck, I’m so pretty, Daddy—”
He loses it.
His hand slides under your thigh, hooking it up, opening you wider, deeper. His hips slam into you harder now, the rhythm filthy, brutal, perfect.
“I know, baby. I know. Look at you. My good girl, look so beautiful takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”
His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, guiding you forward as he sits back—craning your head up so you can look down, see exactly where you’re joined.
Your mind barely registers the softness of your belly, too focused on the thick stretch of him splitting you open, the obscene way you take every inch. You both watch as he drives into you, slick and deep and devastating, a ring of your last orgasm glistening around his cock. The pressure builds again, white-hot and unbearable.
And Joel knows—he feels it in the way you clench, the way your voice goes high and desperate, the way your hands grip him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.
“You gonna come for me again, sweet girl?” he pants, fucking you into the mattress. “Gonna let Daddy feel you pulse around his cock?”
“Yesyesyes—Joel, I—please—”
“That’s it,” he snarls, “give it to me.”
You shatter.
Your orgasm crashes through you with a scream as he releases your neck, letting you arch your back, trembling as you milk his cock with spasms so tight it makes Joel curse, a broken sound from deep in his chest.
And then he’s coming, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, filling you just like he promised. His voice breaks on your name as he grinds through it, hands gripping you enough to leave bruises, breathing ragged.
Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled and uneven. His chest heaving against yours. Your legs shaking around his waist.
His hand slides up, cradles the side of your face. His thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, even though you’re not crying—but something about the touch makes you want to. Makes your throat ache.
“Hey,” he whispers, voice all gravel and reverence. “You okay?”
You nod, eyes still fluttered shut, heart pounding. “Y-yeah.”
Joel presses a soft kiss to your lips—barely a touch, like he’s afraid of ruining you more than he already has. Then another, and another, until you're giggling quietly beneath him, too dazed to hold it in.
He smiles, the kind of smile he doesn’t show anyone else. The kind that barely reaches his eyes, because he’s still looking at you like you’re a dream that might disappear if he blinks too hard.
“Look at me, baby.”
You do. You always do when he asks.
“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, voice low and rough with what sounds almost like awe. “You know that?”
The words hit you deeper than they should. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to even out your breathing, but your lungs don’t cooperate. Your eyes dart away, suddenly misting and too overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze—by the sincerity written all over his face. It's too much. Too close. Too real.
But Joel’s hand is already there, catching your chin gently, tilting your face back toward his. His thumb grazes the edge of your jaw, soft and steady.
“No,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t do that. Not tonight. Not after everything you just gave me.”
Your chest stutters, emotion building so fast and so sharp you feel like you might spill over with it. Your fingers twitch against his back before finally settling, drifting across his damp skin in slow, absent circles. You take deep, calming breaths to settle yourself. Breathe in, breathe out.
He’s still inside you, still heavy over you, like neither of you are ready to let go just yet. Your limbs are tangled, the air still thick with sweat and heat and something quieter—something softer.
The room is quiet now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. Just your shared breaths, slow and unsteady. The low thump of his heart where his chest presses to yours.
Joel shifts only slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your cheek. Then another to your jaw. Then your temple. The way he moves is unhurried, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s kissing more than just skin—like he’s kissing the pieces of you he’s afraid to speak out loud.
It makes your chest ache.
“You’re being so sweet,” you whisper, throat tight almost like it’s a secret.
His lips hover at your lips, pressing gently but not fully, “I don’t know how not to be,” he says softly. “Not with you.”
You close your eyes, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. His scent wraps around you—salt and skin and something warm and comforting that’s just him. The warmth blooms under your skin again, curling around your ribs, spreading down your spine.
“I love you.” he says, like it’s always been there, waiting. Like it’s not a confession so much as a truth that finally found its way out.
Your breath catches. Not from fear, not from panic, but from the sheer weight of it. The gravity. The sound of those words, spoken into the low light of the room while he's still buried inside you, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
Your eyes flutter open. You don’t move. Not yet.
Joel doesn’t either. But his voice dips low, softer now. A hint of uncertainty laces the edges. “Too much?”
You shake your head instantly, and your hands rise to cradle his face, looking up at him, fingertips brushing his temples like you need to anchor both of you in this moment.
“No,” you whisper, a tear finally escaping your eye. “No, not too much.”
Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently as you pull him down and press your lips to his. And when you pull back, your words are trembling but sure.
“I love you too.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.Then he kisses you—slow and deep and home, his mouth moving against yours like he’s sealing the promise between your bodies.
You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it
11k. Enjoy!
· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··
The house needed work. And probably a priest.
It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.
The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave.
The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.
The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.
But it was cheap. And it had potential.
And you?
You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe.
You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.
The problem was—so far, it had been mostly error.
Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.
Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension.
And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.
Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.
You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea.
You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.
So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.
You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
And that was when a shadow fell over you.
A heavy presence.
You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.
Joel Miller.
Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.
You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.
Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.
Watching you.
At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.
Joel Miller was looking. A lot.
From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.
He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.
A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.
And, honestly? It was kinda hot.
You love a pathetic man.
Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.
Joel had spent his entire life working.
Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.
He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?
The man was a relic.
Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.
No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.
He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.
Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.
That was life.
And then you moved in next door.
And Joel broke.
Because Jesus Christ.
You.
Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.
You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.
Something cruel.
With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.
Joel shouldn’t have been looking.
Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.
Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.
Made to be ruined.
It was sick.
And he didn’t care.
Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.
To get his mouth on you.
God, he was so hungry for it.
And the worst part?
He was pretty sure you knew.
It was pathetic.
And he fucking knew it.
But he couldn’t stop.
And right now, his gaze was locked on you.
Or, more accurately—your thighs.
You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.
His throat bobbed.
His fingers flexed.
Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.
“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.
You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.
You smirked.
“I got it,” you said simply.
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
“…No, you don’t.”
And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.
Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.
And just fucking fixing it.
Like it was nothing.
Like you weren’t even there.
· · ──𖥸
From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.
Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.
But he was always there.
At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.
Then, it escalated.
Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.
He was just there.
On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.
The excuses started getting thinner, too.
At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”
Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”
Then, no excuse at all.
Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.
Because that was his payment.
His reward.
Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.
He didn’t even need you to talk to him.
Didn’t need you to flirt.
Just existing was enough.
So he worked.
For free.
Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.
Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.
A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.
And now?
Now, he nearly was hard all the time.
No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.
Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.
And the worst part?
He was leaking.
Like a damn teenager.
Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.
And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—
“Thank you, Joel!”
Fuck.
That voice.
All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.
And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.
Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him
Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.
God, he was fucked.
So he mowed your lawn.
Fixed your AC unit.
Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.
And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?
He was finding things to do outside.
Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.
Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.
Anything. Anything.
Just to be there.
· · ──𖥸
Joel looked wrecked.
Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.
His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.
And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.
Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.
He was staring at your tits.
You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.
His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.
He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.
And you?
You smirked.
Because this wasn’t new.
Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.
And he thought he was hiding it.
He wasn’t.
You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.
You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.
Then, casually, you spoke.
“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”
Joel didn’t move at first.
Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.
Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.
“…Huh?”
His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.
You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.
“You like ’em?”
For a moment, Joel just sat there.
Silent.
Completely fucking still.
Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.
And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—
“…What’s there not to like?”
Oh?
That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.
But it did.
The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.
A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.
And Joel knew it.
Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.
And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—
“Hmmm.”
You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.
And then, soft and syrupy—
“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
Just stared.
You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.
“…Bad?”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”
There was a beat of silence.
Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—
And yet.
When he spoke, it was wrecked.
“…Can I just—”
Joel swallowed hard.
His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.
“Can I just see you? Look at you?”
The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.
You smiled. Slow. Sweet.
Cruel.
"You wanna see me, Joel?"
His breath hitched.
His fingers twitched.
He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.
You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.
Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.
Joel’s pupils blew wide.
His lips parted.
His breath hitched.
And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.
The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.
You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—
“Like this?”
Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.
He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.
Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—
“…Please. Everything.”
So you did.
You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.
And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.
His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.
His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.
And fuck.
The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?
Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.
Because Jesus Christ.
Your tits?
They were perfect.
So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.
And your nipples—fuck.
They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.
They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.
Joel groaned.
A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.
And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—
“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”
You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.
“Yeah?”
Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.
“Yeah.”
His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.
His hips shifted.
And you noticed.
The way his jeans were tight.
The way a wet patch darkened the denim.
The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.
And then, voice breaking, groaning—
“Thank you, Sweetheart.”
Your breath caught.
Because that?
That sounded filthy.
Low, wrecked, grateful.
Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.
His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.
You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.
“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.
Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.
“Fuck yeah.”
He didn’t wait for permission.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t fucking think.
His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.
And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.
Rough.
Strong.
Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.
“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.
He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.
“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.
Joel felt that.
“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.
You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.
Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.
“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.
Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.
His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.
“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”
His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.
He grinned.
A dark, hungry thing.
And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—
“Bet they taste even better.”
“Can I-”
Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.
Joel went willingly.
Mouth first.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.
His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.
His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.
Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.
“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.
He was loud.
Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.
But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.
His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.
He couldn’t stop.
Didn’t even try.
His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate.
“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.
He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.
“Goddamn, baby—”
Then, harder.
His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.
You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.
He stared.
Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.
And then he dived right back in.
Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.
His hands never stopped.
He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.
“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.
“So fuckin’ sweet—”
He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.
His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.
Your breath hitched.
Your back arched.
Because he wasn’t just playing around.
This wasn’t just teasing.
This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.
No.
Joel was staying here.
Lingering.
Drowning in it.
Like he could suckle your tits for hours.
And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—
“Baby…”
You hummed, already smirking.
He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—
“Lemme see you.”
Your smirk widened.
“See what, Joel?”
He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—
“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”
Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.
Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”
His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”
You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.
Then, finally, you sighed.
“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”
Joel nearly fucking growled.
His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.
He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.
And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.
Not pulling it down.
Just flipping it up.
Joel wasn’t breathing.
At least, it felt that way.
He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.
And the worst part?
You knew exactly what you were doing to him.
The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.
And Joel—Joel was gone.
His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.
“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.
Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.
His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.
“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”
You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.
“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”
Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.
Poor old man.
He was completely fucking gone.
“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.
Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.
“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”
You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.
“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.
Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.
And then—
He leaned in.
Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.
And fuck.
He moaned.
You smirked. Moaned.
Because you knew.
Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.
And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.
You loved it.
“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.
Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.
Barely.
“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.
He groaned.
“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”
You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.
“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”
Joel didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
He just acted.
His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.
Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.
You gasped.
“Ohhh, fuck—”
Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.
His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.
“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.
You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.
“Joel—”
He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.
You gasped.
Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.
Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.
“Ohh, you like that, hm?”
He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.
Then—
His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.
A sharp, precise tug.
Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.
You fucking whimpered.
Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”
Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.
Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.
His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.
He groaned when they stuck.
When your slick clung to the fabric.
When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.
And then—
You were bare.
Wet.
Dripping.
All for him.
Joel sat back on his heels, staring.
His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.
Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—
“Oh, baby…” He groaned.
“I’m gonna ruin you.”
His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.
Because you were fucking perfect.
Your pussy was obscene.
Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch.
Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you.
The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.
And Joel?
Joel was losing his goddamn mind.
His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.
“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”
You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.
“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.
He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”
That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.
Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.
And then he snapped.
His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.
And then—
A long, wet, messy lick.
Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.
And Jesus fuck—he growled.
“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”
You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.
“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.
His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.
And he loved it.
You were soaked.
Dripping.
And Joel wanted it.
Wanted every drop.
His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.
And fuck—
His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.
His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.
And then—
A rough, growled, wrecked—
“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”
Joel was gone.
Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.
And fuck, maybe he was.
Because he was too good at it.
You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.
“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.
Joel growled.
He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.
And then—
Joel spat on it.
A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.
And then?
He rubbed his face into it.
Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”
His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.
He spat on it again.
And smeared it in.
Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.
And fuck.
It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.
“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”
Joel knew.
Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.
So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.
And when you came—
Oh, fuck, when you came.
Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.
And Joel?
Joel groaned.
Like he felt it.
Like your orgasm belonged to him.
Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.
And he didn’t stop.
Didn’t fucking stop.
Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.
And you—
You were shaking.
Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.
“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”
And Joel?
He didn’t hear you.
Didn’t process it.
Because he was lost.
Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.
His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.
So you tried again.
“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”
And he still didn’t listen.
Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.
So you had to rip his face away.
Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—
His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.
He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.
And then—
A low, desperate, ruined—
“Baby, please.”
Like he needed it.
Like he needed to go back.
Like he wasn’t done yet.
The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.
You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”
Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.
“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.
You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”
Joel’s head spun.
His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.
Because you couldn’t possibly mean—
“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”
Joel went completely fucking still.
A full-body freeze.
Because, holy shit.
He hadn’t even considered it.
He hadn’t dared to.
Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.
Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.
But now?
Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.
It hit him.
Like a fucking freight train.
He was gonna fuck you.
Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”
You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”
Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.
“Yeah.”
His voice was rough, wrecked.
“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”
And, fuck, he was gonna.
Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.
Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—
You hadn’t expected this.
Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.
Because, fuck me.
Joel Miller was fucking big.
The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.
God.
Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.
And Joel?
He was just watching.
Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.
Not that it was working.
Because he was dripping.
Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.
His cock was—fuck.
Thick. So fucking thick.
Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.
A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.
And his balls.
Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.
And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.
Because fuck.
Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.
He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.
He couldn’t stop leaking.
Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.
His body was betraying him.
Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?
Now he was about to lose it over just this.
Just you, looking up at him like that.
Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.
Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.
And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
He smirked. Just a little.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”
You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”
Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”
Your lips curled.
“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”
Joel growled.
A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.
You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.
He was panting.
You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.
“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”
Fuck.
You whimpered.
And Joel—he fucking felt it.
Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.
Felt the way your body was begging for it.
“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.
He smirked.
“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”
You whined.
Louder this time.
And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”
Then—
Joel pressed forward.
Slow.
Heavy.
Thick.
The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.
“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”
You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.
And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.
Joel was shaking.
Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.
He was too old for this shit.
Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.
But Jesus Christ—
You were so small.
So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.
But you would.
You had to.
Joel wasn’t stopping.
“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”
You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.
“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”
You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.
And fuck, that just about broke him.
His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—
But fuck, it felt so good.
“Joel—”
He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.
“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.
You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.
“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”
Joel growled.
Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—
He thrust forward.
Burying himself to the fucking hilt.
You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.
Joel snapped.
The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.
“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.
“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”
You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.
Joel didn’t wait for an answer.
Didn’t need one.
Because he knew.
Knew you felt it.
Knew you loved it.
“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”
You moaned.
Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.
“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”
You whimpered.
Because it didn’t.
Didn’t want him to go.
Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.
And Joel knew it.
Could feel it.
Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.
And fuck—
That did something to him.
Something dark.
Something needy.
Something possessive.
His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.
“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.
“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”
You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.
“Yes—”
And that was all he needed.
All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.
Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.
A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.
Thrusting.
Fucking you.
“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.
Joel fucking grinned.
“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”
You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.
And Joel? He ate it up.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”
You whimpered.
And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.
Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.
Not with this.
Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.
His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—
“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”
His voice broke.
He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—
And then—
You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—
“Cum for me, Joel.”
And that was it.
Joel snapped.
His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.
His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.
Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.
Not even close.
He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.
His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.
But then—
Another pulse.
Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.
Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.
“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”
Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,
“Still got more for you, baby.”
Fuck.
Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—
Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—
Another slow pulse inside you.
Another spurt.
Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.
Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.
You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.
Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.
“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”
His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.
You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.
Joel growled.
His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.
Now, he was gentle.
Now, he was melting against you.
His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.
You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.
So stuffed with him.
And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.
You smirked.
“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”
Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”
“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”
Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.
You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”
Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”
His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.
“Damn right, I did.”
You shivered.
His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.
“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”
Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”
His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.
When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.
“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.
You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.
Better than good.
A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”
Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.
He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.
Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”
Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”
You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”
Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.
You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.
Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.
Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—
“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”
· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··
...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)
⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ thinking about logan & f! reader being absolute animals during his cage fighting era
content warnings ;
porn & somewhat plot (in between the lines) , actually y’all i apologise this is just pure smut i think , rough sex , oral sex (m! & f! receiving + giving) , spit play , messy sex , facials, overstimulation , more stuff probably that i forgot help
author’s note ;
nothing to say other than the fact this is probably my most insane fic . send help, i need this logan so bad though 💔💔 y’all have been warned this is messy
you had met logan at one of the bars he was cagefighting at. being the owner’s daughter, you had the job to clean out the whole bar and close it down — including the cage, wiping it clean after every fight. the first few times, logan would pretty much just ignore you, but soon a night of him staying overtime as you poured him more than just a few drinks even though you were supposed to close the bar hours ago, you didn’t have it in you to kick him out. you didn’t know why. maybe it was the way your body tingled with need each time you watched him down another shot and take a drag of his cigar, tapping the then empty glass on the bar table as if silently asking for a new shot — which you instantly gave, not needing to exchange any words as you just went back and forth, cleaning the bar, scrubbing at the tables, watching him from afar as he just sat there and smoked and drank and god you knew he was no good. everything about him screamed bad, but you yearned for him each night somehow, even with having exchanged no more than three words; knowing little to nothing about him, all you knew was that you waited for the moment for him to finally make a fucking move, as the sexual tension was unbearable.
and you don’t know when this little ‘routine’ started happening, but, logan’s fucking you. you’ve even lost track of how or when, but you’re in the back of his RV and he’s absolutely ravaging your body against the mattress as he has you on all fours — large hand snaking to your throat and further up until two of his thick fingers pressed against your parted, moaning lips — sliding them in effortlessly. “atta fucking girl, that’s it..” he grunted, his other hand still on your hip, keeping it in place as he keeps on pounding into your sweet pussy from behind, over and over, hitting that bundle of nerves deep inside you that made you moan even more around his fingers in your mouth, slicking them up with your slobber and drool — his dick dumbing you completely.
“fuckin’ knew you would be good, since the moment i saw ya,” he would huff; now wet, spit slick fingers leaving your drooling mouth as that same hand grabs your jaw, pressing your cheek against the pillow and making you whimper. “logan.. gonna, gonna cum..” was all you could mumble out, your eyes fluttering back, the only thing you could focus on being the way your walls squeezed around his dick, needing support as that heat conjured up in your lower belly, your hands fisting at the sheets.
the same way they would fist and tangle in his messy hair as he would go down on you. it would be late at night, still way past closing hour — you were supposed to have the whole bar cleaned and closed hours ago but logan did a good job of distracting you of that as he sat you on the bar table (which, mind you, you had just got done cleaning, but you would yell at him for that later—) and started spreading your thighs apart for him, wasting no time in going to lick and eat at your sopping heat. “fuck,” you breathed, heels digging into his back as his tongue started teasing your entrance mercilessly, nose nudging your clit, his senses full of your needy smell as his tongue collected the sweet arousal that leaked from your entrance. “best fuckin’ thing i ever tasted, princess.” he would pull away just to growl against your thigh, littering kisses over there before making his way back to your cunt, placing sloppy kisses there too and to your aching clit; before he went to suck on the soft bud, your head turning fuzzy again as the warm feeling consumed you.
the same warm feeling that would consume you as he would have you in his lap, back pressed against him, head tilted back against his shoulder as his two of his roughed up fingers filled up your tight heat, working them inside it — making you squirm and gasp in his lap. you were always so sensitive when it came to those big hands playing with your little heat, making you whine and scratch at his arm, feeling the muscles flex each time his fingers pumped in and out of you. “logan,” your voice would come out in no more than a choked sob, as he was starting to drag out a third orgasm out of you already, just from his hands. “yeah, what is it baby? gonna cum for me, from my fingers?” he would chuckle, finding it absolutely ridiculous how much of a mess you could be reduced to with just his touch. your thighs were starting to tremble and threatened to close, the pressure being too much, overstimulating your little body against him — but his free hand rested on your thigh firmly and didn’t let you move, all you could do was nod and let out your choked moans that went right to logan’s aching cock in his jeans, but he would take care of that later.
later, being when you would get on your knees for him in the bar’s seedy bathroom, looking up at logan expectantly as he would fumble with his belt to quickly reach the buttons of his jeans and tug them down — his length hard and throbbing, heavy as you took it into your hand hesitantly to rub the bead of precum leaking from the flushed tip, but logan’s hands grabbed at your wrist harshly and pushed them away. he seemed on edge. “no, none of that. i only got a couple minutes here, so hurry up—“ he would grumble, making you huff softly in reply. it’s not that you hated quickies with him like this, but, he would always be on edge and rough, just overall harsher. but you knew he had a match in just a few minutes, and you didn’t want to add onto his stress. you just wanted to help. hesitantly leaning in to press a gentle, warming up kiss to the head of his cock, you took it into your mouth, feeling the weight on your tongue as you slowly started to take more in; logan’s low moans and praises encouraging you to do more. “fuck, yeah. just like that, baby. so good..” he would groan, a hand reaching up to run through your soft hair, grabbing a grip on it to gently start and push it down more — wanting you to take more of his cock down your pretty throat. the signal was pretty clear to you, and so you doubled your efforts, pulling away just a moment to catch your breath and stealing a quick glance up at logan for approval through your already glazed eyes, before moving back down onto his cock. your mouth was stuffed full before as you reached half of it, but you still managed to push the last few inches into your soft throat, making logan’s grip tighten in your hair. “goddamn it, princess.” he would hiss, head tilting back against the hard, cold tile wall as he let you work your mouth on him, pubic hair pressed up against your nose, the scent around you being him and only him, along with the noises in the bathroom — his suppressed moans and groans, as he gripped at your hair so much it eventually made you start to whimper. “makin’ a mess, droolin’ all over my cock..” he would grunt, using his grip on your hair to pull you off him as he rubbed his messy tip against your cheek. “gonna let me paint that messy face with my cum?”
and you nodded. like you always did. you were weak for the man.
summary: logan's in a rut and only his sweet girl can help him.
a/n: so i pictured dofp!logan but x trilogy!logan also works! hope you enjoy <3 also also not proof read so sorry for any errors
"scott, have you seen logan?" your delicate voice fills the study as you pass by, looking for your mentor.
logan has been missing all day, which isn't the most unusual thing but it is odd that he said he would train with you today and yet, he's nowhere to be found.
"charles said he wasn't feeling well." scott replied, barely gazing up at you. "he's probably still in bed."
you nod, turning around to head upstairs and check on logan like any good friend would.
the floorboards creek under your light foot steps down the hall. charles, hank, and storm took the kids to a lab overnight to work on their final projects. the rest of the adult were either training or lesson planning. the wooden door glowed with golden light illuminating the rim, so warm and welcoming.
one knock turned into three and four. all of them unanswered, leaving you slightly alarmed. this wasn't like logan to ignore you.
❀༉‧₊˚
meanwhile, beyond the wooden door, logan sat on his bed trying to get a grip on this feeling. it's happened before, the familiar warmth that spreads all over. a primal craving attempting to claw its way out of him.
normally, he can hide out until the rut is over but now it is different. now logan has his eyes on someone. not just someone though.
it's the girl he's been warned not to fall for. charles, jean, hank and scott have all told logan that he's not to make a move on you. the girl who's too pure for a big bad wolf like him. for once, he listened and steered clear of you, no matter how pretty you were.
until you signed up to be his teachers assistant.
now with the close proximity, logan is tortured by your scent. the sweet cherry he's become familiar with haunts his deepest thoughts. he could perfectly trace every outline on your body without even trying. honestly, he found it quite sickening how you've carved your spot in his mind.
next to him on the mattress are a pair of your panties from yesterday. he remembered seeing the slight flash of light blue from under your skirt when you dropped your pen in the hallway. there's a damp patch on them, calling his name in mocking tones.
"logan..?" your meek voice was barely audible behind the door. "can i please come in?"
a low growl hums in his chest at the sound of your voice. he wants nothing more than to let you inside and ravish you in the way he desires; but he doesn't want to scare you off.
"not now, sweetheart." he grunts almost as if he's in pain.
"a-are you okay?"
logan couldn't see you but he could picture your concerned face. scrunched eyebrows and wide bambi eyes, lips in a pout. god, he could just eat you up.
" 'm fine." his voice sounds rough, like a bark. he would never yell at you but he needed you to walk away because the feeling of his cock being suffocated in his jeans was killing him.
"alright." you whine. "see ya later then, lo."
soon enough he heard your footsteps down the hall, logan quickly strips himself of his black shirt, dark blue jeans and his boxers. without hesitation he reaches over to grab that panties he had taken from your hamper.
"fuck, smells so sweet." he groans, nose pressed against the soft soaked cotton as he tugs his throbbing cock. spreading the pearly beads of pre-cum.
with his senses clouded and a fire ignited in him, he kitten licks the patch, letting your slick dance on his tongue. picturing your legs wrapped around his head, how your tight hole would take his tongue or his fingers and the little noises that would escape you.
"that's my sweet pussy. all mine." logan mumbles possessively under his breath before spitting into the material and bringing it to his cock, using it to jerk off.
as his orgasm approaches, the fire intensifies; sweat dripping down his temples the faster his hand moves. abs also dripping in sweat as his chest rapidly moves up and down. mind swarmed with all the positions logan wants to put you in.
"s-shit." logan curses, clenching his teeth as his vision blurs and euphoria washes over him. ropes of cum spill all over his abs and happy trail, creating a sticky messy.
left alone and panting, covered in his release, logan's still unsatisfied. he knew there was only one thing that could fix this.
❀༉‧₊˚
it's near midnight when you finally hear logan leave his room. heavy boots heading towards the stairs, right by your room.
"where are you going, lo?" you ask, peaking out of your bedroom to catch him. he stops but doesn't acknowledge you. "gonna leave me here all alone?"
logan could've sworn that you would be asleep at this hour and he could leave to find some woman at the bar to help with his... situation.
"scott's around here somewhere." he dryly replies, trying to avoid your gaze.
"he left a few hours ago." you mumble, nervously messing with the bottom of your nightgown.
something was off about logan; you just couldn't figure out what it was. he wouldn't even look at you. had you done something wrong? was he upset with you? why was he avoiding you?
"i-is everything alright?" you ask, worried for the answer.
logan take a minute to respond, scratching the scruff on his face while he thinks. just because he looks strong doesn't mean he is internally. logan found his weakness in you. a woman he's known for a little over a year and yet you could bring him to his knees if you so pleased.
suddenly, logan turns and looks at you. he sucks in his breath sharply when he saw you dressed in a cute tiny white nightgown. logan was positive that you were the closest he will ever get to meeting an angel.
the material ends high up on your thighs and he swears that in this light he can see the outline of your nipples, watching how they pebble from the cool air in the hallway.
"it's just cravings." he finally answers, tearing his eyes off of your pretty shape.
the moment logan makes eye contact with you, you notice how the color changed from a light hazel to bordering black. he looked hungry. you've heard of this before, a feral state that mutants like him enter every six months or so and if you knew better, you would run.
"anything i can help you with?" you ask, batting your long lashes up at him.
"it's real dirty work, princess." logan warns, restraining himself from jumping at the opportunity.
"i don't mind." you tell him. in that moment, a familiar aroma hits him. "i wanna help you, logan."
normally, logan wouldn't let things get this far. sure, the two of you have made sly flirty comments in the past but it's never gone past just words.
he watches you walk back into your room, keeping the door open for him.
❀༉‧₊˚
your bedroom was damn near exactly how logan pictured it. soft earth toned colors, pretty sheets, messy desk with all the paperwork you two do together. most importantly, it smelled like you. not your perfume or whatever candle you lit earlier. this was different.
"logan..." your voice pulls him back to reality. "tell me what you want me to do."
so considerate. logan thinks to himself as he watches you sit with your knees against the mattress and look up at him like a dog looking at its owner, waiting for an order.
without a warning, logan crashes his lips against yours. it hot and messy how he almost swallows you whole. both of you have waited forever for this moment.
logan lays you flat on the mattress, not breaking the kiss. your teeth bite down on his bottom lip at the small thud. you go to whisper an apology but it's covered by logan's loud groaning.
he take this opportunity to grind against you, only covered in a pair of matching white panties. if he was in a clearer head space, he would've thought this was planned.
"u-uh, please." you whimper against his lips, lifting your hips a little to meet his.
it's quite cute how pathetic you look right now. struggling for more. logan latches his lips to your neck, leaving dark maroon bites behind as he moves further south.
at the waistband of your panties, logan nips at the skin on your hipbone, leaving behind a pretty mark to match the others. he craved to be closer to you. pressing his nose into the wet patch and inhaling sharply, grunting at your essence.
a loud squeal falls from your lips as you lazily try to push him away. too embarrassed by the lewd action. nonetheless, logan refuses to move until he's had enough. licking over the cotton and making out with your covered cunt.
"l-logan!" you gasp as he flips you over on your belly with your ass in the air.
the sound of the material ripping fills the room. this was better than logan could've imagined. the sight of your throbbing cunt as it cries for his attention, and only his.
"prettiest fuckin' pussy i've ever seen." he marvels under his breath. "gonna let me use it how i please, princess?"
"mhm." you nod, trying to look back at him. "it's yours, lo."
your words send him on a spiral, he sinks you down on his tongue so he can fuck you at his pace. exploring your walls and reveling in your taste. no dessert in the world could compare to you.
logan grinds against your mattress, desperately seeking relief. not that he's complaining. he's more than happy with his position; and so are you.
there will be bruises on your hips tomorrow, without a doubt because of how tightly logan's gripping your hips. keeping you right where he wants you to be.
"n-need more, please." you moan, fists balling up the sheets.
"what a greedy fuckin' baby." logan says, pulling off of a second to replace his tongue with two thick fingers, stretching you out for him.
pretty little 'uh, uh, uh's' spill from your lips every time you bounce back on logan's fingers. he's hypnotized by the way you manage to coat his finger with your slick. dripping down his palm and onto your sheets.
"look 'atcha, sweetheart." he mutters, doubtful that you can hear him over the obscene sounds coming from your pussy. "struggling to take my fingers. gotta stretch ya' for my cock. think you can take it?"
"mhm!" you answer, feeling a trail of kisses on the back of your thighs as logan speeds up his thrusts, locating your sweet spot with ease.
there's a warmth of pleasure that washes over you. it's different than anything else you've experienced. before you could even figure it out, you to gush all over logan's hand and the sheets.
"she's squeezing me so damn tight." he growls, watching as your pussy spasms from overstimulation, practically knocking the wind out of you. logan has to fight off cumming in his jeans as he licks up your release.
once logan allows you to catch your breath, you turn and say, "i've never um, never done that before."
"fuck." logan curses, smacking his palm down on your ass. "it won't be the last time tonight."
the sound of logan undoing his belt echos in the room. lining the head up to your entrance and slowly sinking into you. your eyes roll back into your head at the stretch. similar to a cat, you arch your back and purr at the feeling.
"f-feel so full." you moan as he picks up his pace.
"that's it, princess." he grunts, moving his hand down your back and wrapping it into your hair. "tell me how good it feels."
and you don't waste a single second to do so.
"you're s-so big, can feel you e-everywhere." you reply in between heavy breaths.
the hand wrapped in your hair tugs you forward so your back is against his chest. with his lips pressed against your ear, he mutters, "everywhere, huh?"
you nod, digging your nails into his thighs with each thrust. his other hand travels from your breast to your lower torso underneath the nightgown. your eyes shoot open as soon as he lightly pushes down.
"can you feel me right here?" he asks, slowing down his strokes for you to focus.
when you don't respond right away, the hand in your hair moves to your jaw, gripping it and angling your gaze down to the large bulge in your belly. you always knew logan was larger than the average man but you didn't even think this was possible.
"y-yes!" you whimper loudly, needing him to go faster.
logan's not religious by any means but in that moment, he wishes he could personally thank god for everyone being gone tonight. he can't imagine having to muffle your little moans right now while he starts pounding back into you.
"gimme kiss, please?" you whisper in between the lewd wet smacks of his heavy balls against your ass.
how could logan turn down his sweet girl? even while being ruined, you still managed to use your manners.
the two of you sloppily make out, exploring each other. he swallows all the whimpers you let out against his lips. except the one from when logan pulls back.
"what are you–?"
"open your mouth and stick out your tongue for me." logan demanded, staring down at you like a feral animal.
you obey, opening up for him like he asks. logan spits on top your tongue, feeling your tight cunt flutter around him. clenching at the taste of him.
"swallow." he says, watching you do so. "what a good girl."
"i'm so f-fucking close, lo." your head falls back against his shoulder as your vision turns white, stars behind your eye lids.
"me too." logan warns. " 'ya gonna let me fill you up, sweetheart? bet you wanna be full of me, to carry my seed? isn't that right?"
he knows you're too far gone, babbling incoherent sentences and soft pleas. the tiny, "mhm" and head nod give him the okay to cum inside you.
"s-shit!" he curses. "you're so tight, practically suffocating me, baby."
his orgasm triggers another for you, milking him until both of you are struggling for air. the room felt like the inside of a sauna and reeks of sex.
"got another one in you, pretty girl?" logan asks, slowly pulling out of you.
"y-yeah." you answer, letting him move you how he wanted.
logan slips your nightgown off of you and lays you down on your back again. this time fully taking in your form. every curve, dimple and scar. he makes sure to pay your breasts some attention, taking one in his mouth and massages the other, pinching and rolling your nipple until your whining. desperately you attempt to rub your pussy against his abs, gaining very little friction from it.
if he wasn't in this rut, he would've taken more time to appreciate this. next time he will.
you open up for him again and he slips in with ease. logan brings your thighs to your chest, folding you in half.
"harder, please." you beg, staring up at him with those wide eyes that he's a sucker for.
"i don't want to hurt you, baby." he grunts, trying to restrain himself.
"i can take it, lo." you tell him, stroking his cheek with your much smaller thumb. "i know you need it right now."
instead of answering with words, logan bends down and kisses you in a more tender way than before. as soon as he picks up his thrusts, you tug softly at his locks, making his hips stir and lose rhythm for a second.
"you like it rough, don't 'ya, princess?" he grunts in your neck while his thumb moves to rub circles on your clit. "fuck, my cum is just spilling out of you."
a tear rolls down your cheek, only further encouraging logan. licking up the salty tear before it falls off your skin. never in your life have you felt so dirty.
"please, need to feel you logan." you whimper and he knows exactly what you mean.
"don't worry, baby. i'm close." he says, feeling you flutter around him.
logan's gaze stays locked on where the two of you are connected, watching him slide in and out of you. almost drooling at the image of his cock in your stomach.
within minutes, you're soaking his cock like you did his fingers. slick landing all over logan's sculpted torso. your fingers gather some before bringing them to his lips, letting him lick them clean.
a loud animalistic growl signals his release, painting your walls again for the second time tonight.
both of you lay stuck together. neither ready to let go of each other just yet. on the floor, you notice something light blue peaking out of the back pocket of his discarded jeans.
"so that's where my panties went?" you giggle, capturing logan's attention.
"yeah..." his voice raspy and deeper than usual. "sorry 'bout that, sweetheart."
"it's okay." you reply. "but next time that you get these 'cravings', come to me and i'll help y–"
logan cuts you off on with the rock of his hips and the wet slosh of your ruined cunt. before you can even moan, he's grabbed your white panties next to you and shoves them in your mouth.
I have head cannon of Scott walking in on reader and Logan Logan not giving a damn and carrying on..... What is wrong with me
i imagine this a lot dont worry this is still considered mild.. 😌
“Knock, dumbass.” — Logan Howlett (18+)
warnings: porn with no plot, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, doggy style
Hot breaths, little moans, and loud groans clashed against each other—filling the room in unison. The way his heavy cock slides in and out of your tight pussy, you wished he never stopped. And of course, he never will, until his very last breath if must. Logan’s eyes bore into your contorted-into-pleasure face, he loved watching you writhed underneath him, boosting his ego how only him can do this to you.
“Get on your hands and knees, pretty girl.” Logan grunted, as he gently pulled out of you and help you settle on all fours. You softly whined, feeling empty and missing the fullness of his cock in your pussy already even though it was just a mere seconds.
“I know, I know, baby, let me give it to you.” Logan coo’ed before he guided his cock back into you. You moaned, rolling your eyes back, your hands gripping the pillow underneath you. “Thereee we go, it’s yours baby.” Logan leaned forward, laying his head against yours as he started to thrust his hips creating a rhythm.
“Oh, Logan! S’good.” You moaned.
“Yeah? Let me help you cum. Come on baby, that’s it, atta girl, grip my cock with that pussy.”
As Logan and you were immersed in the moment, the way his cock hitting just every right spot, nearing yourself to the edge. The door swung open with Scott already calling Logan’s name. You gasped and tried to pull away from Logan, even though you won’t be exposed to the unwanted guest—but Logan’s ass is, but Logan didn’t want to let you go as he kept pounding his cock inside.
“Logan— Oh shit! Sorry!” Nervous Scott was struggling to find the words as he just witnessed his friend’s bare ass cheeks and clapping against yours.
“Knock, dumbass! Fucking leave I’m about to cum here.” Logan grunted without turning to look at Scott as he set his eyes on his cock thrusting in and out of your puckering pussy, gripping your hips.
And without further ado, Scott left and that’s when Logan can feel your orgasm with the loudest moan spilling out of you. “That’s it, good girl. I’m gonna cum soon, now come on, work on me. Make me cum.”
You're a sobbing mess, face pressed against the couch cushions, your arm flailing around, clutching onto anything you can hold onto. Logan's back is pressed against yours, warm and hard, as he thrusts into you. He's feral like an animal and you can feel his cock stretch you painfully wide.
"Lo–lo," you whimper, voice small, "Can't do this anymore," you sob, tasting the saltiness of your tears as your poor pussy is abused. Logan's hands fist your hair, pushing down as he grunts.
"Can't take it, hm? Yes, you can. You're a slut remember. This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what you fucking begged for when you were on your knees. Huh, you remember? Licking up my cock, staring up at me with those doe-eyes of yours," he pauses, growling, "What was it you said? You can handle it? Well, handle it then, honey."
You catch your breath, barely able to breathe as he fucks you hard. You're sobbing, unable to focus. Logan grins wolfishly, pulling you up by your hair as he leans in. His lips hit your ear and he whispers hoarsely, "We're gonna play a game now, can you do that for me?"
When you don't answer him he thrusts particularly hard.
"Yes, Logan, yes—" you whine, eyes blurry from your tears. You're staring at the wall now, trying your hardest to be good for him. His laugh in your ear makes you shiver.
"I want you to count every thrust into your soaked pussy." You can hear his grin, "And if you miss one, I'll go even harder, do you understand me?"
You choke on a cry, not understanding why he's punishing you. You hadn't been that bratty. Logan just seems like he likes this; mocking you and making you squirm for him. He thrusts hard, hitting your cervix and you gasp.
Apparently, the game had started because he slaps your ass. "One!" you cry, moaning loudly. You're slightly afraid your neighbors might hear you but Logan doesn't seem to care. He continues fucking into you, whispering dirty things in your ear and you struggle to count all his thrusts. He's so fast. His stamina is intense.
"Four–ah–five, six, s-seven—"
"Louder. I want everyone to know how much of a slut you are."
You cry, your body feels weak and you're happy he's holding you up because you couldn't do it yourself. Your mind goes hazy as you try and count. "thirteen, fourteen, ah—fifteen, s-sixteen—Logan—I- I can't," you sob, completely losing track and his thrusts become harder to the point that it's burning. You accept the pain, moaning louder.
Logan's hand wraps around your jaw, groaning in your ear. "Filthy girl. Can't even listen. What am I gonna do with you? I have to teach you a lesson, huh? One your stupid little brain will understand."
Your skin burns with embarrassment as tears prickle your eyes. His other hand roughly cups your breast and tortures your nipples. This is humiliating, being so powerless against him. You just cry softly, coming around him, body convulsing. You couldn't hold it anymore.
It just happened.
Logan smirks. He doesn't care that you didn't ask for permission. After all, it gives him more ammunition.
"Couldn't control yourself, honey?"
You shake your head, tears streaming down onto his hand. He wipes his hand around your face, smearing your tears around and messing up your mascara. He chuckles.
"Please—t-too much."
Hearing your words, Logan grunts, spilling himself into your womb. He lets go, watching you fall forward again, and digs his nails into your hips. His thrusts slow, catching his breath and looking down at you. You're a complete mess; tears and snot coating your face as you lay there, completely used. Logan smirks to himself, pulling out and then plugging his cum inside you with his fingers. You whimper, too weak to squirm.
"Keep it all in. Lose a drop and I'll make this worse for you," Logan says. The threat is empty considering he can see you're done. He's pushed you to your limit and you took it so well. Soothingly, he runs his other hand over your back. Once he's satisfied that you're keeping his cum inside, he walks over and caresses your cheek, truly wiping your tears away this time.
"Shh," he says, kneeling next to you. You blink, eyes still hazy. He's still naked and he chuckles when you see your eyes wander downwards.
"Want more?" he teases.
You shake your head, whining. Logan laughs and kisses your head. "I know, honey. You're okay. You did so well for me," he says and strokes your hair. You sigh, relaxing in his arms as he praises you. You hum, needing more praise. Logan knows you do and he will happily oblige.
"Good girl," he whispers, kissing right next to your lips, smiling into your skin.
