Cockwarming with Logan is one of those ideas that sound good on paper, but could never work in reality. Listen up, and I’ll tell you why. (18+)
The heat of you enveloping him is nirvana itself, your hands on his body sending him to cloud nine. They linger on his chest, pawing, caressing, blazing a trail from his collarbone to his face, nails burying themselves into the darkened locks as you stare at him with nothing short of pure adoration.
“Feel good?” You ask, and he’s so drunk off you that he can only bring himself to nod, breath hitching when your hips circle themselves in his lap. Your laughter is nothing short of melodic, pressing yourself into the broad length of his chest.
He feels everything like this—the heat of your nude body against his, the scent of your body wash, your shaky breaths—every sense on overdrive. It’s there you sit, unmoving, unwavering, every movement causing your pussy to clench around him, and in turn, makes his chest rumble appreciatively.
“Should listen to you more often,” Logan mumbles, biting his lip at the feeling of you nibbling at his neck. “Just full of bright ideas, ain’tcha?”
“Full of a lot of things,” you sigh, and the sound makes his cock twitch.
But, there’s something missing.
Your quiet whimpers, your doe eyes staring at him from above—the way your pussy clenches in response to every touch, pulsing around his cock—it’s good, but it’s not enough.
Tugging at him, an itch he can’t scratch, it gnaws away at his mind until he finds himself searching for more, and the realization hits him like a wave.
It’s patience he lacks, an epiphany that has his lips curling into a smirk. It’s a lesson soon learned when his fingers dig into your hips and lift, surprise evident on your face. His downfall, as with most things, is his lack of patience. When it comes to you, he could even go as far to call it greed.
“Logan?” You ask, not a word given in response. His palms run up your back, large digits squeezing at your flesh, and yet the feeling does little to settle the sudden flare of nerves that build in your core. The calm before the storm, the impending sense of doom, women’s intuition—or maybe it’s because you’ve become intimately familiar with the devious smile that spreads across Logan’s face.
“Logan? What are you—“
You’re soon cut short, interrupted by the feeling of him slamming you back onto his cock, your short gasp making ego soar to new heights.
“Sorry doll, change of plans,” he grunts, bouncing you on his lap without a care in the world. The sudden change of pace has you scrambling for purchase, hands clamoring around his neck as you struggle to keep up.
“Logan, wait—ohmygod—“ you whine, and the sound is like music to his ears. His attempt at soothing your worries is his hand sliding across your ass, the sharp sting of it making you jump, but lucky for you Logan’s there to pull you back onto his cock.
Up, down, up, down. A constant rhythm that finally satiates the beast within him, the dull thud of skin on skin enough to have him melting into his chair, a wave of content spreading through every vein of his body. In contrast, you feel your own becoming more tense by the second; toes curling, breath caught in your throat, an incomprehensible string of noises leaving your lips as Logan watches with bated breath.
He tuts at you, the sound nothing short of mocking. “No runnin’ away sweetheart, this was your idea.”
“Not like this,” you moan, hiding yourself in his neck. “Wanted to relax…”
Your voice trails off, unable to speak when Logan’s practically fucking every rational thought from your head. Slowly but surely, any idea of protest is drowned out by the heat that burns inside of you, a dull ember that builds into a blaze, unable to focus on anything that isn’t Logan or his cock grinding inside you.
You can hear his laughter bellowing deep within his chest, amused at your brainless state, right before he quickens his pace. “Trust me sweetheart, I’m real fuckin’ relaxed right now.”
Another night at the bar. Sometimes all you need is a good drink and someone to talk to.
Feelings aren't as easy to express when one is so unsure.
[Implied/Potential PartyRules]
Another night at the bar. Just when Barley is about to close up for the night, one last customer comes in. Sometimes all you need is a good
Another night at the bar. Just when Barley is about to close up for the night, one last customer comes in.
Sometimes all you need is a good drink and someone to talk to.
Sometimes feelings aren't as easy to express when one is so unsure.
Implication of PartyRules - Surge x Larry.
⭐
Just a few more glasses to wipe and stock before he could officially close up for the night.
It was then when a large robot waltzed in, taking a well used seat at the bar table, just a click before closing time. It would've been surprising given how he had barely heard the bot come in… though, a part of Barley felt as though it was no surprise at all. He whipped his head around, not to shoo him out, but to serve the grand latecomer.
"...back here again. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Barley chimed, lifting his view to meet that client he had gotten to know all too well by now. The Super regular.
It would be one of those nights, it seems.
"I'll take a round of my usual, you know the drill." Surge nodded back at him, his smile meeting that peppy expression as he kicked his feet up on another stool. Barley glanced at them, tapping a finger on the bar top.
"Must I remind you of the etiquette here?"
"Come on, I'll cover for it! Always do- plus, nobody's here anyways." Surge stretched his arms, little clinks of his joints churning as he got comfortable. "I heard you got a new shipment in. Can I..?"
"Word travels fast, hm? Yes, I did receive a new supply of drinks."
Surge beamed, He took out a bottle of energy juice, twirling it in his hand.
"Available for customs?" He asked, tossing the bottle at Barley, who caught it without moving an inch from his spot. He analysed the bottle, noting its pristine condition, fresh labels and all. His eye chimed a warm yellow, along with a nod of his head.
"Always."
-
One, two, three... Goodness, was he glad he stocked some of the bottles in the back for the next day. As much love as he held for this work, as well as the customers that brought him the joy of service... Some days, it really was a question of some people's indulgence to his finely crafted drinks.
Maybe he was too good, hoho...
Surge downed another pint, his engines letting a low rev of satisfaction. Though it would put a costly dent in the budget, it was worth it. He hadn't enjoyed drinks of this quality anywhere but Barley's in all his years of service. Just one of the reasons he'd always come back here.
The atmosphere and Barley's quips could only hold for so long. Surge hadn't once mentioned what his visit today was caused by. That... was unusual, actually.
The average barkeep would mind their own. Listen, pour, serve.
A good barkeep would get to know their customers at these rare hours of the night. After all, it was their responsibility to ensure the safety and comfort of their regulars.
"So many visits lately."
Surge turned his head, giving him a half shrug. "You complaining? I can find another place to wind down, if there's trouble."
"Of course not. Why, I'd never scare off a loyal customer. Let alone one like yourself.” Barley laughed, fixing the bowtie on his chest. “Your business here means good business for me.”
Surge let a soft chuckle out at that, taking another swig of the mighty pint.
"Your place is all the range once fans got whiff of what I think of it. Plus, your talents are one of a kind, Barley."
"Please, you flatter me."
Surge raised a cheer with his drink, taking another sip. He set it down on the table, on a coaster, of course, before leaning an arm on the bar top.
"Anyway… for your comment, I've just got some weird bug floating around my systems. At least, that's what Meg says."
Barley blinked. "Have you gotten that checked? I do have some scanners in the back, if you need." He was fast to offer to get the machine, only to be stopped by Surge shaking his hands.
"No, I'm good! It's not that kind of bug. More like a made up, processing kind—" Surge sighed, a faint warmth coming from his form. His smile was unsteady, head turned away "— the girls call them... butterflies."
"Ah."
That kind of bug.
The bartending robot kept his charming, calm expression. Despite one, having learned of this reason; two, the adorable use of the human expression he adopted from his friends. As for Barley, he knew very well of the term with human context.
Butterflies: To feel unusually nervous to a scenario, often associated with crushes and interests.
Speaking of, it had been quite some time since Surge's last partner... and for good reason. The party bot had broken all records of drinking in that era. Though, that was only known to those who came by at those unkind hours of the night.
Of course, he has a reputation to keep up, and all.
But, who was this newcomer? It was quite a surprise to learn that, really.
"I dunno, they're just overreacting." He finished his glass, sliding it across the counter for another refill.
"Those two do know you best."
Surge shrugged, his audio receptors tilting to the middle position than its usual high standing.
"Yeah, I guess. All it took was this thing I said about how their smile was nice and all, what's the big deal, huh?"
"Nice?"
"Yeah, nice. And cute, or... wait, no- Yeah? How he's always smiling, doin' good and helping people with his job. I like that." Surge swiped the drink up just as it was placed on the coaster in front of him, swirling the liquid around in the glass. "That smiley bot's got real confidence. You don't see that much, not outside of brawls. Nicer than his brother, but man, don't push his buttons, or he's worse than that pitbull!"
Surge laughed at the last name he'd given, bringing a hand up as if to wipe an imaginary tear from his eyes. Barley's interest, meanwhile, had piqued. A smiley robot, with a brother akin to a pitbull... Only one duo in this park fit that description.
Larry and Lawrie, the former, presumably, being this alleged crush.
Larry.
Barley couldn't help but start chuckling as well, placing down the bottle in his hand, lest he drop it and waste the precious drink.
"Hey, what's got you laughing? Didn't take you for enjoying jokes like that." Surge asked, interested in the sudden expression from the bartender.
"I'm merely surprised at this revelation. So, it's Larry at the center of your conflicts now—" Barley's eye flashed a bright yellow, his eye lit up as he laughed "—Hoho, It seems you have a type!"
...
Neither said anything for a considerable, devastatingly painful few seconds. Barley questioned at that moment if those had been the right words to use... Perhaps he had hit a sore spot-
Surge shifted first. He let out a hearty laugh, as that bright smile remained, maybe a tad too much to quite sell the denial. His audio receptors had perked all the way up, too alert.
But, he knew.
Barley always knew.
Just a question of whether or not he'd admit it outright. Knowing how early on this interest seemed to be, perhaps it wasn't meant to be at this moment.
"You're funny, you old rust bucket!" Surge took a swig of his drink, attempting to shift what he'd said, albeit a tad... suddenly.
Barley wasn't about to let it go, though.
"On the contrary, my heroic friend, I mean that quite literally. I find it interesting how you have a type for those who are willing to put others and safety before their own. Good morals seek good morals."
Surge shrugged it off, waving a dismissive hand. He'd downed the rest of his drink, letting the glass clunk heavily on that coaster, keeping the bar top just barely protected.
"Yeah. Sure, the bot has good meaning... I said I respect him and how he stands up for himself. He isn't a pushover."
"I'm well aware, do not worry."
"But that doesn't mean I have a type. Just... coincidence, that's all."
Barley prepared another drink, taking some ice from a cooler behind him.
"...right."
Surge's golden ears tilted back at the unconvincing 'agreement.'
"So, am I safe to assume you do not have similar feelings for the security bot?"
"Yes! Well- maybe? It's not that it's a type, it's just...hm." Surge paused, his smile shifting slightly to a more neutral look as he thought.
Barley watched intently, having seen similar expressions on multiple occasions over the years. The look of the ones who are unable to tell their feelings at the moment. The hesitation was enough of a confirmation for him.
"Look, don't call it like that... like I'm trying to, just… As if I'm trying to find someone almost like him-" How stupid would that be, right? He was supposed to be over his last partner by now, yet here he was, drinking away his thoughts of falling once more. Was he afraid? Still not over what had happened? How stupid he was to be here, pouring his words out to the local barkeep about this dumb bug in his head. Meanwhile he'd probably be judging him for all that he'd spat out—
Barley cleared his throat, catching the hero's attention briefly from his wandering processor.
"I'd suggest nothing of the sort. I merely asked out of curiosity, not to judge."
Surge looked at the barkeep properly now, who was entirely confident and true with his statement. Barley wasn't one to He rubbed the back of his head, his ears tilting downwards as he... frowned. The rare, pouty, small frown, one that this hero had worked to push aside for ages since he had felt better regarding his former partner.
"...I know."
"Then, do you feel that you like him?"
Surge looked between Barley and the glass in front of him, back and forth as if either would've given him the answer he needed. Unfortunately, none would come. He sighed, before only giving the older bot a shrug as an answer.
"I don't know yet."
Barley stared at him a moment. He leaned over, extending his arm to pat the shoulder of the bigger robot.
"That's okay."
Such simple words went a long way. He noticed that with humans as well.
Surge managed a smile. Not the overly big one he usually had, but a simpler, acknowledging smile.
Surge stood up, his legs keeping him upright and steady, despite the vast quantities of drinks he'd just consumed. You'd hardly tell, unless you knew where to look. The way he spoke, and the slight darker tint to his energy drink gauge.
Thankfully, he'd burn through any remnants of alcohol by midday, as if nothing had ever happened.
"I'll send you the pay when I get back to the city. Left my gold at base." He chuckled, patting his compartments, only to find nothing but other energy drinks stocked up in them.
"As always... I'll be expecting it in due time. Take care, Surge."
Surge gave a two fingered salute in response, finally allowing Barley his much needed rest for the night once those doors closed.
In which Will and Mike both discover something unnerving.. and Henry remains in the dark.
Fredbear’s Family Diner. The place where it all fell apart. How could a place so lively hold such tragedy?
William Afton walked through the closed off diner, past the tables with festive tablecloths, past the bloodstains on the stage that wouldn’t come out no matter how hard he scrubbed it. He remembered when this place was alive, children running around happily, gazing up at Bonnie and Fredbear with wonder in their tiny eyes. That all seemed like decades ago now, even if it had only been months.
This used to be a place of joy.
What was it now?
He walked through the door to the back rooms, the happy, cheery atmosphere falling way to the dark corridors, the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. It was almost like walking between worlds. The bright outer shell of an animatronic, and the cruel machinery underneath.
Will was absently scratching at the scars on his neck, despite being told not to. It itched horribly, even with the stitches removed. He ignored the way the scabs burst. He ignored the sticky blackness staining the collar of his shirt. It didn’t matter.
He opened the door to the workshop.
Something wasn’t right.
Fredbear was gone.
“Why…” It was an overwhelming feeling of dread. Dread and nothing more. He really was gone this time, wasn’t he.
Henry had been here last.
Of course, of course he wouldn’t be content to take him away once, but again, right after Will finally had him back. It was like a taunt, wasn’t it? Dangle hope in front of his face, only to rip it away before he can reach out and take it.
His fingernails dug into the flesh of his arms, tearing away at the scabbed over scarring, but it just didn’t matter.
He’s gone.
“At least you’re still here buddy, isn’t that right?” Will picked up the head of his springlock suit, surprised to find that Henry had cleaned most of the blood from the internal machinery, even if the yellow fur was stained red around the seams.
“How cruel, he took your partner away from you, didn’t he? I'm so sorry, Bonnie. We’re gonna make this right, aren’t we?” He lightly moved the head up and down, so it looked as if the animatronic was nodding.
“That’s what I thought!”
—
“Hey da-” Micheal paused in the doorway to the kitchen, frozen in place at the sight of the golden head on his father’s shoulders, long rabbit ears sticking up in the air. “...d..?”
“Hmm?” Will turned around to look at him, holding a kitchen knife in his hand, the ears flopped along with his movements, but Micheal could see familiar silver eyes through the mask.
“...What are you… doing..?”
“Just making Lizzie a sandwich, do you want one?” Sure enough, he had all the proper sandwich ingredients laid out, the sandwich cut neatly into triangles, just how Elizabeth liked it.
“N-no, I’m good.” Mike quickly turned away, walking back to his room.
“Alright then, have fun fending for yourself.” He laughed.
Mike looked back over his shoulder at the laughing rabbit, resolving not to let this one slide. “So… What’s with the bunny mask..?”
“What was that?” He tilts his head, finally putting the knife down on the counter.
“..Nothing.”
—
“So! What do you think?”
“I like the ideas you have here, with the new bandmates, but maybe we should change the colors, instead of them all being gold?” Henry looked over the designs Will had drawn out, pleased with what was there. The chicken and fox would be great additions to the band.
At least he hadn’t tried to use springlock suits again.
“Hmm.. You’re right! Oooh, we could make Bonnie purple!”
“Purple? Why purple?”
“Well it’s my favorite color, obviously.” Will laughed.
“Fair enough. Freddy could be a brown bear, and Chica could have yellow feathers…”
He nods. “And then Foxy could be red, it’s Micheal’s favorite color.”
“Perfect.” Henry smiles, it felt like forever since he got to actually make something with Will. He missed it.
“Now we just have to put them together- and I could see us reopening in just another year! New and improved!” Will was smiling, in a genuine way this time, Henry hadn’t seen that smile since before…
“Hey, Will, here’s a bit of an odd request-”
“Hmm?”
Henry took a photograph out of his pocket, showing it to Will. It was a picture of Charlie, holding in her arms a small stuffed toy, like a Raggedy Ann doll painted to resemble a mime. “It’d mean a lot to her if we could maybe create something that looked like that doll. I’m not sure if it's even possible, but I want to try.”
William thought to himself for a moment, considering how to make an animatronic with such a thin frame, and on a more humanoid base, too.. “What if it was suspended from the ceiling by wires attached to its limbs, like a marionette?”
“That might just work..”
“No way to tell but to test it, right?”
“Right.” He looked up at Will with a smile, though his face fell at the sight of the grisly scars around his neck. “...How are you feeling?”
“Hmm? Oh-” Will adjusted the collar of his shirt slightly, trying to hide the circular scars, but it didn’t quite work. Why were there ink stains on his collar? “I’m fine, it’s just a bit itchy, doesn’t even hurt anymore!” That, of course, was a lie.
It finally clicked for Henry why the other man was wearing his work gloves the whole time. “At least you didn’t lose any motor function in your hands, these sketches are just as good as they’ve always been.”
“Why thank you-!” He took out another sheet of paper, and started sketching ideas for the new animatronic. “What should we name it?”
“Puppet, that’s what Charlie calls it.”
Will wrote ‘Puppet’ over the sketch in cursive. “Done.”
“She’ll love it. Thank you, Will.”
“Of course, you still gotta help me build the thing!”
“Hah, I will, don’t worry.”
—
“I think something’s wrong with dad.”
“What do you mean? Is he sick?” Elizabeth looked up at him with wide eyes, the green such a contrast to Micheal and William’s gray eyes. Everyone knew she wasn’t blood related, they didn’t have to ask.
“You mean you haven’t noticed?? He’s been acting super weird, like, weirder than usual, didn’t you see that mask?”
“What mask?”
“You- you haven’t seen it?
“Didn’t you always wear a mask around too?”
“Well yeah but- this is different! Mine’s just plastic- that one’s like, a whole animatronic’s head!”
“Oh, like one of those springy suits!”
“A what?”
“It’s like an animal-tronic but you can wear it like a costume!”
“Springlocks. It’s springlocks.” Mike’s face goes a little pale, thinking back to what Henry said. Springlock failure, that’s what put his dad in the hospital, that’s what that bunny is. Springlocks. The damn thing’s a deathtrap and he’s wearing it around like it’s nothing.
Maybe he really has gone mental.
“Springlocks! That’s what it was! Daddy says Bonnie and Fredbear are both springlock suits!”
Mike shuddered. Fredbear. He didn’t want to think about that giant yellow bear ever again. Hopefully dad destroyed the damned thing, ripped it to shreds, burnt it to the ground, whatever it took.
“I hope they never reopen. I’d be happy if I never had to see another damned robot!”
“That’s not very nice!”
“I don’t care.” He stuck out his tongue.
“Mikey, you’re not very nice.”
“I know.”
—
Henry Emily was performing on stage again, behind the guise of a golden bear, singing a familiar song, all with William Afton- no- Bonnie at his side, playing the guitar. The children in the audience cheered, their bright eyes focused on the two of them.
He could hear the locks snap open, one by one, methodical clinks as the gears unwound into his flesh.
The children all froze, staring at the blood seeping out of Fredbear’s fur.
Henry screamed out, but it was already much too late, he knew it was, but why wasn’t Will doing anything?
“H-help…” It was getting hard to speak, hard to even keep screaming, the springs choked his throat.
William was laughing, the ears on his matching mask bobbing up and down with the motion.
Children screamed in the audience, some running away, others just staring up, in a state of shock.
Henry felt a hand on his arm, a small one, like that of a child.
“Daddy?”
“C..Char..lie..?”
“Wake up!”
Henry slowly opened his eyes, before jolting awake suddenly, relieved to find himself back in his bed, and not torn to ribbons inside a springlock suit.
“Were you having nightmares again?” Charlie was looking up at him in the dark, holding onto his arm with one hand, and her puppet doll with the other.
“..I was, but I’m okay now. Thanks for waking me up.”
She shoves the doll into his arms, trying to get him to take it. “Puppet will keep all the scary dreams away.”
He laughs softly, handing it back to her. “I’ll be okay, you need him more than I do.”
“Okay… But next time you’re having bad dreams, promise you’ll take him!”
I've been working on and off on my novel Chain-link and am almost finished with it! I might post the rest of the chapters but as of now here's the first chapter as a gift =]
Wind blew rubble and dust into the air, a tall figure with a long trench coat, their feet crunching across the rocky path. It had been almost a year since one of the strongest nuclear bombs had been set off in the middle of the city that was now nothing more then rubble and radiated material, no one knew why it had happened or even how, just that the city they called home and almost everyone in it was gone, nothing, destroyed, anyway you could describe complete and total destruction.
The figure pushed the long brim of their hat up on their head and looked around the area for any spare metal that hadn't been taken or destroyed. With a lead pipe held tight in their gloved hand they jumped off the rock and continued on their way after not seeing anything useful. They'd been traveling for days after they had used up almost all their supplies and needed to collect more, even the smallest of candy bars would be helpful, anything to keep their stomach full but, they had yet to find anything and begin running dangerously low on water and food, only having a single water bottle and a handful of nuts.
With hunger clawing at their stomach they continued on trying to ignore the pain that was slowly growing. A partially destroyed building came into view, it was mostly intact, only missing part of the roof and most of the windows shattered. Well it was unlikely such a building hadn't already been ransacked but it was worth a shot to check. They eased open the front door tightening their grip on their pipe, "if anyone is in here I don't want any harm, I'm just looking for supplies, if you don't have any I'll leave." Their low voice echoed throughout the gutted home, the few pieces of furniture were turned over blocking pathways, a mutter left their throat, "nothing I can't climb over." They holstered their pipe and flung themself over a ratty old couch into a hallway with a shattered light in the middle of it and a door at the end. Making their way around the glass in the hall they opened the door revealing a long staircase that lead into a darkened room. With a small shake they crept their way down the stairs, filling the room with the creaks and moans of the old wood.
Once they made it to the end they felt around the walls for a switch of sorts before quickly stopping, "right, no electricity, even if there was a light down here it wouldn't work.." they fished around in their pockets until the sturdy body of a flashlight met their hand. They flipped it on and flooded the room with light, the room must have been a basement as they're were boxes propped up on the walls and a large chest rested in the center. Before they could even take a step closer to the chest the loud echo of footsteps on the stairs filled the basement.
They whipped around grabbing their pipe tight and pointed at the shadow of who had entered the basement. The shadow had a long beaked mask on, dark hair, a long coat, and boots and gloves that reached long up their limbs, "who are you and what are you doing here." The familiar click of a gun being cocked filled the room, "M-my name is Rusty, I promise I mean no harm! I was just searching here for supplies, I'm low on food and water, I can share what I find with you!" Rusty hastily replied, their pipe shaking in their hands. The shadowy figure slipped their mask onto the top of their head showing off their pail skin speckled in freckles and 2 deep blue eyes, "you're not gonna find anything here, trust me I already took everything." Rusty loosened their death grip on the pipe and tried to calm down, "if you want me to leave I'll go right now, just please don't hurt me." The figure purked up a bit, "I'm not gonna hurt you, it's clear you're not a bandit, you can call me Copper." Rusty relaxed and looked back at the chest, "have you checked that?" They asked pointing at it. Copper shrugged his shoulders, "probably nothing in it, everything down here was just old pictures and toys, whatever is in it you can have, I've got enough supplies." Rusty practically jolted to the chest and got on their knees in front of it. The dark wood was covered in a layer of dust and a few stickers that had almost completely rubbed off, gold derails lined the edges forming curls and small flowers.
Rusty cracked their knuckles and lifted up the lid. Inside were mostly old documents and Polaroid images, the dates scribbled in pen on the back, but one thing stood out, a glittering object at the bottom, the light it caught twisted forming shapes on the surface. Rusty reached their hand in and took it out of the chest, it was a copper pocket watch, the metal had gears and keys carved into it, on the back it had what looked like a grandfather clock engraved in the back. They pressed a small button and the lid flicked open, everything went eerily quiet and dust seemed to be frozen in time. Rusty quickly closed it again and everything started back up again, "so what'd ya find?" Copper broke Rusty out of their thoughts and stood up, "just a pocket watch, not much." Rusty handed the watch over to Copper who turned it in his hand, "this could still be useful, never know who'd be willing to trade for it."
Rusty was packing up mri meals and water bottles that Copper had given them into their bag, they still had the pocket watch in their hand as they slung their bag over their sholder, "Here's one for the road." Copper tossed a water bottle to Rusty, they closed their eyes shut as the bottle got closer to them, they waited for the bottle to make contact with them but it never did, they opened their eyes to see the water and Copper frozen in the air, not moving, just staying in place. Rusty flicked their eyes over to the pocket watch seeing the lid flicked open, the clock ticking was the only sound, Rusty closed the lid and promptly got hit in the head with the water.
Cowboy!Logan who insists on teaching his pretty girl how to ride a horse for the first time, beckoning her over to the massive stallion with a wave of his hand.
Cowboy!Logan who insists on saddling up behind you so it’s easier to teach, letting the full width of him nearly encompass you, his body heating warming you up with each passing second.
Cowboy!Logan who rests his large hands on your thighs, thumbs rubbing in soothing circles as he teaches you the ins and outs of being a good rider.
Cowboy!Logan whose voice sounds like liquid gold in your ear, the praise setting more than just your body alight. His lips graze against the side of your head as he speaks, burying his nose to inhale your scent as he whispers.
“There we go, just like that. You’re a natural sweetheart.”
Cowboy!Logan who insists on guiding your hips to the correct rhythm, every rise and fall masterfully commanded with a strong grip. It helps, but you can’t help but feel your thighs clench when you realize just how easily he maneuvers you.
Cowboy!Logan who grins when you’re not looking, fully aware of how desperate you’re getting because he can fucking smell how wet you are.
Cowboy!Logan who gets off on knowing that you’re so easily riled up, knowing that if he wanted to he could pull you off this horse right now, fuck you in the grass until you cried his name, and you’d let him.
Cowboy!Logan who climbs off the horse, hard-on pressed into his tight jeans, so he can look up and see the half-dazed look on your face.
And to think he hasn’t even touched you properly.
“Think you can ride without me?” He asks, knowing good and goddamn well he’s going to stroke himself raw to the image of you the moment he’s alone.
You nod, and he doesn’t miss how you adjust yourself under his gaze. “Y-Yeah, I think I got it now.”
There’s something deep inside him that he refuses to acknowledge—maybe it’s instinct. A need rather than a want, one that has been neglected for far too long. One that he hadn’t even realized until you became a part of his life—the need to feel wanted.
“Logan, could you—“
He’s on his feet within before you can finish your sentence, almost hovering over you. “What’dya need?”
You point to the plates on the shelf, farther than you can manage to reach. You smile at him when he grabs them for you, giving a kiss to his cheek when you take them from his hands.
“Thank you baby,” you say, and his heart melts.
For the longest time he believed he was a lone wolf, solitary and isolated. He did better without anyone dragging him down, or so he thought until he was shown otherwise. The X-Men, and then you—he especially enjoys being with you. Makes him feel fuzzy and warm inside knowing you actually want him around.
It feels good. He doesn’t realize how good until he’s balls deep inside you.
You’re always so pliant for him, willing and ready to indulge his every sinful desire, arms open and legs spread. Inviting. Between tangled sheets and hushed whispers you make him feel alive. You make him feel like a man, and not a monster.
“Make me feel so good,” you moan, running your hands through his hair. His ego inflates with every word, hypnotized by you.
“Yeah? Say it again for me darling,” he says, bringing you further and further onto his cock. Your eyes roll back, barely able to respond when his dick makes it hard to breathe, thrusting up into you like a man starved.
“You—fuck—make me feel good—“
You cry out his praise like worship, too lust-adled to give a damn about your volume. Maybe it’s the saccharine tone you use, or maybe it’s the aphrodisiatic look you give him, but he needs more of it—more of you.
Without warning his hips move against your own, grinding into your pussy. Slow, calculated, he watches your eyes roll back in pleasure as he presses against your soft spots each and every time.
“Say it again baby, tell me how good I make you feel,” he grunts, enjoying how you thrash around his cock. His words alone make you embarrassingly hot, your head falling to his shoulders as you weakly cry his name.
Your voice hiccups with each thrust, every noise that escapes you directly in his ear. “S good Lo’, need you—please—“
His grin stretches wide at your words. “You need me baby, is that it?”
“Yes,” you moan, “need you to fuck me—“
You beg him so nicely, nails climbing up his back in search for more. Your hips find a rhythm of their own against his, a silent plea to fuck you like you need it.
His words alone make you embarrassingly hot, your head falling to his shoulders as you weakly cry his name. Your voice hiccups with each thrust, every noise that escapes you directly in his ear as you come, coating his dick in your juices—
