AN: here's a little drabble about logan fucking you from behind, keeping you in a headlock, squished between his biceps <3 and also some dirty talk here and there!
pairing: mean!logan x afab!reader
content/tags: NSFW, minors DNI (18+ only), dom!logan, choking, dacryphilia, name calling, porn without plot, dirty talk, creampies, unprotected sex, pet names (princess, doll, etc.), size kink, mark leaving (ie. hickeys), breeding kink, brat taming, rough sex
logan sees the way you watch his arms hungrily, your lust blown pupils observing the way his muscles twitch when he's feeling tired. he knows the chokehold he has on you.
just a poor little thing, wrapped around his finger.
"i see the way you look at my arms, darlin", he grunts, manhandling you so your back presses against his chest, his toned arms snaking around your waist, keeping you locked in place.
"you don't even try to hide it," logan adds, pressing kisses against your shoulder, his hands working at the straps of your tank top, slowly sliding them down to reveal your tits.
"such a dirty girl, hm?" he teases, rolling the sensitive buds between his thumb and index finger.
"were you ever taught that it was rude to stare?" he hisses, tugging at your nipples, making you wince out in pain. logan smirks at your audible displeasure, now turning his attention from your tits to your neck.
"i’m gonna mark you up doll, ‘oughta teach you a lesson somehow," he growls. logan presses a kiss against the shell of your ear, making his way down to your nape, planting wet kisses along the way.
you lean forwards, giving him easier access to your neck—and when you give him an inch, he takes a mile.
his kisses get more erratic, sloppier, messier, hungrier. he can’t hold himself back, he needs to mark you, and absolutely wants to show the whole world that you’re his.
and so he sinks his teeth into the supple skin of your neck, paying sweet attention to how your weak moans escaped from your lips. he’d nip and suck at your skin, hard enough to leave those love bites you both oh-so carnally desire.
your brain is all fuzzy from the stinging pain you felt on your neck, mixed alongside the growing pleasure you felt between your legs as he simultaneously paws at your tits.
“i can’t take it lo, s’too much,” you whine, shutting your eyes tight. tears start forming around your waterline as he continues his assault on your neck.
just as your vision starts to get hazy, he wraps his left arm around your neck, keeping your face snug between his forearm and bicep.
“be a good girl and fuckin’ take it,” he commands, a singular claw popping out of his right hand, slicing through your mini-skirt to reveal your lacy black pair of panties.
sheathing his claw, he hastily pulls them down to reveal your sopping wet cunt. “fuck me…” he hisses, admiring your cunt in all its glory.
“such a dirty fuckin’ whore, you getting off on this?” he says smugly, slipping a finger between your folds, observing the way your pussy sucks him in.
you weakly nod as you remain sandwiched in his headlock. teetering between the lines of passing out and losing consciousness, you mumble out a string of words—something along the lines of “i need you to fuck me,” or “fuckin’ put it in”; they both mean the same thing to logan anyways.
he obliges, with one arm wrapped around your neck, and the other hastily working at the belt of his jeans. in one swift motion, his boxers and jeans hit the floor in tandem, freeing his cock from the confines of the tight denim.
he spits in his hand, pumping his cock a couple times before he finally lines himself up, and slides himself in, down to the hilt. your pussy sucks him in like a vice, the two of you moaning in unison.
“you’re so tight for me, princess.” he groans, thrusting into you at a rapid pace, fully sheathing himself out, and pushing his full length back into you.
the sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. the pace of which he fucked you made you dizzy, the grip around your neck adding to the immense pleasure you felt in your cunt.
you attempt to press kisses against his bicep as the muscle secures you in place, but you fail to do so, as shown by your wine red lip stick smudged all over his arm.
“such a naughty whore, suckin’ me in like this” he teases, his free hand pressing against the bulge on your stomach, disappearing and reappearing with every thrust of his. “need this dick to fill you up, huh?”
and you whine as much as your parched voice allowed you to. “want you so bad, lo” you mumble incoherently. “need you stuff me with your cum.”
“such a filthy mouth for a sweet little girl like you,” logan grunts, the movement of his hips getting sloppier. “beg for it.”
“need you to fuckin’ breed me,” you moan, “make me yours,” you cry out— and that’s what makes logan snap.
with a few final deep thrusts, he finishes inside you. his hot ropes of cum fill your cunt to the brim; your arousal mixed with his cum leaks out of your sopping hole before he even pulls out.
he keeps his cock inside you for a minute, pumping whatever he has left inside of you, and finally pulls out. he winces, already missing the way your gummy walls wrapped tightly around his cock.
“need to keep that in you…” he says playfully, plugging your cunt with his thumb, the calloused pad making sure that his cum is stuffed deep inside you.
“now let that be a lesson for you, doll,” he quips, removing his thumb, slipping it into his mouth to taste the mixture of the two of you.
he then brings his thumb to your bottom lip, inviting you to have a taste for yourself. the heady taste of his cum combined with your slick had you moan around him.
he pulls his thumb away from your mouth with a pop, and you look up at him with your fucked-out eyes. you simply nod your head and give him a lazy smile.
surely it wouldn’t hurt to stare at him every now and then.
WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ implied age gap, dirty talk, kind of inexperienced reader, oral sex (m receiving), face fucking, dom!logan, a tiny bit of degradation (yeah i'm a whore we already knew that), he guides you through the whole experience (shocking!!! i know)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: HI PALS!!! yes i'm alive and kicking. yes university is killing me. so recently i’ve been OBSESSED with this man and i needed to write something for him. english is not my first language and i may have made some mistakes (if you encounter any you can tell me, i won't mind it). comments/likes/reblogs would be highly appreciated. i've got sooooo many ideas to write and i'm finally getting my hands on them. i missed you all so fucking much. hope you enjoy this!!!
It’s common knowledge that all humans have needs. Try as you may, there’s a primitive side that you can’t spare yourself from. You, as everybody else, have urges.
“Logan,” you basically mewl his name, five letters that roll off your tongue with little effort. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge you, his kisses growing harsher on the delicate skin of your neck. Threading your fingers through his hair, you decide to try again, speaking a bit louder this time. “Logan, please.”
“What is it, honey?” he says, bitten lips still pressed to your pulse point. As you remain silent, he looks up at you, those big, brown eyes that you love so dearly almost completely dark now. “Do you want to call it a day?”
His question catches you off-guard. You cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, suddenly afraid that he might pull away from you. “No! Not at all. That’s- that’s not what I want at all, actually.”
“What do you want, then? You can tell me,” he kisses you on the lips, softly at first. What starts as nothing more than a sweet kiss turns into a needier one, his hard on poking you through your shorts. “Come on. Tell me, baby. What does my sweet girl want?”
“I want to suck you off, Logan,” you whisper as you latch your mouth onto his, and you can feel how he visibly tenses beneath you. His breath hitches in his throat when you grind your hips. “I really need it.”
From the very beginning of your relationship, you had made things crystal clear: you didn’t have much experience on this territory. For a man his age, he was totally understanding. He knew you had your own times, that for him to take you to bed would take longer. Truth be told, Logan was willing to go to the ends of the world for you. There was no use in forcing anything.
At present, the bulge amid his legs becomes even more noticeable as you get off his lap, playing with his belt. “Can I?” you ask him, amazed at how straightforward you’re being.
Logan stares at you, so far panting, lust glowing in his eyes. “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters as he helps you undress him. His worn out jeans end up pooling around his ankles, and you locate yourself in between his legs.
You’re on your knees, hands folded in front of you. Suddenly, it hits you, the shame of it all. How badly you want him, how desperate you are to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue. How many nights you’ve dreamt of this moment, unable to stop that unbearable need of touching yourself every time you thought about pleasuring him.
That’s what you truly want. For him to use you.
“What’s wrong, princess? We’ve talked about this a lot of times. You know what to do,” you can’t help but stare at his crotch as you listen to him, and then he raises your chin with his finger, your lips parting unconsciously. You blink slowly at him, eyelashes fluttering together. At last, he seems to understand what you’re trying to tell him, and he raises his eyebrows, that cocky grin of his taking place where it belongs. “You want me to guide you, don’t you? Want me to tell you what to do? Know you like it when I go a bit off the rails.”
You moan at his words, squeezing your eyes shut and nuzzling your cheek up against his palm. Slick gathers in your panties as you push your thighs together. “Please. Tell me what to do.”
“Take it out,” he instructs you, and you do as you’re told. Grabbing him by the base, you pull his cock out of his briefs. He twitches in your hand, and he’s so, so incredibly big.
You stroke him once, testing the feeling. This you know how to do. You’ve given him hand jobs millions of times, although this one feels particularly different from the others.
He takes hold of your fist, applying a bit of pressure. “I’m sorry, baby. I think you got it all wrong. I’m the one who makes the calls here, okay?” he grunts, his brows knitted, and you only nod, salivating at the sight of his cock already leaking precum at the tip. Logan licks his lips, curling his hand around yours. “You do as I say. Now, stroke me. Nice. And. Slow,” he punctuates each of his words by moving both your hand and his in unison around his length. “That’s it, darling. You just need someone to boss you around from time to time, ain’t I right?”
One thing to know about Logan: he’s so full of himself on a daily basis, but he just gets worse in bed.
“My mouth,” you hover your lips over the head of his cock, all shiny and soft. He has let you go, both of his arms now flexed behind his head, as if he were appreciating how pathetic you must look on your knees, begging for him to allow you to taste him. “Let me.”
“Not yet,” his hips follow your tormenting pace, seeking the warmth that your skin radiates. He grits his teeth, biting his lower lip. You’ve no idea how a man so strong can become putty in your hands like this. “Greedy girl. I’m beginning to think you’ve set me up. Only a slut would get so worked up about having a cock in her mouth. What happened to my innocent girl? Gone with the wind, huh?”
“Please, Lo. I need it so bad,” you are whining, peppering his thighs with kisses. You inhale his musky scent, getting dizzy. “Give it to me. I’ll be good.”
Out of nowhere, Logan grabs a handful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back. He scrutinizes your face, studying your blissed out demeanor. “I don’t doubt that. I’m sure you’ll be good. Otherwise, we’ll keep on trying. We have all night, and you have a good memory, just need to put it to use,” as he taps your lower lip with his tip, you catch him smirking. He repeats that same motion until he has you shivering from the excitement of being stuffed. ”Show me how much you need it. Go easy on it at first, okay? Don’t want you choking beforehand.”
You’re more than happy to comply.
Your tongue darts out to lick at his head, enveloping it between your lips. The salty taste of his precum invades your tastebuds, and you moan as you trace the veins of his cock with the pad of your thumb. “Tastes so good, Lo,” your voice sounds distant, almost unrecognizable to your own ears.
“I know, bub. Such a nice fucking mouth, can’t believe you’ve never done this before. I guess you’re a natural,” shaky fingers place a strand of hair behind your ears, patting your head as if you were a dog in heat. “Do you feel like bobbing your head a little?” he asks you, and you prepare yourself, attaching your mouth to his head once again. “Good. That’s good.”
With that being said, Logan fists your hair once again and shoves your face down, his hard cock tickling your throat. Your whines and his rapid breaths are the only sounds to be heard in your bedroom. He grins as he takes in the sight of you. “Oh, sweetheart. You look so beautiful with your mouth stretched around me,” his index finger taps your cheek and he feels the outline of his own cock. “You know I can smell you, right? You’re fucking soaked, baby. Think you’ll leave a stain on the carpet? You’d clean it off with your tongue, wouldn’t you?”
You have no idea how he’s coming up with these things, but you’re far from annoyed. In fact, you’ve never been this wet. Your underwear must be ruined at this point, and you wish Logan would tell you to touch yourself.
After some minutes of bobbing your head up and down, he pulls you off his cock and you breathe through your mouth for the first time in a while. As you gasp for air, Logan kisses you, tasting himself. He massages the back of your neck, his cock throbbing between the two of you. “You tired?”
Your glossy eyes widen. Shaking your head, you go for his balls this time, sucking one of them while toying with the other. Logan buries his hands in your hair for what must be the hundredth time in the night, unable to stop himself. “F-fuck, that’s it. A pretty girl like you just gets what she needs,” he praises you, and you return to his length, taking as many inches as you can without hurting yourself. Tears shimmer in your eyes, yet you can’t bring yourself to care about that detail. You’re far too focused on Logan’s grunts and growls. “Keep that up and I’ll come. You heard me? You’re gonna make me fucking come, bub.”
His words ignite a fire inside you. You use your hands, your mouth, everything that you have to pleasure him. He’s getting closer and closer, thighs shaking when you pay special attention to his tip. Logan responds to each of your movements, and as you feel every coherent thought fly out the window, you try to take him all the way down your throat, breathing through your nose and swallowing around him. He cants his hips up, brutally fucking your mouth. Like a dog without a leash, Logan seems to get lost in the warmth that envelopes his cock, chasing his own release. “You’re such a good girl. My good girl. Nobody will fuck this mouth ever again. I’ll ruin you for any pathetic guy that tries to get in your pants. You’re fucking mine, darling. Oh, f-fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck-”
You’re met with his happy trail once he spills his hot load inside your mouth. He keeps you trapped there, his cock twitching and spamming through the aftershocks of his orgasm. You don’t think twice and swallow what he’s giving you. Some of his cum slips from your lips, falling directly onto the carpet. Even Logan seems surprised when he doesn’t stop coming.
He helps you stand up after a moment, kissing you as soon as he gets the chance. He licks into your mouth, squeezing the flesh of your hips. Logan lifts his eyebrows, relishing how cock-drunk you must look. “I think you nearly killed me. And that’s a lot to say coming from someone who cannot fucking die.”
You plaster a smile on your face, hugging his wide frame. “So, was I okay?”
His jaw goes slack, and he lowers his head to capture your lips in another kiss. “You were fantastic. I could easily get hard again just from thinking about it,” his fingers trace the buttons of your shirt, tugging at the fabric of it. “What if you let me focus on yourself for a while? You’ve already done enough, baby. Let me take care of you,” he rubs his hands on your thighs, reaching for your drenched panties. “Perhaps we could try something else today. That pussy’s begging to be fucked.”
pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. fluff; smut (p in v unprotected sex; heavy breeding kink; creampie; oral - reader receiving). canonically bisexual reader. dp+w movie spoilers.
synopsis: you and logan have a pretty happy life… but there’s still something you want.
words: 10k.
notes: part 2 of say you’ll remember me. you don’t have to read it for this part but it is referenced. thank you @eupheme for being my beta, and for the use of the dividers!
Logan wakes to the twinned warmth of the sunrise and you curled around him like a cat.
You’ve always been attracted to the way he runs hot, a creature of habit in any timeline. A magnet seeking him out even when asleep; you are pretty much a permanent fixture by his side when the weather is a little too chilly. Not that he’s complaining - he loves to sling an arm around you and feel you snuggle into him. Loves to keep you close.
It’s nice, honestly; Logan has more good days than bad ones now. He never thought he’d get to see that again. Sometimes things get rough, sure, recovery is not a straight line - but you’re there with him on every step of that journey and he’s more thankful for that than he can ever express. You’re a grounding rod keeping the storm of his life in check.
You intuit that he’s awake, something between you innately connected, and you begin to stir, body brushing up against his. He sleeps naked, usually running too hot to bother with any kind of pyjamas, and you’ve started sleeping shirtless too. Maybe it’s because he makes the bed too warm to stomach wearing one, or maybe it’s just because you like to feel his naked chest up against yours - either way he isn’t complaining.
You stretch, arching yourself into his flank, blink open your eyes slowly. Smile when you find him looking down at you with soft, hazy, early-morning features.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies, voice rocky. You reach up to kiss him, as is the way you usually like to start your day. It doesn’t take long for the chaste peck to become something more: the gentle parting of lips, slipping out the pink tip of your tongue to meet his. His body stirs. He can practically smell the way your blood pumps faster, pooling at the apex of your legs.
“It’s so early,” you faux-harrumph when you run your hand towards his cock and find it hardening. How can you blame him when you’re so fucking sexy? Logan hums, manoeuvring you both so that he can look down at your sweet face as you lie surrounded in cotton sheets.
“Then stay right there, baby.”
He kisses a sleepy, loving trail down your clavicle; luxuriating along the plain of your chest, nipping at your soft stomach in a way which beckons a breathy chuckle from you, steeped in the gravelly tones of morning.
“Mmm, Mr Howlett, you are an incorrigible fiend.”
“Incorrigible, huh? Big word for someone who says they’re so sleepy…” he mutters, smirk ticking up the side of his mouth as his calloused fingers dip under the waistband of your pyjama shorts.
“Incorrigible. Insatiable, even.”
He drags them down your legs, slowly, taking in the sight of you bathed in the dawn’s roseate light. You move your hips to let him.
“Hmm. You complaining?”
“Oh, never.”
He grins and gets to work.
Logan loves the tang of you on his tongue. You’re still a little sticky from last night, where he pushed you chest-down into the mattress and fucked you so hard he was slightly worried he’d break the bed frame. He didn’t - but he’s perfectly happy to try again.
You let out a fluttery little breath, butterfly light, as he starts his work properly. Burying his face in your cunt, letting every sense be drowned in you. He drags his tongue along your needy folds and you groan above him, hooking a leg over his shoulder and sinking your heel into the thick muscles of his back. He could listen to the noises you make for hours, a little symphony just for him.
“Fuck, Logan,” you sigh, blissful and light-headed. He lets his mouth focus on your clit as he presses a couple of fingers inside. It’s an easy intrusion, your pussy offering up no resistance, a mix of spit and slick aiding him. He starts to crook them in a beckon and the mewl you let out will stay with him for the rest of the day; he smiles against your cunt.
“That’s it, baby,” you groan. Fuck. He loves your voice when he’s making you come. Would do whatever you tell him to, just point him in a direction and he’ll follow. He is so utterly at your beck and call, a dog at your feet, so happy to obey. Anything for you, anything.
He speeds up his pace, hand fucking you in a simulation of his cock last night, tongue pressing hard and flat against your folds. You come in a flood all over his mouth, soaking his beard and dripping off his chin. His favourite fucking flavour. All the furniture in the room jolts as you send out a telekinetic wave of force, knocking over a lamp onto the carpet with a dull thud.
“That damn lamp, we need to move it…” you grumble. Logan kisses your thigh gently.
“Baby, if the fuckin’ lamp doesn’t fall over, I’m not doing my job right.”
You laugh. There’s a pearlescent sheen of sweat that’s broken out over your body but you’re giddy and joyful. An arm slung over your eyes does nothing to hide the smile on your face, so wide it must hurt your cheeks. Yeah. He’s done good.
“Let’s go shower,” you say, in a way which he’d never dream of arguing with. You walk naked into the bathroom and pull him under the hot stream of water with you. The room slowly fills up with steam and Logan presses you up against the tiled wall, burying his face in the warm space between your neck and your shoulder as he sheathes himself inside. You drag your nails down his back and he growls in your ear, slowly pumping his hips to bring you over the edge again.
Ever since that first morning that the two of you were intimate, you’ve been wild for each other; unable to go a day without keeping your hands away. Like teenagers who haven’t understood the concept of pacing themselves. He wants to be drunk on you all the time, always wants your gasps filling his ears, his name dripping from your lips as he makes you come.
He knows he’s the only man for you… but hey, nothing wrong with proving it too.
You spend a leisurely forty minutes in the shower with your back against the wall and your legs around his waist, then eventually do what you meant to and clean up. He loves to watch you wash, smell the perfumes of all the soaps you use. You look adorable with suds in your hair. Plus when you ask him to get your back with the loofah it’s just another excuse to touch you and god knows he loves doing that.
He’s a man content when you finally return to the bedroom.
Logan watches you pad about and do your morning routine, one he knows like the back of his hand by now. Once again: you’re a creature of habit. Pointing to the radio you use your powers to turn it onto the only channel the two of you ever listen to: an ‘oldies’ station which never plays a song made post ‘89–
—he remembers a few weeks ago when you were both visiting Wade, chatting about how bad songs are nowadays, and your friend had challenged you: “okay you two geriatric lovebirds, no conferring - when was the last good decade for music?” Without missing a beat you’d both answered “the eighties” and, as Wade groaned at how ‘cringe’ you both were, Logan had fallen in love with you yet again—
—and you smile and turn it up when Aretha’s I Say A Little Prayer starts playing. Logan watches fondly as you croon out the chorus, using the hairdryer you’re plugging in as a microphone. He loves watching you sing. You don’t always hit all the notes but that’s not really the point - the point is he gets to see you be silly and vulnerable and totally and utterly yourself in these moments, something he knows to hold dear to his heart.
If you’re singing, you’re happy.
Fuck, he loves you.
The two of you get yourselves ready for the day to the music which fills the room, quietly happy in each other’s company. The sound of people getting ready for the day starts up in the hallway; kids coming down for breakfast and squeaking their sneakers on the hardwood, other professors grousing about lesson plans - unfortunately it's time to break the cocoon of solitude the two of you have made for yourselves and face the morning properly.
“What’re we doing today?”
He squints at the calendar to try and make out your handwriting, attempting to ignore the gaze of the “hot bisexual lumberjack” of the month staring out at him with her barely contained breasts and suggestively placed axe (this had been your birthday present from Wade, and you’d loved it). You tut at him.
“Logan Howlett, we need to get you some glasses,” you say, pulling on your own and pressing your finger to today’s date, reading out the scribbled ballpoint. “Let’s see… we’re both teaching until five, then looks like there’s a Flames game in the evening you wanna watch. I, however, have been cornered tonight: the girls found out I’ve never seen the Barbie movie so apparently they need to correct that - though I ask you, when I was living in a place literally called the Void, when I would have gotten the damn chance. People weren’t just throwing copies of that thing away. Apparently it’s a great movie.”
‘The girls’. The comfortable nickname you’ve assigned the trio of Laura, Ellie, and Yukio. Logan’s glad Laura has managed to find her people with them - he was secretly worried that, if she took after him too much, she’d be a little too stubborn to make friends at all. Nothing to worry about though. She’s thriving here, and he’s relieved. Happy, even.
“You’ve not seen Barbie?” Logan asks. You’ve moved to the boudoir now and pause as you apply your face cream, bottle floating in the air centimetres from your neglected skin.
“Wait, you have seen Barbie?”
He shrugs. Yeah. He doesn’t remember the context, he’d had two full bottles of whiskey by then - but for some reason they’d put it on at the bar he was drowning himself at and he’d sat through the whole thing, leaving a smear of pink on his memory.
You blink, still gobsmacked.
“Did you like it?”
Logan considers this for a moment, knowing you’ll call him grumpy if he’s too critical, but also sure you’ll never ever stop teasing him if he praises it. Oh, and god forbid Wade ever finds out…
After a long moment he settles on, “it was alright.”
You shrug, happy with this assessment.
“Well, good. Guess I’m in for a good evening then.” You stand up with gusto, the indication you’re ready to leave. “Shall we?”
The two of you walk to the door, taking a moment when Logan pulls you into an embrace - your back to his front. You look in the mirror, admiring the couple you see in the reflection, something you do every morning without fail.
“I love you, Logan Howlett,” you say. He drops a kiss to your shoulder.
“I love you too.”
And with that, the day begins.
Teaching is a very broad term for what he does. Basically, it’s his job to help the older students with self defence. Every day he goes to get the shit beaten out of him by a load of kids but it’s also the best workout he’s had in over a decade, so he doesn’t mind too much. Keeps him in shape, keeps him sharp. Plus he feels like he’s actually doing something helpful, finally adding to the world rather than just being a burden on it. He spends the first period running battle formations with them, keeping them on their feet and quick to react. Can’t have them getting in danger, not when he’s around.
The class takes a break to get water and he finds himself staring out the window, smiling fondly to himself when he sees you leading a little seminar. After you spent all that time in the wild and then the Void, one of the things they have you teaching is survival skills - you’re a dab hand at getting by just with what you can forage. Looks like you’re going to do some practical exercises as he can see you leading a group of the younger kids towards the forest which surrounds the mansion.
Something happens which makes his heart ache.
There’s a kid by your side you’re in animated conversation with, probably no more than seven or eight, and they’re looking at you like you hung the stars - just absolutely enchanted with how cool you are. Without thinking they slip their hand into yours for support or guidance or comfort, one of the three anyway, and after a beat you give them a smile.
In that beat, even from this distance, Logan can see the bittersweet look on your face. The longing. You would wear parenthood well and it’s not fair that you never got a chance to experience it firsthand. It’s a sadness which weaves its way into his guts and stabs him there, an old kind of pain, one he felt for you in his own timeline.
Logan wonders if it’s too late. Are the two of you too old now? Would you both be too hurt if you tried and it didn’t take again? He wants to give you what you want, desperately, but he’ll be damned if he’d ever do anything to upset you; he can’t shake the feeling that’s where that road would lead.
“You okay?”
Laura’s voice makes him jump. She’s a quiet little devil, that’s for certain, definitely not something she got from him - all blades and bluster in his youth. He nods because he doesn’t really want to get into detail about his private life with his pseudo-daughter.
But unfortunately she’s smart, and his eyes linger, so it's only a matter of her following his gaze to see what’s got him pining. She smiles a small, comforting smile.
“If there’s a problem you should just talk to them. They’ll listen.”
He harrumphs at the fact a girl less than one-tenth of his age is giving him life advice but also knows that what she says is true. He doesn’t address what she’s said, instead cocking his head at the training mats.
“C’mon, back to it.”
Laura groans and returns to throwing her classmates across the room.
The thought stays with him for the rest of the day though. After class, when he returns to your shared rooms and starts to get himself set up to watch the game, he finds himself thinking about you with a baby in your arms. A mix of him and you with soft skin and excitement for the world. His eyes, your smile, a perfect combination.
And you’d be so happy.
Fuck. He’s too old to get broody but here he is, huh.
Logan sits heavily in his recliner, the one nice purchase he’s allowed for himself since getting this job, and opens a root beer. TV remote in his hand he switches on the hockey and settles in for the evening.
After about twenty minutes his phone goes. He frowns, opening up a text from Laura.
there’s some Pringles in the kitchen can u get them for us please the love of ur life is hungry
Logan sighs and replies, thumbs slow and unfamiliar on a touchscreen.
all of you have legs. get them yourself
Another message immediately: It’s a picture. You’re busy painting Yukio’s nails bright pink, glasses on the end of your nose and concentration on your face - but half torn between the task at hand and watching the movie you’ve been sequestered for. You look cute. Logan stares for a moment and then saves the photo to his phone. All his albums are just pictures of you at this point.
Plssssss
is the final text in the chain. Logan definitively puts his phone away. He’s watching the game. He’s not going to get out of this chair to grab a tube of fucking Pringles, he’s not whipped.
A moment.
He groans.
Fine.
He gets out of the chair. He’s whipped.
He heads to the kitchen and gets the requested snack, Hank giving him a knowing and sympathetic smile as they pass in the hallway. He finds you in the lounge, surrounded by girls. Clearly the news of the Barbie watch had gotten out and created a swarm because dozens of eyes look up at him as he lingers in the doorway like a giant awkward dog.
Finally you pull your eyes away from Ryan Gosling’s chest long enough to see why everyone has turned. When you spot him you light up.
“Oh! How did you know I wanted Pringles? Been craving those bad boys recently.”
“Lucky guess,” he replies, stepping carefully between pink dressing gowns and well-thumbed gossip magazines to pass them to you. When he’s within range you drop a kiss on his lips too, prompting an “oooooo” from the gathered crowd. You roll your eyes at them but smile at Logan.
“Thank you baby. What’d I do without you?”
He grumbles something non-committal under his breath and retreats, ignoring the shit-eating grin Laura is flinging his way. Eventually the crowd turns back to the movie. He tries to resist the urge to stand in the doorway with his arms crossed and watch along, the stereotypical father figure who insists he’s not interested, but finds himself lingering for a moment anyway just to see you.
Ellie has her feet slung across your lap, Yukio blows on her freshly-painted nails to dry them. One of the younger girls who’s been delegated to the floor by her older peers rests her head on your knee as she starts to nod off and you play with her hair for a moment - an action which comes readily to you, like it would to a parent.
Logan decides two things.
One, he’s going to marry you, and he’s certain that every second that he hasn’t been your husband up until now has been wasted.
And two, he’s going to put a baby in you, like you deserve.
On the way back he passes Hank again, who has an insanely huge sandwich stuffed onto a far-too-small plate - except this time Logan flags him down with a question, one which his colleague has to consider for a moment.
“Oh! Hmm. Yes, I’m pretty sure that it’s in the garage, sometimes the kids like to see if they can get it working again…” when he sees a scowl settle over Logan’s face he’s quick to add, “but none of them have been successful! I think the keys are in the ignition.”
Logan thanks him and heads back to your rooms, a plan forming in his head.
You get back late. He’s listening to music and reading the paper, the game having finished long ago - the Flames winning of course, there was no other option, go Flames - the weight of the ring he’s swiped from your boudoir burning a hole in his pocket. He hopes you won’t notice - he needs to get your size, after all, and he knows he can’t ask you without rousing suspicion.
“Hey,” you say, dropping a kiss on his cheek and yourself into his lap. The paper is discarded as his arm automatically comes to perch on your waist, dragged there as if by a magnet. Can’t not touch you for a second.
“Hey. How was the movie?”
“Yeah, pretty good! You know most of those girls hadn’t seen Legally Blonde? We had to remedy that after Barbie, apparently it’s considered a classic now. Fuck, it makes me feel old.” You groan and drop your forehead to his shoulder.
“You’re not that old,” Logan says, and when you come to fix him with a scathing look you find he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Tease,” you sigh, reaching in to kiss him, but stopping when you hear something on the radio.
“What’s up?”
“Oh. This used to be our song.”
It’s AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long. It feels strange seeing the way your eyes get a bit hazy, a bit distant for a moment.
“Good choice.”
“Uh-huh. She… you liked it a lot,” you whisper, for a moment lost in a memory he has no way to share with you. It stings you both. But then you’re back in the room with him, smiling as if nothing had happened.
“We must have had a song, right? In your universe.”
Is this painful? He isn’t sure. But you shared yours with him, so it seems only fair he make it even.
“Yeah, we sure did.”
You narrow your eyes, purse your lips playfully.
“I betcha I can guess it.”
He hums.
“Okay. What’s the bet?”
“If I can’t guess I’ll do that thing you like. If I can guess, you do that thing I like.”
Oh, well, when you put it like that…
“Why not?”
You search his face, reading him for any telltale signs.
“Mmmm, male singer or female? Or both.”
“I didn’t realise you got clues…”
“It’s not a game if I don’t, is it?”
“Fine. A guy.”
You think for a moment.
“It was Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns n’ Roses.”
Logan widens his eyes, genuinely impressed that you got it so fast…
“Holy shit.”
…But the grin which crosses your face suggests you’re playing a trick.
“I hear you hum it a lot. It wasn’t a big leap, honestly,” you confess. He chuckles, but pauses for a second as he realises the implication of this discovery.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I like that song too.”
You don’t seem saddened by this conversation, so he guesses it’s okay - he’d never wanna hurt you by dredging up the past. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s okay to reminisce about what used to be, while knowing what you have now is so strong and secure.
Logan pulls back to look at you, attempting to affect seriousness but knowing he could never fool you for a second.
“So you cheated, huh… doesn’t seem very fair…”
“Hmm, you’re right. I guess I’ll have to forfeit…”
You slide off his thighs and onto your knees in front of him, grinning as you go for his belt… but pausing so that you can use your powers to turn off the radio.
“Unless you want to come to Brian Johnson’s voice, but it doesn’t do it for me personally.”
He laughs, actually belly laughs, and if the two of you aren’t engaged by the time the week is out he’ll be damned.
He’s able to go to a jeweller’s the next week under the guise of finally going to the city and getting glasses, and buys the perfect ring there and then. It must be fate that they have it in your size, a silver band and pretty stone. The caveat of this is, that for the ruse to work, he does actually also have to go to the opticians.
He comes back with a small pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a chip on his shoulder about the fact they make him see so much better. You seem pleased though, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing the bridge of his nose.
“You look very handsome.”
“Mmmm…” he grumbles. You laugh and kiss him again.
“What are you doing today?”
“Workin’ on something.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a secret, can’t tell ya.”
You harrumph.
“A secret, huh…?”
“A surprise, then.”
You sigh dramatically.
“Well, okay. If it’s a surprise I suppose I’ll let it slide. The girls and I were gonna head into town to go shopping anyway so I guess I’ll see you tonight?”
You kiss farewell and when he’s sure you’ve left the manor he heads to the garage. It doesn’t take much searching to find his old Harley, hidden under a dust sheet and waiting patiently for his return. Logan can’t help the smile at the old thing, running his hand along the neglected metal frame and scaring a spider from its perch.
“Sorry I was gone for so long, baby,” he rumbles, then gets to work.
The next few days are tough. He doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, but you’re clever, always investigating without meaning to, noticing when he trips up on an inconsistency. So whenever you try and weasel information out of him he simply refuses to answer. You’re grumpy, sure, but he can think of a few ways to make it up to you.
He’s nervous in a way he hasn’t been for… well, a while. He’s sure you’ll say yes. You’ll say yes, right? You’ve already been married once before – to him – so the odds are in his favour, but still, he gets a churning feeling in his stomach when he looks at the little box. Anxiety. He’s far too fucking old to be anxious like a schoolgirl asking out a crush, he feels goddamn ridiculous…
But.
But.
What will he do if you say no?
Ah, he can’t dwell on it for too long. Logan channels all of his effort into fixing up the bike - even allowing Laura to join in when she crosses her heart not to tell you - and plans ahead. Checks the weather. Picks his favourite shirt.
Takes the plunge.
That morning Logan asks you to prepare a picnic and then meet him outside the manor. You look up at him from the reflection in your boudoir mirror as Carole King floats from the radio, an eyebrow arched.
“Oh? Why?”
“C’mon, I haven’t cracked yet. You think you’re gonna get me now?”
You pout. You’re cute. He drops a kiss on the top of your head.
“It’ll be worth the wait.”
“Well-ll-ll… okay. I’ll trust you. Shall I wear those jeans? The ones which make my ass look great?”
“Baby, all jeans make your ass look great. You have a great ass.”
You grin and scurry over to the wardrobe.
He heads downstairs and brings the Harley round front, fingers tapping nervously on the hand clutch as he waits. For the millionth time he checks his pockets. Yep, ring still there.
As you leave the front door, basket nestled in the crook of your arm, the smile which crosses your face is the same as if you’re seeing an old friend again.
“Oh my god! I had no idea this thing was still kicking around!”
You run the last few steps and put your hand on her chassis. You genuinely look a bit choked up.
“Fixed her up so I could take you for a ride.”
Your expression is so soft, so loving when you look at him.
“Logan… that’s so sweet.”
Stepping forward to press up against him you pull him in for a kiss, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He hums against your lips.
“Put a helmet on,” he says, handing one to you as you stow the basket. You fix him with an old-fashioned look as he presents it to you. It’s bright pink and has Barbie written across the side.
“God damn you Logan Howlett…”
“You liked the damn film. Keep hearing you sing that stupid song to yourself.”
You harrumph but don’t deny it, instead fastening the helmet on and climbing up onto the seat behind him.
It feels good when your arms tighten around him for support. Always feels good when your arms are around him, honestly, no matter what the cause. He revs the engine loudly a couple of times making you giggle, then speeds off.
He feels your fingers tighten in his shirt as he drives, weaving between whatever cars happen to dot the road as he goes. He’s not had a bike between his thighs for years now but you never really forget how to ride one. Besides, with you as his cargo, he makes sure to go safe. When he was a younger man he’d have been pushing the Harley to her limits just to get his blood pumping… nowadays he’s happy to take it slower. The longer the ride, the longer you’re pushed up against him, after all.
He’s still such a sucker for your touch.
It’s a nice day, and when he eventually slows down to the old lookout spot he used to take you to, you grin as you see the familiar view.
“It’s been a long time,” you sigh, eyes sparkling in the sun. You smooth your hair down where the helmet has taken its toll and start to lay out the treats you’ve packed onto a gingham blanket: thick-filled sandwiches, a fruit salad, a whole apple pie which Logan has no idea how you smuggled out. Fuck. He is so lucky to have you.
He sits and forces himself to eat, knowing the ring is hidden away in his pocket. You’re happy to take the lead on the conversation as you always are, chatting about your classes in between bites of roast beef, but cock your head to the side when a period of silence goes on for too long.
“Something’s on your mind.”
“What?” he asks, silently cursing himself for being so obvious. You reach out to rest a hand over his.
“Is there something you wanna talk about, Logan? It’s okay if there is. We can face it together, you know. We’re a team.”
As you let that sink in with him you wave your hand to bring out a thermos from the basket. It pours out two cups of coffee, both black, and you float one over to each of you.
He watches this with sharp eyes.
“You didn’t add any creamer,” he says softly. You smile, using your free hand to lift the cup to your lips.
“What can I say? I guess you got to me.”
You’re finally a coffee purist.
Logan blinks, taking in the sincere look on your face. There is only absolute adoration written there. It is a plain and simple fact: you love him more than he thought anyone could ever love him.
After a beat, he pulls his hand away.
He shifts to one knee.
Your eyes go wide.
“Logan…?”
“I gotta… you gotta let me talk. I need to get this out,” he says, slipping his hand in his pocket to grab the ring box. You cover your mouth in shock. “You’ve made me a better man. And more importantly you make me want to be one. I wanna spend the rest of our lives together because I’d be a goddamn idiot not to.” He opens the hinge and the ring shines where it’s seated in velvet. “Will you marry me?”
“Oh shit,” you say, then you do something unexpected. You throw your head back and laugh.
Of all the reactions he was not expecting that.
Logan’s hands dip a little. What the fuck? Is this a rejection? Did he screw this up, monumentally misread the signs between the two of you? Are you having some sorta episode? What has happened to prompt this?
“Oh, baby, no - don’t be sad! Just… hang on…” you say when you see how his face has fallen. He watches as you root around in the picnic basket. “You won’t believe this…”
You shift to one knee…
…and pull out a ring box of your own.
Logan’s mouth falls open as you present a ring to him. A plain gold band, shiny and new - one you’ve had made specially for him.
“I got your size from my Logan’s old ring. I’ve had it for days just waiting for the right moment and… I guess you have too.”
This information settles around him like a deep, sudden snowfall. His eyes can’t leave the little box you’ve pulled out.
A smile creeps over his face.
“Holy shit,” he laughs, echoing your sentiment from earlier, and then suddenly you’re laughing too, head thrown back in utter joy. You throw yourself into his arms and press kisses all over his face: his beard, the end of his nose, all over his cheekbones, and then finally his mouth. He can feel the tears spill over your eyelashes and dampen his face, and holy fuck is he in love with you.
“So is that a ‘yes’?” he asks against your lips. He can feel your grin under his mouth.
“Depends if it’s a ‘yes’ from you.”
“Of course. I want you to make an honest man of me.”
“Then fuck yeah. I’ll marry you, Logan Howlett.”
Another glorious, effervescent peal of laughter falls from you and then you’re kissing him again. Together your hands fumble in order to exchange rings, a difficult task when neither of you will open your eyes and break lips, but eventually he manages to slide his ring on your finger and feels you exchange your own.
It feels good. It feels right.
Logan pushes you back onto the blanket, picnic forgotten for the moment. His mouth turns from sweet to hungry as he uses his body to cage you in. His hands drop to the hem of your shirt and start to pull it up so he can trace the bared line of your chest.
“Logan, here?” you ask in a way which suggests here is great, actually.
“Why not? Nobody watching. Just you and me, honey.”
He wins you over easily with that argument and your hands go for the top buttons of his flannel. When you find your fingers aren’t doing a fast enough job you start using telekinesis to undo them from the bottom, too. He drops his grip to your hips and fiddles with your belt and the fly on your jeans, groaning with pleasure at how easily you accommodate him and lift your hips so he can strip you.
“Fuck. You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growls. His hand skims your underwear and takes a handful of your ass - god he loves your ass - as you rid him of his shirt so you can run your palms over the thick plain of muscle in his back.
“Look who’s talking,” you breathe against him, biting down on his bottom lip and tugging at it. Electricity shoots through him.
“Harder,” he mutters. You oblige him and sink your teeth in just enough for a little blossom of blood to spill into his mouth.
He’s going to go crazy right here on this blanket, you will drive him to insanity. What bliss.
He kicks off his jeans and starts grinding his clothed cock against the fabric covering your cunt, like two teenagers so desperate to get off that they don’t even bother to get naked first. His blunt head catches on your clit and you groan at where you can feel him leaking.
“Love it when you fuck me, Logan,” you sigh. He’s not sure if it’s pride or arousal which throbs through him, probably both, but he realises then he has to do now what he should have done a long time ago.
Claws come out, he cuts your underwear off and you squeal in delight. For a moment he considers just sliding inside but if he’s going to do this, it has to be done properly.
So he pushes your legs upwards against your stomach, in a way which he knows your hips will complain about but your pussy will love. Your mouth is a soft little o as you realise you are being manhandled into a mating press.
“Logan…?” you breathe, a little confused but giddy with pleasure, sucking air in sharply when he rolls his hips to try and slide his cock inside your wet heat.
“Wanna put a baby in you,” he states, simply, growling it out. Your eyes roll back and you moan at his words, what a pretty sight.
“But we… oh fuck… I don’t know if we can…”
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he manages, pressing his hand to the soft paunch of your stomach under which your womb sits, “let me try.”
Your eyes go wide as your head empties.
“Okay, yeah. Do it. Fuck a baby inside me, Logan.”
What sort of loyal dog would he be if he didn’t follow orders?
His legs trap yours against your body as he starts fucking you in earnest, pressing home inside you with one rough thrust. You mewl and knead at his skin with worshipping hands as he moves. Each undulation of his hips buries himself in you impossibly deeper, so he knows when he spills inside you it’ll be right where it needs to take.
“Fuck…” you hiss, palm cupping his face so he can look down at you, gaze on your gorgeous face. The crease of concentration between your brows as you register how tightly he’s nestled inside you, lips soft and kissable. Your hair blooms like a halo, an angel silhouetted against gingham.
He loves you. Oh, how he loves you.
“Wanna be so full of you, Logan… want to walk around with your baby in me. Show everyone who I belong to.”
He growls but he also knows he belongs to you, too. You have his heart in your ribcage beating alongside your own, a thing he has freely given because you’re the person who most deserves it. He’d never want it to rest with anyone but you.
Logan moves his hips in slow, sensual movements, taking time to luxuriate in the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your walls. When he presses back inside he sees the way your eyes roll back as he hits that sweet spot, gloriously blissful.
“Gonna take you somewhere nice n’ quiet on our honeymoon and keep you in bed, doll. Fuck you until you’re full. Not gonna stop until we’re sure it’s taken. Watch you get all round with me. Goddamn, can just imagine how you’ll glow.”
You gasp at the filth he’s muttering but the grin on your lips show you’re incredibly enthusiastic about that idea.
“Yeah… want you to fuck me whenever you want, Logan… bend me over and fill me up… I’m yours, only yours…”
Something about the way you sigh that last part flips a feral switch in his brain. His hips speed up and the slap of skin on skin echoes from your hips, and then he’s coming in thick ropes to paint the inside of your pretty pussy. Mark you up as his. You groan at the feeling of warmth blossoming inside you but he knows you haven’t reached your peak yet. Usually he’d make sure you orgasm before him… but he has something a little different in mind right now.
Logan slips out of you and you mewl in the displeasure of being emptied. This doesn’t stop him manoeuvring your ass into his lap, though, keeping your legs spread so he can push three fingers inside your warm and willing entrance. A groan rips itself from your throat as you clamp desperate fingers down on his forearm. Were he a human man you’d leave fingerprints for certain, and for a moment Logan regrets that you can’t — he’d love evidence of this tryst; apart from your growing belly, of course.
“Fuck. Yes, Logan, push it inside me,” you whine. Oh goddamn, he’s so easily broken when you beg. He uses his fingers to gather up his spend as it tries to leak from your fucked-puffy cunt and presses it back into your hole. As he goes he makes sure to crook them inside you, hitting the same spot he was with his cock just moments ago.
All you can do is hang on and choke down air as he fucks you with his hand. He’s an expert at your body, can play it like an instrument; it doesn’t take long to get you where he needs you. He feels your walls twitch and then you’re coming around his knuckles, a filthy mix of his release and your own dripping all the way down to his wrist.
You collapse back onto the blanket, gasping for breath as your wits return. As he slowly pulls his hand away from you, you reach out to grab him and pull him to your mouth, sucking the cocktail of you both from his fingers and running your tongue around him.
He groans.
“Fuck. You’re gonna ruin me.”
“But what a way to go, huh?” your smile is devilish. He can’t help but reach down and kiss it. Your hand tangles in his hair and scratches his scalp affectionately.
A beat.
“So… we’re trying?”
You don’t need to specify for what. He knows. When Logan pulls back there’s an expression of barely-concealed hope on your face. Makes his heart melt. His fingers move to lock with yours, squeezing gently down on your knuckles.
“Yeah. We’re trying.”
He’s never seen you look so happy. You trace your abdomen with a careful hand. The ring he got you glints on it, the stone reflecting the sunshine.
“Well, okay then.”
It doesn’t take long for news of your engagement to spread. You tell Laura who puts it in a group chat she has with the other students in the mansion, and from there it has no chance of staying secret. In fact you return after you finish the picnic (and an attempt to tidy yourselves up) to a chorus of ‘congratulations’ from a gathered crowd at the door. Logan pretends to be grumpy but honestly? He wouldn’t trade the look of joy on your face for anything. He shows off his ring alongside yours and people coo with adoration at how cute you both are.
Once he’d have snarled at ‘cute’. Now he just accepts it as you snuggle into his side.
You go to meet up with Wade and Al a couple of days later to tell them but it turns out word travels fast. The apartment door is thrown open in your faces as Wade pours accusingly.
“I can’t believe I had to find out about this via social media from a teenage girl! What am I, back in high school? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to deal with puberty again, it wasn’t kind to me,” he says, waving his phone at you to show a cheerful post about the engagement put up by Yukio. Logan doesn’t get a good look, but does see the words “still find love in old age” which makes him bristle.
“Sorry, Wade. But you know, we live in the same house as her,” you say, sounding genuinely quite apologetic. Wade deflates a little at your tone, but keeps the act up anyway.
“Big-ass house. Coulda kept your damn hands in your pockets…” he mutters, but then gives you a sincere hug. When he turns with his arms open to Logan, he sighs and accepts one too. “But really, I’m happy for you two. Just don’t forget about your old perpetually single buddy Deadpool when you’re off bumping uglies as a legally wedded couple…”
“I think I might try and forget you during those times actually, Wade,” you say with a laugh.
“Hmm. Oh wait, holy shit - can I be your best man? I promise you I scrub up pretty well. Well, apart from the face. Mmm, and the rest of my body. My ass looks great in a suit is what I’m saying,” this is directed at you and you give Wade a sad smile.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I already asked Laura. We kinda trauma bonded in the Void,” you say. Wade’s eyes slide over from you to Logan.
“Oh my god,” he grumbles.
“C’mon, peanut! Isn’t that what best friends are for?”
Logan opens his mouth to snap that they are not best friends but then… he just sort of… closes it. He’s too old to have a best friend. Grown men don’t have best friends. Or at least that’s what he’d have said a scant few months ago. But now…
“Fine,” he sighs. Logan feels you squeeze his hand in joy as Wade lets out a woop which startles Al.
“Yes! I won’t let you down buddy. I’m gonna give you the best dry bachelor party of your life. The strippers will be so hot you won’t even need beer to make them look good!”
“Wade…”
“Joking! Joking…” he says, in a way which suggests he probably wasn’t - though about the quality of the strippers or there being any in the first place, he can’t be sure.
The two of you don’t want a big wedding. You had one in your own timeline and know how stressful it can be. You’re both able to come to the same reasoning: it isn’t the size of the celebration which matters, but that you’ll be married by the end of it. That’s what it’s all leading to after all. Every morning Logan wakes up to the weight of your ring on his finger and he feels complete. He feels grounded.
He’s happier than he’s been in a long time; maybe ever.
You book a day to go down to city hall and sign the marriage certificates, only in a couple of weeks’ time. The kids all make you cards, shoving them under your door or handing them over during lessons. Soon your room is covered with crayon-scribbled well-wishes and poorly drawn felt-tip depictions of you both. Mostly, it’s you smiling, and Logan snarling with his claws out. You laugh every single time you see one, so he doesn’t mind too much. There are always little love hearts doodled between you anyway. At least the kids know you’re happy together.
Time moves by quickly but maybe that’s just a symptom of being in love. Classes no longer drag on and drain him, instead Logan starts every morning with the vigour of a young man… though the fact that he fills you up every morning before you both head to work might help. It’s strange; you never use protection anyway, but now it feels like there’s a purpose behind the way you fuck. Any position where he gets to see your face as he comes deep inside you will do it for him honestly. He could live in your cries of pleasure, the way you mewl his name, the duty of putting a baby inside you. Before long, those couple of weeks the city hall needed to get your paperwork in order are up, and the day arrives that you’re finally able to go and make things official.
Logan wakes in bed alone. This is expected. He came home late last night after his bachelor party which, to be fair to Wade, wasn’t so bad. The guy had just organised some friends to play poker late into the night. Due to - what Laura has coined as - his natural ‘resting bitch face’, he cleared everyone out. He’s two hundred and sixty dollars richer so now he can grab you some nice flowers on the way to the wedding. He’d gotten a text saying that you were staying at a hotel in town for the night, the girls had insisted on keeping you separate because it’s tradition. Logan isn’t sure what about this whole situation is exactly traditional, what with all the crossed timelines and long-lost soulmates, but if it makes you all happy he’ll relent.
He showers, missing your body in the steam with him, then walks naked back into the room to grab something nice to wear, fingers fumbling with the radio as he goes. It picks up just as the host is introducing the next song.
“...goes out to Logan from ‘the love of your life’, who is pretty sure you’ll have the radio on by now! Apparently you’re getting married today? Well a big congratulations from everyone here at the station, you two, enjoy this classic tune…”
Chapel of Love by the Dixie Cups starts to spill out from the speakers and Logan chuckles, grabbing his phone and tapping out a message.
Cute.
You text back almost immediately. He can imagine you grinning at your screen as the music plays, waiting for his reaction.
I am. Can’t wait to see you today, baby ♥
Yeah, he can’t wait to see you either.
Seeing as it’s meant to be a relaxed ceremony you’d both decided not to wear anything too formal. Logan pulls out a white dress shirt and a fresh pair of jeans, toeing on the boots he cleaned last night. He looks at himself in the mirror before deciding to roll his sleeves up to his elbow. For some reason you go crazy when you can see his exposed forearms; you say it’s “pure unadulterated sex appeal”. He’s never understood it himself but anything to make you smile.
Laura grabs a ride with him in the pickup he uses. She’s wearing leggings and a baggy suit blazer but he has to admit, the kid looks pretty cool. Despite his several warnings not to she sits with her feet on the dash playing with her phone, calling him a boring old man for not wanting her to go through the windscreen.
“Remember I heal like you, dummy. It’s no problem.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want you turning up to my wedding covered in glass with your clothes ripped to shit.”
She grumbles and relents, ever the petulant teenager.
He manages to get parking nearby, so someone up above must be smiling down on him, takes the short walk to the city hall - making sure to get a ridiculously large bouquet as he goes. As he takes in the smell of roses he realises it isn’t that he’s feeling nervous per se, but there’s definitely an anticipation running up his spine. Realistically he knows nothing will change when the two of you are married on paper.
But… kinda everything will change.
He spots you talking to Wade on the grey stone steps, and his mouth is pulled into a smile at the cute little dress you’re wearing. You had been going on about how you picked it up at the thrift store - what a bargain! - and now he sees it, he agrees about how it highlights your figure perfectly. You light up when you see him… and Wade’s face falls as he turns.
“What the fuck! I thought this was a wedding?! Now I look like I’m in a competition for most formally dressed dickhead!” he says, gesturing to himself. He’s in a full black tuxedo and is definitely the most suited up person for about five blocks.
“It is a wedding. Not my fault you never asked the dress code,” Logan states. You burst into laughter as Wade pouts, but he seems to be taking the ribbing pretty well. Your hand tangles into Logan’s. He looks at you.
“Hey,” you breathe, taking the flowers and taking a deep breath of their sweet smell. “Thank you, these are lovely.”
“You deserve the best, baby.”
“Aww. You know, look great.”
“So do you.”
“We scrub up pretty well, huh? Great choice on the sleeves, by the way.”
Logan smiles into the kiss he presses to your lips. Laura groans at the public display of affection.
“C’mon, your slot is coming up. You two wanna be late for your own wedding?”
And so you traipse up the stairs to the office where the smiling registrar has you fill out the paperwork to officially be married to each other. When you see Logan’s hands shake a little, you press your own to the small of his back and rub small soothing circles there. Wade and Laura cheer when you have your first kiss as a wedded couple and burst party poppers of confetti over you both. The group of you stand together and get a picture to celebrate the day: Logan’s arm around your waist while yours is secretly perched on his ass, Laura grinning and holding the bouquet for you, Wade laying across the front of you all Breakfast Club-like.
Logan smiles so hard his face hurts.
It’s nice.
Though the two of you didn’t want a party it’s pretty hard to convince the kids at the manor of anything, so you get back to a banner reading congratulations! It’s held by your youngest students who cheer as the group of you get out of the pick-up. Yukio rushes in to give you a tight hug and you laugh, joyful at the love you’re walking into.
The dining room has been cleared to set up an impromptu celebration space. A metric tonne of pizza has been ordered and Piotr, the rather willing DJ, makes sure nothing pre-1989 is played.
He’s never really been one for dancing, but when you drag him to the middle of the wooden floor and wrap your arms around his neck Logan can’t help but sway with you to all the cheesy love songs. You press your forehead to his, tips of your noses meeting. You breathe in harmony. You let the same air fill your lungs.
“I love you,” you sigh a dozen times over, dreamily.
“I love you too,” he breathes a dozen times back.
When you throw the bouquet that evening you’re in such a good mood you both forgive Wade for body-checking a kid to grab it out of the air.
Logan thinks about his life and smiles.
He’s got it pretty good.
He takes you on a honeymoon for a week to a little cabin in the woods he rented out. It’s in the wilderness, miles from anyone or anywhere, which means he’s able to do what he wants with you: have you naked the whole time.
The two of you don’t do anything but fuck, and you’re very down for it. Something about married life has you more horny than you’ve ever been before. For the first couple of days you hardly leave the bed, Logan only heading to the kitchen to grab you some food to keep your energy up between sessions, pumping you full of his come until you’re a sticky and sated mess. He feeds you slices of pie as you lay dazed on the mattress, a pillow under your hips to keep his spend from dripping out of you.
“Fuck, Logan, you’re gonna kill me,” you groan as he starts rocking his hardening cock up against you the fifth time that day.
“Nah, baby. You can take it.”
You fall asleep with him buried deep inside of you so that the thing waking you up the next morning is him rolling his hips. It’s a pretty fucking good way to start the day.
Eventually the two of you leave the bedroom and walk around the place. Autumn is coming in properly now, the green of the trees outside turning to reds and oranges. You wrap yourself in a blanket and stand at the huge windows looking out at the vista, your aesthete sensibilities pulling you there. Silhouetted in October’s light, Logan can only be struck by how perfect you are: your body, your heart, your soul. His, all his.
He’s the luckiest goddamn man alive.
He takes you against the windows, your chest pressed up against the cool glass and making you gasp in thrilled pleasure, rubbing loving circles on your clit until he feels you clench around him.
At night the two of you huddle by the wood-burning fireplace, the flames dancing across your bodies as he makes love to you slowly, non-hurriedly, letting you enjoy each other. You push him onto his back and ride him, head thrown back so he can appreciate the long line of your neck which he traces with thick calloused fingers.
Fuck, he’d keep you here forever if he could. A little slice of perfection made for just the two of you. Nobody to bother you or call you away for duties, just your love and all the space it needs.
It’s a shame when the two of you have to return to the manor, but he has a job to do. Kids to teach. A Wade to keep in check. It’s easy to slip back to day-to-day life, though, when he has a wedding ring on his finger and you in his bed.
That is until one day he finds you with your head in the toilet, emptying your guts of the day’s breakfast.
“Logan, I don’t feel so hot,” you groan. He goes into panic mode, worrying you’ve got some sorta bug, practically carrying you to Hank’s lab so the doctor can get a good look at you. When you get there, he doesn’t seem incredibly impressed, but checks you over diligently because he’s a friend.
“Look, I don’t mean to be crass, but have you taken a pregnancy test?” he asks, bluntly. Your eyes go wide over the glass of water you’re sipping.
“Well, no, but…” you trail off. Logan can see you counting on your fingers, trying to make something add up in your brain.
“Ah. Right. I don’t have one but I do have an ultrasound scanner, it was one of the things Charles foresaw a use for I suppose…”
So Logan stands there as Hank wheels the thing out and has you lay down on a counter - this isn’t the med room after all, there’s no beds in here. Your hand grabs onto his as Hank carefully lifts your shirt and presses the wand to your stomach.
There’s no mistaking the image on the screen. Head, body, arms and legs. The baby’s picture thrums. Hank does not seem surprised.
“Yep, there it is. You’re pretty far along. I’m not an expert, but I’d say three months?”
“Three…!” you look at Logan as if this is his fault. Which, he supposes, it sort of is. “But we’ve only been… uh, trying for a few weeks now.”
Hank shifts uncomfortably. Logan wants to die. He does not want to talk about his sex life with a peer.
“Have you been using birth control?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Then I think you have your answer. Nature did what it does best.” He manages a smile. “Congratulations to you both. I’ll uh, let you have a moment alone.”
He practically runs out of the lab. The two of you are left sitting there in silence.
Then slowly, so slowly, your hand comes up to rest on your abdomen. You look down at the point of contact and tears well up in your eyes.
“Logan…”
With one word you summon him, his strong arms wrapping around you and holding you tight, an anchor in this moment of joy. He buries his lips into your hair as you sob, utterly overwhelmed.
“Fuck, we did it, baby,” you manage to choke out. His hand comes to rest on your own and then you switch, covering it with yours so that he can feel the skin of your belly. It’s warm and soft. It feels strange knowing that his child is in there. Strange but right.
He gave you what you deserve. His heart beats a little faster and he realises his vision is blurry, too. Fuck. Look at him, welling up.
Ah man, he doesn’t care.
The kiss between you is wet and desperate, an act of triumph and elation. As his mouth presses deep into yours he feels you tug at his shirt, pawing at him like an animal.
“Honey, I’m not gonna fuck you in Hank’s lab,” he states. You whine beneath his lips.
“But I wanna celebrate…” you mewl, hitting him with the doe-eyes. He scoffs a laugh and you pout. “Besides the pregnancy hormones are driving me crazy.”
“You just found out.”
“Yeah, weird how quickly they can take effect…”
Logan gently but firmly removes your exploring hands.
“We can do it somewhere our friend and coworker doesn’t spend his whole day. C’mon,” he silences any protestations with another kiss, soft and loving, “we have all the time in the world, baby.”
You run your fingers through his hair, eyes still a little dewy, but smile is undeniable.
those of you who liked part 1, too: @inumakisriceingredients @respectmyprivacys-blog @xcalcalcalcalx @moonixlity @justanothermarvelfanaccount @taraa-dactyl @nitimurinvetitumsposts @sseleniaa @diegobrandolover99 @blackcanvaspainting @youngestxhearts @veggie-eggrolls
PAIRING: logan howlett x vampire mutant!female reader
RATING: explicit | WORD COUNT: 2.3k
SUMMARY:
after helping you out by letting you feed from him, logan asks you to return the favor.
part two of bloodthirsty
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
thank you for all the love on bloodthirsty! here’s a nice and smutty second part. big thank you to @guiltyasdave for reading this over for me 💕
TAGS/WARNINGS:
explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), x-men (2000) logan howlett, able bodied reader, vampire mutant!reader, no use of y/n, single POV - reader, primal play (chase/capture), gratuitous use of growling/roaring, light fighting, mentions of blood, biting, rough sex, semi-public sex (in the woods), oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, blade play (the claws come out).
Logan finds you in an empty hallway one afternoon, about two weeks after your encounter in the kitchen. You made the mistake of making eye contact, leaving you unable to turn and pretend you didn't see him like you've been doing since that night.
"You avoiding me or something?" he says, hint of a smile on his lips.
"No," you reply quickly. "What makes you think that?"
"Haven't seen you around much lately."
"Just busy."
"Right." He looks away for a moment, hands on his hips. "Look, I got a proposition for you."
"I don't--"
"I got this issue--," he continues, ignoring your response "--where it gets to be too much, you know? And I helped you out so--"
"What are you talking about?" you interrupt.
His voice drops a bit lower. "We're predators, right? And I don't know about you but sometimes my prey drive can be...too much, if you catch my drift."
"Okay..."
"And I got two words for you - quid pro quo."
You blink at him. "Logan, that's three words."
"I thought pro quo was one word."
"Why would you think that?"
"We're getting off topic," he says, waving his hands. “Think you can help a guy out?"
"Help you...how, exactly?"
You agree to meet Logan at the edge of the dense forest that surrounds the X Mansion at nightfall and as you walk through the grounds blanketed in darkness, your senses begin to feel more alive. Anticipation courses through you and the further you venture from the mansion, the darker the night becomes.
Logan is already there when you arrive, tension rolling off of him in waves. He gives you a tight smile.
"Took you long enough," he says. You roll your eyes.
"I'm still here, aren't I?" You gesture to the forest. "So, what now?"
"You run," Logan replies. "I hunt."
The deep timbre of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. What he's asking for goes against your nature but some deep part of you is eager to please.
You take off through the trees, running as fast as your legs will carry you across the soft forest floor. With your enhanced speed, it's not long before you're miles from the manicured mansion grounds, surrounded by gnarled roots and a thick canopy of leaves that blocks nearly all light from the moon.
You slow to a stop, catching your breath. The snap of a branch is the only warning you get before Logan's heavy weight barrels into you, sending you both tumbling to the ground with him coming out on top, smiling down at you, a wild glint to his eyes.
"Gotta do better than that, bub," he says. He stands up, holding a hand out to help you to your feet. "I'll give you a head start this time."
"I don't need a head start," you grumble. "I'm faster than you."
He laughs. "We'll see about that."
You start running, his laughter ringing in your ears. Your path is less direct this time, weaving through the trees and doubling back to leave your scent in more places and crossing a small creek with the hopes that the running water helps to cover your tracks. You grow comfortable enough in your lead that you begin to slow down, keeping yourself attuned to the sounds of the forest and any changes that might indicate Logan has found you.
The trees break into a vast clearing, tall grass swaying in the breeze. Moonlight trickles past the branches, stripes of faint light illuminating the floor. You take a moment to appreciate the tranquility of it, but the calm is short lived when you catch movement at the corner of your eye.
Logan steps through the trees. He's removed his shirt, thick muscle glimmering with sweat, his chest heaving with labored breath. Your mouth goes dry at the sight and for a moment you really do understand what it's like to be prey, faced with something so deadly it's almost hypnotizing, impossible to look away even when you’re in danger. He stalks closer and you feel frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.
"Found you," he growls.
Your survival instinct kicks into gear and you attempt to run away, sprinting across the glade with renewed vigor. If you can make it back into the forest you know you could shake him loose again, but staying in the clearing makes you a clear target.
Logan roars, the sound loud enough to shake the branches of nearby trees. You risk a glance over your shoulder and are met with the sight of the man on all fours, running towards you with single minded determination. He rapidly closes the distance with impressive speed, wrapping his arms around you and taking you down to the ground for the second time that night.
You grapple with him, landing a kick to his chest that gives you the chance to crawl out from beneath him. He reaches a hand out for your ankle and drags you back toward him, using his weight to hold you in place. You wiggle an arm free and strike at his face, though he dodges and your fingernails scrape against his neck, leaving red gashes in their wake that heal in the blink of an eye. He pins your arm to the ground above your head.
"No more runnin’,” he says, a command that shoots straight to your core. You know he’s not talking about just tonight, but rather how you’ve been avoiding him.
But how were you supposed to face him when the only thoughts you had of him since then were about how sweet he tasted, how good he felt, how much you wanted more, more, more that you couldn’t possibly ask him to give?
Your inner turmoil is lost when his lips slam against yours in a kiss that’s hot and hungry, stealing your breath with its ferociousness. His teeth sink into your bottom lip and you gasp at the sharp sting of pain that lights up your nerves. There’s nothing gentle about it, but you’re not gentle creatures and the beasts that pace and snarl beneath your ribcage have finally broken free.
Logan breaks the kiss to stare down at you with wild eyes. Blood, your blood, stains his lips and his tongue darts out to lick it away with a satisfied hum. He leans in close, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, mouth open against your skin with the threat of sharp teeth over your racing pulse.
“Can’t hide it,” he says. “Not when I can smell it on you, sweetheart.”
“Smell what?”
“How much you want it.” He nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, making you hiss. “How much you want me.”
Heavy hands find the hem of your shirt, shoving it up your chest until it’s bunched beneath your armpits. He pulls down your bra to expose your breasts and your nipples tighten at the sudden burst of cold air against your skin but his mouth is on you in an instant, warm tongue tracing the taut buds. Your back arches at the sensation and you dig your fingers into his thick hair, pulling at the strands. He hums with pleasure as he switches to your other breast, giving it the same maddening attention.
His palm slides down your belly, fingers dipping beneath the elastic of your leggings and finding your needy center, swirling through the mess you’ve already made in your underwear. You can feel the smug grin on Logan’s face before he even lifts his head to look at you.
“That’s what I thought.” He withdraws his hand, holding it up to his face. In the moonlight you catch a glimpse of the strands of slick stretching between his index and middle finger before he sticks them in his mouth with a groan, licking them clean. “Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.”
The metallic sound of his claws unsheathing reaches your ears and your pulse jumps as he drags the blunt side of a single blade up the inside of your thigh. The tip catches on the fabric covering your pussy and with one quick move of his wrist he slices through your pants. His claw disappears and he reaches down with both hands to tear the fabric further.
Logan settles on his belly with his head between your thighs, your legs propped up on his broad shoulders. He kisses your pussy over the soaked fabric of your underwear but
spares you any further teasing, grabbing your panties in a tight fist and pulling roughly until the elastic snaps against your skin and he holds the torn fabric in his fist. He tosses them aside and buries his face in your cunt, devouring you like a man on a mission. His tongue alternates circling your sensitive clit and dipping into your dripping entrance, expertly tracing every inch of you. You’re so lost to the pleasure that you don’t notice him getting to his knees until he’s lifting your hips, hands gripping your ass tightly to keep your lower body suspended in the air and his mouth sealed to your cunt.
“Fuck!” you cry out, muscles growing tense as your orgasm builds. It hits you like a tidal wave, coursing through your veins as you shout his name like a prayer. His hold remains tight as he works you through it until you grow boneless in the aftermath.
He lowers you slowly back to the ground and you fight to catch your breath while he quickly removes his belt and shoves his jeans down enough to free his cock. You watch him take himself in hand, a brief slide of his fist over his impressive length before he runs the glistening head through your sensitive folds, bumping your clit and making you shiver.
Logan’s gaze remains fixed to yours as he presses forward, breaching your tight entrance. Your body accepts him greedily, the slight sting and stretch barely a thought when all you can focus on is how full he makes you feel.
His lips find yours for a messy kiss while he begins to thrust, a slow drag of his cock from your body followed by a sharp snap of his hips that punches the air from your lungs. You cling to his shoulders, clawing at his skin. The scent of his blood invades your senses and your teeth begin to ache at the memory of his taste.
Your teeth catch on his lip and he hisses but doesn’t pull away. Copper blooms across your taste buds and you can’t help the desperate moan that escapes into the kiss.
“Come on, baby,” Logan says. “Take a bite.”
You rest a palm on the back of his head, urging him closer, lifting your head and kissing his neck, licking the salty taste of him from over his fluttering pulse. You open your mouth, sinking your teeth into skin and muscle and vein until warm blood spills into your mouth. The combination of his blood on your tongue and his cock spreading you open sends you over the edge.
Above you, Logan growls, a deep rumble you can feel down to your marrow, some ancient part of you preening with excitement. He holds himself still as you clench around him. Your orgasm slowly subsides and you find the strength to unclench your tense jaw from his neck, gently licking at the blood that spills from the deep impressions of your teeth.
Logan sits up, cock slipping from your body and leaving you achingly empty. His hands grip your hips, forcefully turning your lax body over and hiking your ass into the air. He spreads your cheeks and the vulnerable position has your whole body growing hot.
“Hope you didn’t think we were done,” he tells you as he positions himself behind you, thrusting his length back into your body and setting a brutal pace that has you crying out into the night.
One hand holds your hip with bruising force while the other settles on your shoulder, pulling you into every delicious snap of his hips. Your mind goes blissfully blank with the overwhelming pleasure building up inside of you for the third time.
He folds forward, his chest pressed to your back and his pace growing sloppy as he nears his own release. A hand curls around yours, a moment of intimacy that leaves you reeling.
Logan roars, hips slamming into a final time, dragging your last orgasm from you as his cock pulses with his release inside of you. A sharp pain on your hip makes you gasp and you notice his claws have extended from the hand wrapped around yours, sinking into the dirt.
“Shit,” he pants, sitting up after a moment. The loss of his heat makes you shiver. “I nicked you.”
You slowly move yourself into a seated position, muscles feeling like jelly, and inspect the area that the pain came from. Your leggings have a new slice in the fabric and the material is sticky with blood but to your surprise, there’s no wound to be found.
“You heal that quick?” Logan asks. You shake your head.
“Not usually.” You run your fingers over smooth skin. “Must have been your blood.”
“You think so?”
You shrug. “Just a guess. Never fed from someone with advanced healing factor.”
“You sayin’ I’m your first?” he asks with a smirk. You can’t help the laugh that escapes and his smirk stretches into a grin. Logan stands, fixing his pants and holding a hand out to help you up.
“How am I supposed to get back into the mansion like this?” you ask, gesturing to your destroyed leggings.
“Guess I didn’t think that through,” he admits. “Give me a few minutes and I can be back with some new clothes.”
“How are you going to get into my room?”
He turns to look at you, continuing to walk backwards.
“I’m a man of many talents.”
With a wink, he disappears through the trees. You sigh.
What have you gotten yourself into?
Thank you for reading!
LINKS
all masterlists | logan howlett masterlist | support for palestine
laying back against Logan’s chest while he holds a vibrator to your aching clit, free hand massaging your tits while Wade holds your hips down as you try to wriggle away from the intensity of the vibrator, threatening to make you cum before his dick even slips inside you. he does a torturously good job of teasing you for being so sensitive, especially as it becomes too much and Logan refuses to relent the assault on your hard, painfully overstimulated nub. Wade laughs when sticking his dick inside you is enough to send you crashing into a second orgasm, painful in how your body contorts but deliriously pleasurable.
just thinking about how logan is a munch, and he is absolutely shameless about it. nothing can stop this man from eating you out!
pairing: dom!logan x afab!reader
warnings/tags: NSFW (minors DNI, 18+ only), pussy eating, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving) dom!logan, teasing, orgasm denial, swearing, pet names (princess, his girl), spitting, mark-leaving
the second he comes back home from a mission, a side hustle, or whatever it may be, the first thing he does is make a beeline for your room.
logan doesn’t waste a second, deftly making his way to your bed, finding purchase between your legs. “i need to see that pretty pussy of yours,” he whines, pawing your thighs apart with his calloused hands.
“you just got home logan, take a shower at least,” you chuckle, running your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the tufts that peek upwards.
“that can wait darlin', i need to see you now.” he growls, sliding down your skimpy little pair of sleep shorts, which left nothing to the imagination.
his grip on your legs tightens, his fingers molding the plush of your inner thighs as he pulls your panties to the side with his teeth. he lets out an almost primal growl at the sight of your cunt.
your cunt is glistening with your arousal, shining under the pale light of your bedside lamp. "fuck," he whines, his nose hovering over your clit, "didn't even 'hafta do anything, you're already soaking for me"
the scent of your arousal fills logan's senses. he hastily places wet kisses all over your cunt, paying close attention to your clit. he gently sucks on the swollen nub, pulling away with a pop.
"been so needy for you, i missed you-" you lull, cutting yourself off with a moan as he bites your inner thigh, a stark contrast from the pleasure from earlier, but a well needed balance of pain.
he flattens his tongue, licking a stripe from your sopping hole, all the way to your swollen clit. you whine out his name, pulling his face closer to your cunt, the scratchiness of his beard grounding you as it grazes against your skin.
he continues to hungrily lap at your cunt, his tongue working between your folds with ease. he teases your hole, flicking his tongue in, lingering there for a split second, then slips himself out.
"want more..." you beg, lifting your pelvis upward so his nose nudged against your clit. he pulls away swiftly, his warm breath tickling your core, and you whine at the loss of friction.
he spits on your cunt, using it as lubricant as his thumb lazily rubs rough circles against your clit. "such a needy little girl, aren't you?" he hisses, feeling himself hardening from your displeasure.
logan peers down at your cunt, "poor thing can't even handle a bit of teasing?" he says smugly, observing how your hole pulsed around nothing.
before you even got the chance to respond, he pulls at your thighs, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin. manhandling you, he rests your legs on his broad shoulders, his face now a mere centimeter away from your aching core.
"i can do this for hours, princess" he says cockily, pressing a wet kiss to your clit. "surely she can handle that, yeah?". he adds teasingly, talking to your cunt.
you take in the sight as he dives back in, working hastily at your swollen nub. his face slicked with your arousal, beard glistening as he pulls away from your cunt.
you tilt your head back into the mattress, tugging his head to where it once was. "then give it to me," you murmur, the grip on his hair not nearly as tight as the grip he has on your thighs.
oh, the beard burn from tonight is definitely going to be worth it.
synopsis: in which your boyfriend finds a journal in your room filled with all of your desires and confessions to him
content: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni! gojo x fem!reader, mentions of sex, smut implied, reader has a twin sister who she rooms with, everyone is 21+, slight angst??????, fluff, mentions of nudity, betrayal, and a little plot twist with a little side of a cliffhanger. all this is not proofread so imagine i'm perfect and don't make mistakes.
author's note: guys i had a full fic with this plot like four years ago and only wrote two chapters before abandoning it but i lowkey liked the idea so i figured i'd write a short little fic with it :p no part two so don't ask!!! inspired by 'won't'
the moonlight filters through the curtains, casting soft, silvery lines across the room. gojo lays back against the rumpled duvet, his body sinking into the warmth of the bed, though the heat isn't from the room itself. outside, the air is crisp, the kind of cold that clings to the edges of a fall night, but in here, the atmosphere is thick, the remnants of what had just happened between the two of you still lingering. he feels the slick beads of sweat clinging to his skin, cooling now but reminders of the intensity that had gripped him just minutes ago.
his chest rises and falls steadily, the erratic thrum of his heart finally returning to its usual rhythm, though the echo of those rapid beats lingers in the quiet space. the sheets beneath him are tangled, much like the thoughts in his head, but he lets his mind drift. his eyes trace the moonlit patterns on the ceiling as he breathes in deeply, the air heavy with the mingled scent of you both. there's a certain stillness now, but beneath it is an unspoken charge, a silent understanding of what passed between you both in the moments before. he doesn’t need to say anything — not now, not yet. the night has already spoken enough.
gojo silently rolls over, the cool sheets shifting as he turns to find you already watching him. your eyes, dark and warm, meet his with a quiet intensity, and the sight of her—hair scattered messily around the silk pillowcase, wild strands pointing in every direction—immediately brings a knowing smirk to his lips. you look perfect, effortlessly beautiful, and especially in this moment, vulnerable in the soft glow of the moon.
he doesn’t even notice when that smirk fades into something more tender, a gentle smile meant just for you. you move closer without a word, a slow, instinctual shift that brings her body against his. he feels her warmth, skin pressed to skin, and there’s something comforting in the way you cling to him, as if drawing strength from their closeness. his arm naturally drapes over you, pulling you even nearer, your hearts beating in a quiet, shared rhythm now, a silent connection that speaks more than any words could.
his damp hair brushes against your forehead, cool and slightly tousled, as he rests his head on top of yours. his scent surrounds you, a mix of clean sweat and something distinctly him—warm and familiar. his bare chest rises and falls against your own, each breath syncing with yours, his skin soft and heated to the touch against yours, though you can feel the slight stickiness from the remnants of sweat that hasn't yet dried.
“i have to use the bathroom,” you murmur softly, your voice barely cutting through the quiet. but as soon as you try to move, his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer. his body molds against yours, his muscles firm but relaxed, almost as if he’s unwilling to let go of this moment.
you squirm a little, but his grip remains, unyielding yet gentle, and he mutters a soft “mm,” half-asleep, half-amused. the rumble of his voice vibrates through his chest and into your back, and despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips. his warmth is so comforting, his scent so enveloping, that it’s hard to resist sinking deeper into the moment, even as the pressure building in your bladder nags at you.
the feel of his bare skin against yours is grounding, intimate, every brush of his arm, every shift of his weight a reminder of how close you are. you can feel his breath, slow and even now, ghosting over the back of your neck as he nuzzles slightly closer, as if even in his half-conscious state, he’s not ready to let you go.
“move it, buddy. ’bout to pee myself,” you grumble, playfully nudging him. only then does he finally release you, a loud and overly dramatic groan escaping his lips as he flops his arms to the side like a man defeated. he watches you with lazy eyes as you roll out of bed, his lips quirking up in a half-smile as you stumble toward the bathroom, naked body wandering off and behind closed doors and away from his wanting eyes.
the second you disappear behind the bathroom door, he’s left lying there, still as a puppy waiting for its owner to come back. he stares at the ceiling for a moment, then shifts to sit up, running a hand through his hair. his gaze flickers around your room, eyes tracing the familiar shapes and objects as if seeing them for the first time—though he’s been in this space so many times, it feels almost like his own.
with a sigh, he slides his clothes back on, starting with his shirt. his fingers brush the soft fabric of the carpet as he hunts for his boxers, the gentle scrubbing sound accompanying his small, aimless exploration. he drags his fingertips across your dresser, eyes catching on little things—the book you left half-open, the small trinkets scattered across the surface, all pieces of you.
despite the many times he's been here, he still finds something new to notice, something else that feels like a small, quiet part of your life he's been let into. there's a comfort in it, a sense of belonging that has nothing to do with the room itself, but everything to do with you.
as he busies himself in your room, gojo's gaze drifts across the various framed pictures scattered on the shelves and walls. they're familiar, like everything else here, but tonight they seem to hold his attention in a way they haven’t before. some frames hold snapshots of you alone—laughing with friends, posing with family—but the ones that catch his eye most are of the two of you together, moments frozen in time that tell the story of your shared life.
one picture, sitting on the nightstand closest to your side of the tv, is from your one-year anniversary. it's a shot of the two of you at an ice rink, skates on your feet, both of you wobbling slightly but grinning like idiots as you cling to each other for balance. your hands are linked, fingers laced tightly, while your heads tilt toward each other, cheeks flushed from the cold and laughter. he remembers that day clearly—the icy wind biting at his skin, the way you kept wobbling but refused to let go of his hand, and how your laughter echoed across the rink, filling the cold air with warmth. the smiles in the picture are so genuine, so bright, that he can almost hear the happiness from that moment, feel the crisp winter air on his face again.
his eyes shift to another photo, one that sits on a shelf by the dresser. this one is a candid from your friend’s wedding, taken when neither of you were paying attention to the camera. the two of you are sitting at a table during the reception, faces turned toward each other, sharing a quiet smile. there's something intimate in the way you’re looking at each other in the photo—your eyes soft and full of unspoken words, and his gaze, though playful, carries a depth that only the two of you seem to understand. in that moment, captured so effortlessly, you both seemed to be envisioning something more, something beyond the wedding you were attending. it's as if you were imagining your own future, seeing yourselves at the front of the altar instead of in the crowd.
that thought hits him hard, and for a moment, he feels a flutter in his chest, a shudder that travels down to his stomach. the butterflies catch him off guard, stirring a storm that builds through him. he had always known you loved him, but there’s something about seeing these pictures—the proof of your love captured in these small frames—that makes it all the more real, tangible in a way words never could be.
he stands there, staring at that candid shot, his fingers brushing the edge of the frame. there's a vulnerability in that moment, a feeling of being completely known and loved, and it’s overwhelming in the best way. for all the teasing, all the lighthearted banter you two share, this—this is the core of it. the quiet, unspoken understanding that you love him just as much as he loves you, that the connection you share runs deeper than anything he’s ever known.
he can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes his lips, though it’s more out of disbelief than amusement. you've wormed your way into every part of his life, and now, standing here in your room surrounded by these little reminders of your time together, it hits him just how much he wants more—more time, more moments, more of you. he doesn’t just want to be a part of your life now; he wants to be there for the moments yet to come, the future you both see so clearly in the quiet looks you share.
his hand drops to his side, and he inhales deeply, feeling the rush of emotions settle into something quieter, more steady. he can’t stop the butterflies, but for once, he doesn’t want to. they're a reminder that this—what the two of you have—is something rare, something worth holding on to.
gojo is startled when he hears your voice call out from the bathroom, his shoulders tensing involuntarily as if he'd been caught in some act he shouldn’t be—caught in a moment of vulnerability he rarely allows himself to feel. his heart is still lodged in that soft, love-sick space, lingering on the framed memories that line your room, emotions swirling inside him in ways that make him feel almost unrecognizable. love isn’t a foreign concept to him, but being this soft, this open? that's something only you manage to draw out of him.
“babe, I’m gonna go ahead and shower, but don’t leave yet!” you yell, your voice muffled by the bathroom door. he instinctively nods, though you can't see him. “alright!” he calls back, his voice louder, bouncing off the walls. he considers throwing in a sly comment about you showering without him, but the words die in his throat. for once, the teasing remark feels unnecessary, his mind still preoccupied with the remnants of his thoughts. he's too caught up in the small, intimate details of your space to break the spell.
as the sound of the shower starts up, a soft hum of water filling the quiet room, gojo lets his eyes wander again. your room is filled with all these little things, things that to anyone else would seem insignificant, but to him, they are pieces of you. he walks slowly, lazily, over to your vanity, eyes catching on the small items scattered haphazardly across its surface. a pile of hair ties in various colors, some stretched out from overuse. dried-up mascara tubes and broken claw clips lie in the mix, abandoned but not forgotten, each item a tiny reminder of your presence, of the moments when you hurriedly got ready or tossed things aside in your usual, carefree way.
he picks up one of the hair ties, rolling it between his fingers. it's such a simple thing, something you probably wouldn’t even notice missing, but to him, it’s a piece of the everyday you that he loves—the you that laughs in the kitchen, that kicks off your shoes the second you walk through the door, that leaves little traces of yourself wherever you go. it's these mundane details that ground him, that remind him exactly where he is, whose space he’s standing in. you're here, in his life, in a way that feels permanent. and the thought of that, of having you so deeply woven into his world, makes him feel more at peace than he ever has.
his fingers trail over the clutter, his attention drifting to a small brown journal tucked slightly under a book. the leather is worn, cracked from time and use, and the tiny lock that once kept it sealed is hanging loose, open. the cover is slightly raised, as if it’s been used recently, the pages worn from touch. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even think to question it as he picks it up, feeling the soft, aged leather in his hands. there's no guilt, no hesitation. he knows you wouldn’t mind. in fact, he’s almost certain there’s nothing inside that you haven’t already shared with him. you tell him everything, after all.
still, curiosity pulls him in. his thumb brushes over the rough edges of the pages, and for a second, he pauses, the weight of your thoughts suddenly tangible in his hands. there's something intimate about holding the journal, knowing these pages hold pieces of you that were meant for no one but yourself. yet, that intimacy doesn’t push him away. instead, it draws him closer. he flips open the cover, scanning the scrawl of your handwriting. it feels like stepping into your mind, seeing the world through your eyes.
he turns a few pages, his eyes tracing the words, and he’s struck by how familiar it all feels—thoughts you’ve already shared with him, ideas you’ve voiced out loud. yet, there’s something deeper here, something more raw in the way you’ve put it on paper. he's not sure why he feels so drawn to it, why reading your thoughts in this way feels like uncovering a hidden layer of your soul, but he does. and he can’t stop himself from reading, absorbing every word.
as he flips through the pages, he finds little sketches you’ve drawn—of random things, sometimes people, but mostly of him. small doodles of his face, a quick sketch of his hand holding yours, even a little caricature of him with his usual smirk. it makes his chest tighten, a warmth spreading through him that he can’t quite explain. you've always been so open with your affection, but seeing it here, in a place so personal, makes it feel even more real. you love him, truly and deeply, in a way that’s undeniable. its quite literally written on paper.
as gojo flips the page, the slight resistance of the paper sticking to the previous one catches him off guard. it's almost as if the universe was trying to keep him from discovering the contents, but still, he tugs gently, separating the pages with a soft crackle, and as soon as the new page reveals itself, his attention is instantly captured. there's something about this particular note that draws him in. maybe it’s the neat, careful handwriting that seems more deliberate than the rest, or maybe it’s the way his name is scattered throughout the page, intertwined with words that seem to pulse with emotion.
he scans the lines at first, casually, but the weight of the words pulls him in deeper. it's a confession—a raw, intimate expression of feelings you’ve never said out loud.
i know it won't last but he is all i need. i'd write my name over his tongue so it is all he speaks.
his eyes linger on the more delicate confessions, those little lines where you admit how deeply you love him. but then the words take a turn, becoming bolder, filled with a yearning that surprises him.
i'd tell him "go fast." i have a thing for speed. he'd tell me "lean back." i'd let him take the lead,
his breath stutters as he reaches a particularly charged line, his face heating as the words sink in.
so if you're looking you will find me standing next to him. kissing under palm trees, feigning for his sin.
for a moment, gojo hesitates. his fingers twitch at the edge of the page, as if ready to close the journal and stop. it all feels too personal, too raw, and he almost feels bad for continuing. but he does continue, unable to pull himself away from the intensity of your words.
i have a few reasons i should leave it alone, but i won't. i have a million reasons i should stop dreaming but i won't.
his eyes flit the the next line.
i don't care if it's not righteous, i don't give a damn. there's no other lover like his, god i love that man.
by the time he reaches the end of the page, his chest feels tight, his mind reeling from everything he’s just absorbed. he blinks, trying to compose himself, and that’s when he notices the silence. the water has stopped running. his head jerks toward the bathroom, and he realizes with a start that you must be finished with your shower. he quickly closes the journal, the soft thud of the leather cover snapping shut as he gently places it back on the dresser, exactly where he found it.
gojo moves back to the bed and sits down, his body tensing slightly as he tries to collect himself. his mind is racing, heart still pounding in his chest as he tries to process what he’s just read. he's always been intimate with you, always loved how close the two of you are, both emotionally and physically. but this—this was something else entirely. this wasn’t just the usual affection you shared, the teasing and laughter, the comfortable silences or even the heated moments of passion. this was deeper, rawer, a part of you he had never fully seen before. you wrote about him like you needed him, as if he wasn’t already yours, as if his presence was the very thing that sustained you.
he exhales slowly, running a hand through his damp hair, still slightly stunned by the intensity of your words. you had always been open with him, never holding back in your love or desire, but seeing it written down like that, in such personal, unguarded detail, was different. it felt like he had been given a glimpse into the very heart of you, into the thoughts and feelings you kept hidden beneath your playful exterior. and knowing that those thoughts were about him—about needing him, wanting him in ways that went beyond anything physical—left him both breathless and overwhelmed.
the bathroom door creaks open, and gojo straightens, instinctively sitting a little taller as you step out, wrapped in a towel, steam still swirling around your form. you're smiling, carefree, as if everything is just as it was before. but for him, everything has shifted. he can’t look at you without thinking of those words now, of the depth of your love and need for him that lies beneath the surface.
he composes himself, pulling on his usual smirk as you approach, but inside, something in him has changed. he knows now, more than ever, just how much he means to you, just how deeply you’ve let him in. and while that knowledge leaves him feeling exposed, it also fills him with a sense of purpose, a need to be worthy of the love you so clearly feel for him.
as you move closer, he reaches out, pulling you into his lap, towel and all, your skin still warm from the shower. he doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you close, feeling the steady beat of your heart against his chest. and in that moment, with your body pressed to his, he knows that whatever thoughts lie beneath your mind and under your tongue, he’s ready to hear them. ready to be the person you so clearly need him to be, even if he’s already yours in every way that matters.
"baby, what are you doing." your soft giggle fills the space as gojo buries his face into the curve of your neck, seeking comfort in your warmth. he's always been affectionate, his love for physical touch apparent in the way his hands always find their way to you, tracing over your skin as if reassuring himself that you’re still there, still his. he kisses your throat a few times, lips lingering on your pulse before he pulls back just enough to look at you, his crystal blue eyes locking onto yours with a strange intensity.
“love you,” he whispers, his voice low, almost reverent, before his lips meet yours in a gentle kiss. “my girl.”
it's nothing new, this sweet affection, and you smile softly, thinking nothing of it. he's always been like this—so open with his love, with his touches and words. you've come to expect it, even crave it. but today, something feels different. there's a blush spreading across his cheeks, the heat radiating from his skin in a way that catches you off guard. his face is warm, hotter than usual under your fingertips, and for a moment, you tilt your head, curious. still, you brush it off, kissing the flushed skin a few times with a fond smile before ruffling his damp hair.
“i love you more, baby boy,” you say, and his lips quirk up at the nickname, but the flush doesn’t fade.
the moment is soft, intimate, and you’re about to pull him into another kiss when the bedroom door suddenly flies open, shattering the calm. both of your heads snap toward the intruder, your eyes narrowing when you realize who it is.
your sister stands in the doorway, an apologetic look already on her face as she raises her hands in surrender. “sorry, sorry!” she squeals, but the playful apology doesn’t erase the way her eyes linger for a moment too long on the scene before her—on gojo's hand resting possessively on your exposed thigh, his fingers idly tracing circles on your skin. her gaze shifts awkwardly before she locks eyes with you again, her nervous energy immediately noticeable.
“have you seen my book? the brown one?” she asks, her tone a little too tight, a little too anxious. you glance at her, confused, before following her gaze. she's searching the room frantically, eyes darting from the shelves to the dresser, then stopping abruptly on the very journal gojo had been holding just moments ago. the one he’d just read.
you don’t even have time to process it before gojo's body goes rigid beside you, his breath catching in his throat. he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink—his entire focus locked onto your sister. you feel the sudden tension rolling off him, though you can’t understand why just yet.
“oh, yeah,” you say, leaning back casually. “you left it in my car. meant to give it back to you.” your voice is nonchalant, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension in the room.
your sister, however, isn’t as calm. her eyes flit between you and the journal, scanning your face for any sign that you’ve discovered its contents. there's a flash of panic in her gaze, but when she finds no suspicion in your expression, she relaxes slightly, her hand reaching out to grab the journal quickly.
“thanks,” she mutters, hugging the book to her chest as if it’s a lifeline. she nods at you, gives gojo a quick, nervous glance, then swiftly retreats from the room, closing the door behind her.
the silence that follows is deafening.
gojo is still. unnaturally still, the playful, easygoing man you know so well replaced with someone quieter, his body taut with tension. he stares at the closed door for a beat too long, his jaw clenched tight, the foreign look in his eyes lingering long after your sister is gone. you feel the change in him, the way his fingers dig a little harder into your thigh, his breathing shallow and unsteady.
something's wrong.
you shift to stand, your frown deepening as you glance at him in confusion, but before you can even rise to your feet, gojo's hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down onto the bed with an unexpected force. his eyes snap to yours, wide and filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. his grip on your arm isn’t rough, but it’s firm, the kind of hold that tells you he’s not ready to let you go just yet.
your frown deepens as you look at him, worry creeping into your voice. “satoru? what's going on?”
he swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he fights to compose himself. there's a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it’s overshadowed by a deeper sense of protectiveness, a need to shield you from whatever storm is brewing inside him.
☆ sum. cuban link, diamond cross—you’re a big fan of suguru geto, the top street racer in tokyo. he doesn’t wanna win any more races, he wants to win you this time. keep at it and he might have to fuck you on the highway.
wc. 5.7k
warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, suguru has a (dick) piercing / tats, semi-public, riding, brief ōral (f! receiving), you get eaten out his window lol, overstim, dirty talk, praise, size kink, impact play, petnames, drive safe.
an. chase atlantic inspired me ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯
“you, yeah you. wanna ride?”
stop thinking dirty, stop thinking dir—
you stop dead in your tracks, hearing the deafening vrooming of a certain nissan skyline gtr along with a raspy deep voice. you knew that voice, in fact you’d be a fool not to recognize the voice of the suguru geto, infamous street racer who’s won more races around the world than you could count. he’s got a big hand on the steering wheel with his dark purple helmet cracked open. growing pathetically sheepish, you could barely get any words out before you start to feel your feet gradually dragging toward his rumbling car.
“really?” you mumble, barely even pressed up against his tinted window and you could smell his loud rich cologne from there. you couldn’t help but fangirl—and oh, did he look so much better in person. geto’s got pretty long tresses of black hair that’s usually down, but in every race it’s always pinned back. a few loose strands run down his face, peeking out of his helmet and his glove grips tightly against his bedazzled steering wheel that had ‘s. geto’ carved into the material as it flawlessly spiraled around the wheel.
“reaaally,” he tauntingly repeats your word, cocking his head to get a better look at you. you could smell the thick puffed smoke that weeps out of his silvery flashy tailpipes and he hums. slouching back against his seat manspread, his foot eases off from the break and you watch as the flashy racer’s seat flies open on its on, and you step in. “i take it you’re here to see the race?”
no, no you weren’t.
you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were here to see the race, but you were to here to see geto also. you’ve only seen him during his interviews, magazines, and sometimes on tv where his races would be broadcasted for the entire world to see.
but, you managed to snag enough money to actually see him in the flesh.
without a second thought you make your way inside. on the inside, you were screaming. you were currently living every one of his fangirl’s dream. immediately once you sit down, you’re surrounded by the balmy welcoming warmth of his beloved str. you assumed it was an older model but he made it work anyway — it had cushioned seats with blaring speakers and oh, the smell . . it’s almost as if the vehicle had a signature cologne scent of its self. it’s really masculine and it makes your thighs squeeze together once you recline back a bit. his seats warmed up your backside automatically and you glance around the rest of the car, taking in its glitzy beauty.
it’s pretty, you’ve only seen pictures. ogling near his rear view mirror, you see fuzzy dice dangling as he’s adjusting it. the rest of the cars usually gathered near the meet up spot before the race actually starts.
“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” geto snickers, noticing you gawking at the inside of his car.
indeed, you heard about how geto built this entire thing from scratch. before doing street racing as a little side hustling hobby, he used to be a mechanic. a well known one, but that wasn’t as fun as actually racing.
geto tosses an arm behind the head rest of your seat, preparing to go in reverse. “had her for about two years. haven’t lose a match, since.”
“not one?” you murmur, wanting to call his bluff. sure, you’ve never seen anyone covering him losing a match but that was a bit hard to believe.
“doubtin’ me, sweetheart?” he rasps, and you feel the rough jittering of the car. geto’s backing up safely, curving his wheel briefly to drive out of one of his many garages.
sweetheart, you don’t know why but that single pet name had you feeling hot for a moment. once your eyes dart back toward him for a split second, you spot a toothpick sticking out from the corner of his crooked lips. he’s so pretty — he’s got a natural smirk that’s tugging against the corners of his lips. as he starts to drive toward the starting point for the highly anticipated race, a gloved thumb taps against his furry steering glimmering wheel. with a low hum, he glances at you. “seatbelt, silly girl.”
shit, you snap on your seat belt moments later and notice even his signature’s all over his seatbelt covers. ‘suguru geto’ in bright bold letters.
drafty air wafts against your skin as he’s still creating distance with just a few miles. once he reaches near the starting line, you hear his foot tapping against the break.
one, two, three . . three, two, one . . he’s bored.
geto positions his rear view mirror for the millionth time before noticing you zeroing your eyes at his gear shift that glistens from the dozens of rhinestones that glue against the cover. countless diamonds stick up and down the leather skin of the handle and it’s so pretty.
“hold on, sweetheart,” geto purrs, his eyes slowly locking onto the flagger that’s stood in front of the row of cars.
geto’s still got a firm hand gripped onto his wheel, his right foot just barely hovering over the gas. come on, he just wanted to get it over with. you could almost smell the competitiveness dripping from his body.
it was intense, you could almost feel the anticipation as if you were in the driver’s seat. the tall woman that’s dressed in nothing but sheer black carries a hefty checked flag, swaying it in the air every few seconds. as she safely spaces herself between the cars, she does it two more times and you realize it’s almost time for take off.
the cars that were lined up beside and next to geto start to rev their engines and so does he. it’s a roaring groan, and his rousing wheels burn into the hardened cement, his gold pipes coughing up clouds of purple smoke. geto gives his wheel one more tap with his thumb before glancing at you with a cunning grin. “lie back, i take off pretty fast, heh.”
and he wasn’t kidding.
the moment the flagger does a final up-down sway motion with the flag, all race cars accelerate quickly past the starting point. you sink back into the plushy seat as he meanly yanks back his stick shift.
his engine’s loud, and within seconds he’s already in the lead. it’s like he wasn’t even trying. frantic turbo spits through his rusted pipes and you can feel his car speedily pass through each poor vehicle that tries to get in his way.
vroooooom, he’s flying by each checkpoint and you could almost smell the adrenaline that’s coursing through his pulsating veins.
the thrill . .
you felt it all ghost through your own veins, feeling the frigid air roaming through his vents tickle against the hairs that stand up on your arms. geto makes a few sharp turns, keeping an eye on the time every so often. his personal best was around five minutes and seventy-seven seconds. with a coarse grip, he’s tilting his steering wheel while the thunder of his engine growls louder and louder within each whizzing mile.
over time though—you can’t help but be a bit nosy. your eyes shift toward the racer and god, you’re just now noticing how handsome he was.
geto usually wore sweats along with his street gear. he didn’t have to wear his helmet but he preferred it just in case. its all black with a splash of purple—you can see his signature lazily signed near the very top. outlined beside his name was a curling design of smoke. the part where he sees through was all darkly tinted so you could hardly see his face unless you squinted or he took it off.
it’s like it added more to his appeal in a way. he sat manspread and doing so, it gave you a one way ticket to stare straight down at his barely hidden bulge.
fuck, your mind started to ponder. you had so many unanswered questions. isn’t it painful driving around that hard—
“hey,” your raunchy thoughts get rudely interrupted and you don’t even realize how many minutes had passed from you being cooped up in your own lewd fantasm. geto’s driving a bit slower now, around sixty mph instead of his usual two hundred. he’s way in the lead, first place. one hand’s lazily on the steering wheel and he fakes a yawn.
oh he’s cocky.
with a quick glance out his mirror, he knew the other cars were far behind him and he now starts drifting near the freeway. with an intrigued hum, he notices just exactly what you were staring at. his lap. “don’t tell me this was the ride you thought i meant, sweetheart.”
“i—”
it’s like his cologne got louder.
you choked on your words, wondering if you were hearing right. suguru, the suguru geto was flirting with you?
and the thing that got you the most was that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore—every few seconds, you’d lock eyes against him near the ear view mirror, feeling hot once his eyes slowly rove down your figure through his dark tinted helmet.
not only was his cologne loud but so were your thoughts—shamelessly, you did think he was referring to that kind of ride minutes earlier.
and the more you stared at his hardened bulge through his grey sweats, the more you started to think. .
but, little did you know your dirty wish would be granted.
not even a few moment later, you’d find yourself fucked - literally.
geto positions you on his lap, halfway pulling down his loose sweats just so you could ride something else entirely.
instead of riding just his car — you rode his dick, and fuck was he just ridiculously big.
too big, and he knows it. geto groans once he’s buried full inside, lodging his thick cock in between your slimy gummy walls. “shit,” he’d hiss, his head occasionally tossing back once the ring piercing that’s stuck on his tip tap tap tap’s away against your precious g-spot. it swirls all around the inside of your cunt and your thighs struggled to stay open. it tickles, but you were far from laughing. he’s so big, easily rearranging your insides and be barely even had to move a muscle.
he’s ruthless - but your hips were even more ruthless though, far more.
geto knew all too well that this was dangerous—just one swerve from the swerving stimulation of bodies smacking against his and game fucking over.
you moan, burying your face into his neck as your hips continue to move against him. he’s still burning gas as your cunt’s just merrily drooling all down his length from each slapping thrust.
belatedly, your brows furrow, almost forgetting why you even showed up to this event. well, part of why you came. “f- fuck, what about t- the race?” you speak in a breathy tone, your tempo becoming more and more relentless. the salaciously enticing jerk of your unsteady hips gradually turn into rough unstable bounces and he kisses his teeth. geto feels the convulsing veins that run down his cock pulse right through him and between your walls, you feel it too.
“oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, his back of his helmet hitting against his headrest. looking at you with hazy hooded eyes, he flashes you a sleazy grin. “technically, i already won,” and you gasp, feeling him reach a gloved hand down between your rickety thighs. his touch was so gentle, you felt yourself shuddering from both twin digits that drag further down your chest. he cups one of your bouncing tits that pop out of your tank top, brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipple. “god, what a pretty fuckin’ body. look at you girl,” and he’s still got a hand on the steering wheel.
a trembling whimper dies out your throat at the feeling of his swollen fat cockhead vigorously thrusting in and out of your dribbling entrance.
you’re just so soaked. it’s like you can’t help but be sopping wet on his lap and he loves it. sloshes of sobs echo out of your pussy and your legs pathetically quaver directly on top of him.
both of you groan in complete unison and a big hand of his creeps further down, giving your ass a teasing squeeze. “fuuucck, reel those nasty hips. ride it baby, ride me, yeah,” and you hear the grumbling revs of his engine ring against your ears louder. it makes the entire car shake a bit despite him pushing down a few miles. with widened dewy eyes staring at the back of his car, you squint, seeing dozens of cars trying to catch up to geto.
they didn’t have a chance,
they looked like tiny splotching dots in the far distance. geto even had the audacity to not do his usual speed and yet he was still dusting the other racers.
typical.
“s- suguru,” you whine, the undersides of your thighs sticking against him. each time you bounced back on his cock, each ruthless ‘pap pap pap’ of your skin mashing against his and the clingy recoil never fails to leave you brain dead for a few seconds. he’s so thick. you swivel your hips around him, gasping every time his dick piercing scrapes against your clit. the cold material makes a good portion of your thighs quake and you can’t help but coo out a few sweet ‘ooh’ or ‘ah’s right next to the shell of his ear. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and he didn’t even bother taking them off.
yet.
“so fuckin’ big, shiiiit.” you’d whimper, trying to swerve your way all around him. he’s just too big, you were even surprised he fit. you had to go down slow, aligning yourself against him — every few seconds his cock would pop out of you, making that cute squelch sound that makes his suck his teeth in annoyance.
“mhm, ‘n you’re takin’ it so well. you’re a big girl, fuckin’ take it,” he rasps in a hushed tone, nipping a few teeth near the inside of your neck. his helmet along with his toothpick ends up falling near the side of his seat with a loud thud.
your hips were killer.
unlike any opponent he’s had to go up against. you’re happily squeezing around him like a vice, taking in his curved inches like a champ. “f- fuck, who taught you how ‘ta ride? heh, tryna give me a run for my money, hm pretty?”
your whiny moans only pitch louder once he grips a nice chunk of your ass with one hand, peering at his bedazzled dash. the speed was a bit over one fifty now but it didn’t even feel like it.
“ugh, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, growing more and more dumb the faster you bounced on his heavy throbbing cock. his peeling sack hangs from underneath and he’s so swollen, you feel it.
maddened angry balls entirely reddened and puffed up from the delicious stimulation. with every sharp pull of your hips bouncing up and down, he feels himself shriveling — he’s so sensitive inside of you, and he can almost taste his own pleasure. whilst you continue to twirl your ass around in rotation for him, you couldn’t help but shamelessly salivate at the thought of imagining just how full he might be.
“sugu—fuuuckk,” and a bead of sweat races down the side of your face. geto’s primarily focusing on the road, it’s an easy straight shot and with how it was practically the middle of the night it wasn’t that many cars except for the one’s participating in the annual street races.
“bet you are. sloppy girl,” he huffs, groaning at the echoing loud smacks of your ass. you’re mercilessly clamping down his lap over and over, preparing to gush all over the dick that’s currently nestled inside of you. he’s got such a mouth watering curve of his cock that makes your stomach twist and churn.
the kind of curve that doesn’t involve his motor vehicle, that kind.
geto’s dick knew how to do swerves on its own, it even knew how to carve an entire bumpy race track allllll through your insides with his fat pink tip. “touch yourself, pretty. gimme a show before you mess up my fuckin’ seats.”
you could hear the sass in his voice along with a drip of vex and you’d giggle if you weren’t being ruthless stuffed full of inches. “o- okay,” you breathe through clenched teeth, guiding your hands up and down your body. geto’s dark eyes stare at you intently.
he stared at the way your hands caress your pretty plump tits, feeling down the valley of your exposed chest. his eyes flicker toward you then back at the road, then at you again - he repeats it, feeling his own muscles starting to tighten through his clothing. “ngh, suguru. can’t hold—”
your addictive slams against his cock got more intense until he’s fully buried balls deep inside of your squeezing cunt. you hear the saturated plops that’s squealing out of your pussy and you can’t even believe that’s you that’s sounding like that.
your poor sweet cunt was louder than his radio, completely shrieking over some random chorus of a heavy metal song you didn’t even know was playing in the background.
“fuck, cum then. cum on me, girl,” he grunts, one hand grabbing a nice fat piece of your ass again before spanking it.
you moan, the sharp brief twinge of elation sending you a shiver that immediately sends convulses between your thighs. lewd filthy thoughts foil at your brain and pretty soon, the car steams up with steamy clouded fog.
erratic sharp breaths match each other’s pace and you’re left breathless. geto feels your legs on the verge of giving out and he snickers, bringing a gloved hand to stroke against your sopping pussy. “go on, don’t be shy. should make ya lick up the mess later anyway.”
whimpering, your release comes and fuck, a sharp scream ripples out from your throat once you’re finally coming undone on his cock. the wrinkled skin of his base continues to stick against his sack due to you bouncing against him.
it’s hot, literally.
with both plush mounds of skin harshly plummeting on top of each other, the heat of the car made it feel like the air conditioner wasn’t even on. “thaaat’s it, work those hips, goddamn,” and abruptly, he cuts off from his words after feeling his mushroom tip reach a certain spongey spot that’s buried way inside of your gripping walls.
you gasp once you feel him throb inside with a soft upward shimmy of his hips. milliseconds later, your thighs collapse down on him and you feel yourself succumbing. you’re creaming down his shaft with your slippery slick while at the very same time, struggling to catch your breath. as you weakly try to continue your grinding with your feeble knees, geto uses a single hand to quickly make a detour.
he was close.
the race car makes a swift turn to the left lane, driving a few more miles before he then turns the opposite direction — pulling over safely. with a cooing skrrrrt, his rubber tires come to a cruising stop and geto groans, gripping at his tensing bouncing thigh with his glove. the finish line was just a few feet away but he could care less.
once he puts his car in park, geto falls back into his seat with own sable dark eyes flickering back to the very depths of his skull.
you rode him good, good to the point where he doesn’t even know what to say for a hot second. blinking twice, geto smears his glossed lips together before exhaling, “phew,” and he swats another palm against your ass. black unkempt strands of hair tape against the center of forehead like glue whilst he’s finally got a good grip on your hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too,” and your puffy folds continue to dribble with honeyed slick.
you’re damping his cock and the squelches you make, they were loud.
so wet and slimy. he could listen to it all day, just the sound of your sweet cunt whimpering out sweet sloshes of nothing. the overwhelming sensitivity leaves a sourly candied taste in your mouth and you whine, feeling him squeeze a hand against your right hip. with a raspy out of breath tone, he strokes a thumb underneath your quivering bottom lip. “ ‘s okay if i cum inside, pretty?”
“y- yeah, please,” you babble out in broken cries, feeling your tummy frantically heave in and out.
as he grabs your hips, steadying you—you intake a breath, remembering how many inches he was buried inside. your tummy tucks inward and you whimper, feeling him preparing to shoot pure blanks. with a size like his, geto’s cock never failed to leave its sloppy infamous mark.
you’re just marveled at how fat his tip is, it’s voluntarily french-kissing up against sweet beloved cervix that’s screaming out curses just as much as you. he’s got two hands on your veering hips, smooth fabric of his racing gloves sliding up and down your wobbly. with pouty compressed lips, you moan, bringing your hands to grab onto his shoulders. “cum, cum in me—fuck.”
geto huskily groans, tossing his head back once your hips zealously reel into him right as he gives you the final perfunctory thrust that finishes him off. immediately, he’s shooting out ribbons of hot cum that pour into you. you’re panting as he slows down, glossy eyes raking at his body. you could see a bit of his tatted sleeves peek from underneath his shirt - his tense muscles bulging.
“god, better take all of it,” he groans, pretty black lashes sticking against his droopy hooded sockets.
it spurts out slowly but surely.
globs and globs of frothy cum bubble down the swollen sides of his cock and you feel it all. it’s toasty and warm and as he’s pouring his all into you, painting your gummy walls his pristine-white color, you couldn’t help but lean in.
geto’s matching your breathy irregular pants before he feels your trembling lips crash onto his. “mmf,” he moans against your lips, tilting his head back slightly to a certain attractive degree. a hand of his reaches toward his radio, turning the middle notch all the way down just to hear the squelches of his own seed slobbering down your slick cunt.
he tastes sweet. you moan at the lingering taste of fresh cooling mint that lives on his tongue, feeling his hands tighten around your waist.
oh, he’s obsessed—
screw the race by this point, all he wanted at this moment was you.
geto’s still got such a large load that’s dumping into you raw and it even oozes down past your thighs, a few creamy droplets plopping down on his velvet seats. he grunts, both twisting tongues ferociously tangling against each other whilst your pussy’s still squeezing down on him like a vice. a glossed translucent ring forms around his base and he feels you trying to touch yourself with two curious fingers.
with a slight smack, he swats your hand away and you whine in his mouth. “heh, hands to yourself,” you pout because earlier he let you touch yourself but now, no. he teases, breaking away from the hot kiss. a stringy cobweb of saliva tears back from both lax plump lips before he playfully nibbles on your chin. geto notices how slumped out you were and a broad open hand of his crawls between your legs. “ooooh,” and he lifts you up from his swollen flaccid cock, gazing at just how much of a fill he’s pumped into you. “well look at that,” and you whimper, feeling him strum a thumb down your drooling cunt. “would be a shame if it all went to waste,” then he quirks a brow, sliding a tongue across his lips. “princess, stick your head out the window for me real quick.”
“out the wind—”
and not even seconds later, you find yourself literally being bent over, halfway hanging out of his rolled down tinted window. geto wasn’t done, at least not yet.
your sheeny glossed lips immediately part into an ‘o’ as a sweet gasp leaves your lips. with clammy hands, they grip onto the edge of his window and you whimper once he delves his long tongue inside of your cunt. your fingers gripped against the window so hard that it ends up leaving dozens of your cute fingerprints against the tinted glass.
“oh my goddd,” you babble out in elongated sweet syllables. with your pretty eyes bulging, you gasp at feeling the tip of his tongue swirl all around inside of you.
geto lowly grunts, lapping his twitching pink muscle down your runny folds back and forth. between your legs—he’s a menace, and it was no prying him off.
at all.
he doesn’t even bat an eye at the simple fact that he’s eating his own cum out of you, unapologetically savoring the bittersweet taste that lands right on his flavored tastebuds. your legs were so weak and you can feel his warm breath continuously fan against and on your sopping folds as he chuckles.
“my my, look at her. this prize’s way better than some money,” he hums, using a leather thumbed glove to swipe down your entrance. he’s slow, dragging it all the way down just to watch spurts of your slick pop onto his digit. you’re just so wet, metallic fingers of his ghost further down your clit before you whine. geto sees your cunt pulsing from the sheer thrill and he snickers, smacking a palm right against your slobbering core. “she’s fuckin’ nasty today, yeah?” and his eyes flicker toward your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing suck. “mmph, listen to her with me, gorgeous,” and one spank against your pussy turns into one, then two, then three.
growing quiet, you listen to the weeping sounds purring out of your own cunt. so loud, so shamelessly loud. you could hear it and he barely even had to touch you. you’re drenching up his seats and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, feeling your heart pound ruthlessly out your chest. his tongue knew just where to go—it’s creating a path of its own, laying flat against your clit before sucking against every tender spot. your legs were on its final hinges. you felt like they were about to snap shut. you’re staring out the window, still not seeing any cars which was good.
if anyone saw you like this, being eaten out in this kind of position, you don’t know what would happen.
geto resumes to flick his long tongue down your swollen slit, lapping up the last few droplets of his own cum that tries to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. another final swat from his mean palm sets against your clit and you let off a cute squeal, your tummy instinctively caving in. “so much back talk from a pussy this fuckin’ sloppy. oughta teach it some manners, pretty girl,” he grumbles, and your eyes blissfully roll back once you hear him starting to sluuuurp.
geto had no shame — it was decided, this was far better than any race he’s ever had.
his teeth nip near the inside corners of your thighs before he trails back to munching on your clit, burying his nose deep. “mhm,” he groans, and it only takes a few seconds before his jaw finally locks. geto reaches down, giving his cock a few solid pumps. his pretty reddened tip was angry, it still had dried spurts of cum racing from the sides and he grunts at the memory of being inside of you only just a few minutes ago. whilst his face’s shoved right between your thighs—you don’t even realize you’re trying to reach back to grab onto his hair. you’re hesitant though, and he finds it cute. departing his wet slick lips briefly, a wry grin spreads against his lips. “kinky,” the dark haired man flicks a tongue across his lips, savoring your juices that smeared against his mouth. “don’t be shy. do it,” and you moan once he teasingly whistles against your pussy, kissing against your nub. “pull my hair girl. pull.”
you give it a good yank and his head pushes forward into you—geto’s lengthy tongue dips further inside your cunt and you whimper, gnawing the inside of your stiff jaw. “fuck,” you gasp, and as his tongue gradually curls various bubbly letters inside of your pussy.
it multitasks, continuing to send your entire body a plethora of fluttering butterflies. he was so sloppy, seeping from the corners of his mouth with your slick and just your slick. his head moving side to side eagerly and every few seconds, he’s got to flick away long shaggy strands of his hair. geto’s proudly devouring you entirely whilst you’re just literally hanging out his window.
“oh, come on. harder, sweetheart. even i can do better than tha—ngh.”
with more force, you tug roughly on his pretty black strands and you heard the most sluttiest moan pour from his lips. god, he was so close that you could literally feel that infamous smug grin spread against his lips. geto brings a fat round thumb to run down your drooling cunt, giving it a ‘good job’ kiss. “atta girl. that’s my girl.”
geto ends up coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of over and over and over again.
he’s mean with his tongue, slurping everything out of you until you had no more - nothing more to coal his chin with. his favorite thing to do was to playfully bite against your clit, feeling you writhe and shiver all because of his mouth.
you end up leaving his entire chin with a pretty stream of your syrupy slick. geto’s panting, falling back after talking you through your nth orgasm, and with a peek through his rear view mirror, he spots the remaining race cars that were finally approaching the finish line.
“ah, about time,” geto rolls his eyes, sliding his lips near the corner of his chin where a bit more of your slick laid.
he acted like it was nothing, like he didn’t just have his tongue shoved inches deep inside of your cunt, stuffing his race gloved fingers in and out of you until you gushed right down his lengthy thick digits. you’re just sat on his lap, and you’re too dumb to move an inch. “heh, comfy?” he purrs, dragging his seatbelt across both stacked bodies. you fall against his chest, inhaling his signature manly scent and feel the car jolt once he puts it back in drive.
needy silence was your only reply and he tsks, resting his chin on top of your head before driving toward the finish line. it was barely even a few feet away, and waiting there was a bunch of fans that were awaiting to greet their new winner.
geto couldn’t care less though—he had you on his lap and he could already feel himself bulging again.
he found it cute how you were just clinging onto him now.
maybe you were delusional—maybe it was the fangirl in you screaming, begging for more, but your body wasn’t just begging anymore, it ached for more.
he drives you back toward the car meet up spot, helping you fix back your skirt. with wobbly legs, you step out of the flaunting vehicle with the help of his burly arms wrapped around you. “t- thank you,” you pant, trying to catch your breath, even still. geto stands up tall and he completely towers over you. you feel so small all of a sudden, watching as he puts his helmet back on.
“anything for a fan,” he coos, and he brushes a thumb against your lips. just a single gesture just as that felt so intimate. your eyes lock with his for a long moment, and just before you could say anything more, he mumbles. “oh, you probably want an autograph?”
your eyes light up and you grow sheepish, awkwardly tugging on the vip-checked lanyard that wraps around your throat. “yeah, please.”
“such manners like a good girl, cute,” and you bring out a magazine with his face plastered on it as a headline for this week’s up and coming races in tokyo. “nah,” he waves it away, and as your brow quirks, he takes out a sharpie. geto slides the cap in between his teeth before he glances at you. “pull your shirt down real quick, sweetheart,” and without a second thought, you tug down the hem of your shirt, barely exposing your chest.
geto’s eyes rove down your skin before he swiftly signs right against your left tit. the ink softly runs against your skin and you gasp, watching as he marks up the upper part of your chest. “aaaand, perfect,” he concludes, adding a ‘xo’ at the end of his signature. geto puts the cap back on and he flashes you a sly expression. “so i’ll see you at the next race?”
he starts walking away before you could even reply and you feel the weight of your shaky legs grow heavy. “y.. yeah,” and with dewy eyes, you watch as he steps in his car, playfully revving his engine at you.
the cool air sets against your skin once more as you stood there with shaky legs. the car meet slowly gets more crowded as the rest of the racers pass the finish line.
but, your brows furrow once you realize you felt a bit . . . empty between your legs.
with a soft gasp, you squint near the inside of geto’s car before he pulls off.
hanging over his rear view mirror instead of the fuzzy dice you once saw—was nothing other than your panties,
☆ sum. cuban link, diamond cross—you’re a big fan of suguru geto, the top street racer in tokyo. he doesn’t wanna win any more races, he wants to win you this time. keep at it and he might have to fuck you on the highway.
wc. 5.7k
warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, suguru has a (dick) piercing / tats, semi-public, riding, brief ōral (f! receiving), you get eaten out his window lol, overstim, dirty talk, praise, size kink, impact play, petnames, drive safe.
an. chase atlantic inspired me ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯
“you, yeah you. wanna ride?”
stop thinking dirty, stop thinking dir—
you stop dead in your tracks, hearing the deafening vrooming of a certain nissan skyline gtr along with a raspy deep voice. you knew that voice, in fact you’d be a fool not to recognize the voice of the suguru geto, infamous street racer who’s won more races around the world than you could count. he’s got a big hand on the steering wheel with his dark purple helmet cracked open. growing pathetically sheepish, you could barely get any words out before you start to feel your feet gradually dragging toward his rumbling car.
“really?” you mumble, barely even pressed up against his tinted window and you could smell his loud rich cologne from there. you couldn’t help but fangirl—and oh, did he look so much better in person. geto’s got pretty long tresses of black hair that’s usually down, but in every race it’s always pinned back. a few loose strands run down his face, peeking out of his helmet and his glove grips tightly against his bedazzled steering wheel that had ‘s. geto’ carved into the material as it flawlessly spiraled around the wheel.
“reaaally,” he tauntingly repeats your word, cocking his head to get a better look at you. you could smell the thick puffed smoke that weeps out of his silvery flashy tailpipes and he hums. slouching back against his seat manspread, his foot eases off from the break and you watch as the flashy racer’s seat flies open on its on, and you step in. “i take it you’re here to see the race?”
no, no you weren’t.
you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were here to see the race, but you were to here to see geto also. you’ve only seen him during his interviews, magazines, and sometimes on tv where his races would be broadcasted for the entire world to see.
but, you managed to snag enough money to actually see him in the flesh.
without a second thought you make your way inside. on the inside, you were screaming. you were currently living every one of his fangirl’s dream. immediately once you sit down, you’re surrounded by the balmy welcoming warmth of his beloved str. you assumed it was an older model but he made it work anyway — it had cushioned seats with blaring speakers and oh, the smell . . it’s almost as if the vehicle had a signature cologne scent of its self. it’s really masculine and it makes your thighs squeeze together once you recline back a bit. his seats warmed up your backside automatically and you glance around the rest of the car, taking in its glitzy beauty.
it’s pretty, you’ve only seen pictures. ogling near his rear view mirror, you see fuzzy dice dangling as he’s adjusting it. the rest of the cars usually gathered near the meet up spot before the race actually starts.
“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” geto snickers, noticing you gawking at the inside of his car.
indeed, you heard about how geto built this entire thing from scratch. before doing street racing as a little side hustling hobby, he used to be a mechanic. a well known one, but that wasn’t as fun as actually racing.
geto tosses an arm behind the head rest of your seat, preparing to go in reverse. “had her for about two years. haven’t lose a match, since.”
“not one?” you murmur, wanting to call his bluff. sure, you’ve never seen anyone covering him losing a match but that was a bit hard to believe.
“doubtin’ me, sweetheart?” he rasps, and you feel the rough jittering of the car. geto’s backing up safely, curving his wheel briefly to drive out of one of his many garages.
sweetheart, you don’t know why but that single pet name had you feeling hot for a moment. once your eyes dart back toward him for a split second, you spot a toothpick sticking out from the corner of his crooked lips. he’s so pretty — he’s got a natural smirk that’s tugging against the corners of his lips. as he starts to drive toward the starting point for the highly anticipated race, a gloved thumb taps against his furry steering glimmering wheel. with a low hum, he glances at you. “seatbelt, silly girl.”
shit, you snap on your seat belt moments later and notice even his signature’s all over his seatbelt covers. ‘suguru geto’ in bright bold letters.
drafty air wafts against your skin as he’s still creating distance with just a few miles. once he reaches near the starting line, you hear his foot tapping against the break.
one, two, three . . three, two, one . . he’s bored.
geto positions his rear view mirror for the millionth time before noticing you zeroing your eyes at his gear shift that glistens from the dozens of rhinestones that glue against the cover. countless diamonds stick up and down the leather skin of the handle and it’s so pretty.
“hold on, sweetheart,” geto purrs, his eyes slowly locking onto the flagger that’s stood in front of the row of cars.
geto’s still got a firm hand gripped onto his wheel, his right foot just barely hovering over the gas. come on, he just wanted to get it over with. you could almost smell the competitiveness dripping from his body.
it was intense, you could almost feel the anticipation as if you were in the driver’s seat. the tall woman that’s dressed in nothing but sheer black carries a hefty checked flag, swaying it in the air every few seconds. as she safely spaces herself between the cars, she does it two more times and you realize it’s almost time for take off.
the cars that were lined up beside and next to geto start to rev their engines and so does he. it’s a roaring groan, and his rousing wheels burn into the hardened cement, his gold pipes coughing up clouds of purple smoke. geto gives his wheel one more tap with his thumb before glancing at you with a cunning grin. “lie back, i take off pretty fast, heh.”
and he wasn’t kidding.
the moment the flagger does a final up-down sway motion with the flag, all race cars accelerate quickly past the starting point. you sink back into the plushy seat as he meanly yanks back his stick shift.
his engine’s loud, and within seconds he’s already in the lead. it’s like he wasn’t even trying. frantic turbo spits through his rusted pipes and you can feel his car speedily pass through each poor vehicle that tries to get in his way.
vroooooom, he’s flying by each checkpoint and you could almost smell the adrenaline that’s coursing through his pulsating veins.
the thrill . .
you felt it all ghost through your own veins, feeling the frigid air roaming through his vents tickle against the hairs that stand up on your arms. geto makes a few sharp turns, keeping an eye on the time every so often. his personal best was around five minutes and seventy-seven seconds. with a coarse grip, he’s tilting his steering wheel while the thunder of his engine growls louder and louder within each whizzing mile.
over time though—you can’t help but be a bit nosy. your eyes shift toward the racer and god, you’re just now noticing how handsome he was.
geto usually wore sweats along with his street gear. he didn’t have to wear his helmet but he preferred it just in case. its all black with a splash of purple—you can see his signature lazily signed near the very top. outlined beside his name was a curling design of smoke. the part where he sees through was all darkly tinted so you could hardly see his face unless you squinted or he took it off.
it’s like it added more to his appeal in a way. he sat manspread and doing so, it gave you a one way ticket to stare straight down at his barely hidden bulge.
fuck, your mind started to ponder. you had so many unanswered questions. isn’t it painful driving around that hard—
“hey,” your raunchy thoughts get rudely interrupted and you don’t even realize how many minutes had passed from you being cooped up in your own lewd fantasm. geto’s driving a bit slower now, around sixty mph instead of his usual two hundred. he’s way in the lead, first place. one hand’s lazily on the steering wheel and he fakes a yawn.
oh he’s cocky.
with a quick glance out his mirror, he knew the other cars were far behind him and he now starts drifting near the freeway. with an intrigued hum, he notices just exactly what you were staring at. his lap. “don’t tell me this was the ride you thought i meant, sweetheart.”
“i—”
it’s like his cologne got louder.
you choked on your words, wondering if you were hearing right. suguru, the suguru geto was flirting with you?
and the thing that got you the most was that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore—every few seconds, you’d lock eyes against him near the ear view mirror, feeling hot once his eyes slowly rove down your figure through his dark tinted helmet.
not only was his cologne loud but so were your thoughts—shamelessly, you did think he was referring to that kind of ride minutes earlier.
and the more you stared at his hardened bulge through his grey sweats, the more you started to think. .
but, little did you know your dirty wish would be granted.
not even a few moment later, you’d find yourself fucked - literally.
geto positions you on his lap, halfway pulling down his loose sweats just so you could ride something else entirely.
instead of riding just his car — you rode his dick, and fuck was he just ridiculously big.
too big, and he knows it. geto groans once he’s buried full inside, lodging his thick cock in between your slimy gummy walls. “shit,” he’d hiss, his head occasionally tossing back once the ring piercing that’s stuck on his tip tap tap tap’s away against your precious g-spot. it swirls all around the inside of your cunt and your thighs struggled to stay open. it tickles, but you were far from laughing. he’s so big, easily rearranging your insides and be barely even had to move a muscle.
he’s ruthless - but your hips were even more ruthless though, far more.
geto knew all too well that this was dangerous—just one swerve from the swerving stimulation of bodies smacking against his and game fucking over.
you moan, burying your face into his neck as your hips continue to move against him. he’s still burning gas as your cunt’s just merrily drooling all down his length from each slapping thrust.
belatedly, your brows furrow, almost forgetting why you even showed up to this event. well, part of why you came. “f- fuck, what about t- the race?” you speak in a breathy tone, your tempo becoming more and more relentless. the salaciously enticing jerk of your unsteady hips gradually turn into rough unstable bounces and he kisses his teeth. geto feels the convulsing veins that run down his cock pulse right through him and between your walls, you feel it too.
“oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, his back of his helmet hitting against his headrest. looking at you with hazy hooded eyes, he flashes you a sleazy grin. “technically, i already won,” and you gasp, feeling him reach a gloved hand down between your rickety thighs. his touch was so gentle, you felt yourself shuddering from both twin digits that drag further down your chest. he cups one of your bouncing tits that pop out of your tank top, brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipple. “god, what a pretty fuckin’ body. look at you girl,” and he’s still got a hand on the steering wheel.
a trembling whimper dies out your throat at the feeling of his swollen fat cockhead vigorously thrusting in and out of your dribbling entrance.
you’re just so soaked. it’s like you can’t help but be sopping wet on his lap and he loves it. sloshes of sobs echo out of your pussy and your legs pathetically quaver directly on top of him.
both of you groan in complete unison and a big hand of his creeps further down, giving your ass a teasing squeeze. “fuuucck, reel those nasty hips. ride it baby, ride me, yeah,” and you hear the grumbling revs of his engine ring against your ears louder. it makes the entire car shake a bit despite him pushing down a few miles. with widened dewy eyes staring at the back of his car, you squint, seeing dozens of cars trying to catch up to geto.
they didn’t have a chance,
they looked like tiny splotching dots in the far distance. geto even had the audacity to not do his usual speed and yet he was still dusting the other racers.
typical.
“s- suguru,” you whine, the undersides of your thighs sticking against him. each time you bounced back on his cock, each ruthless ‘pap pap pap’ of your skin mashing against his and the clingy recoil never fails to leave you brain dead for a few seconds. he’s so thick. you swivel your hips around him, gasping every time his dick piercing scrapes against your clit. the cold material makes a good portion of your thighs quake and you can’t help but coo out a few sweet ‘ooh’ or ‘ah’s right next to the shell of his ear. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and he didn’t even bother taking them off.
yet.
“so fuckin’ big, shiiiit.” you’d whimper, trying to swerve your way all around him. he’s just too big, you were even surprised he fit. you had to go down slow, aligning yourself against him — every few seconds his cock would pop out of you, making that cute squelch sound that makes his suck his teeth in annoyance.
“mhm, ‘n you’re takin’ it so well. you’re a big girl, fuckin’ take it,” he rasps in a hushed tone, nipping a few teeth near the inside of your neck. his helmet along with his toothpick ends up falling near the side of his seat with a loud thud.
your hips were killer.
unlike any opponent he’s had to go up against. you’re happily squeezing around him like a vice, taking in his curved inches like a champ. “f- fuck, who taught you how ‘ta ride? heh, tryna give me a run for my money, hm pretty?”
your whiny moans only pitch louder once he grips a nice chunk of your ass with one hand, peering at his bedazzled dash. the speed was a bit over one fifty now but it didn’t even feel like it.
“ugh, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, growing more and more dumb the faster you bounced on his heavy throbbing cock. his peeling sack hangs from underneath and he’s so swollen, you feel it.
maddened angry balls entirely reddened and puffed up from the delicious stimulation. with every sharp pull of your hips bouncing up and down, he feels himself shriveling — he’s so sensitive inside of you, and he can almost taste his own pleasure. whilst you continue to twirl your ass around in rotation for him, you couldn’t help but shamelessly salivate at the thought of imagining just how full he might be.
“sugu—fuuuckk,” and a bead of sweat races down the side of your face. geto’s primarily focusing on the road, it’s an easy straight shot and with how it was practically the middle of the night it wasn’t that many cars except for the one’s participating in the annual street races.
“bet you are. sloppy girl,” he huffs, groaning at the echoing loud smacks of your ass. you’re mercilessly clamping down his lap over and over, preparing to gush all over the dick that’s currently nestled inside of you. he’s got such a mouth watering curve of his cock that makes your stomach twist and churn.
the kind of curve that doesn’t involve his motor vehicle, that kind.
geto’s dick knew how to do swerves on its own, it even knew how to carve an entire bumpy race track allllll through your insides with his fat pink tip. “touch yourself, pretty. gimme a show before you mess up my fuckin’ seats.”
you could hear the sass in his voice along with a drip of vex and you’d giggle if you weren’t being ruthless stuffed full of inches. “o- okay,” you breathe through clenched teeth, guiding your hands up and down your body. geto’s dark eyes stare at you intently.
he stared at the way your hands caress your pretty plump tits, feeling down the valley of your exposed chest. his eyes flicker toward you then back at the road, then at you again - he repeats it, feeling his own muscles starting to tighten through his clothing. “ngh, suguru. can’t hold—”
your addictive slams against his cock got more intense until he’s fully buried balls deep inside of your squeezing cunt. you hear the saturated plops that’s squealing out of your pussy and you can’t even believe that’s you that’s sounding like that.
your poor sweet cunt was louder than his radio, completely shrieking over some random chorus of a heavy metal song you didn’t even know was playing in the background.
“fuck, cum then. cum on me, girl,” he grunts, one hand grabbing a nice fat piece of your ass again before spanking it.
you moan, the sharp brief twinge of elation sending you a shiver that immediately sends convulses between your thighs. lewd filthy thoughts foil at your brain and pretty soon, the car steams up with steamy clouded fog.
erratic sharp breaths match each other’s pace and you’re left breathless. geto feels your legs on the verge of giving out and he snickers, bringing a gloved hand to stroke against your sopping pussy. “go on, don’t be shy. should make ya lick up the mess later anyway.”
whimpering, your release comes and fuck, a sharp scream ripples out from your throat once you’re finally coming undone on his cock. the wrinkled skin of his base continues to stick against his sack due to you bouncing against him.
it’s hot, literally.
with both plush mounds of skin harshly plummeting on top of each other, the heat of the car made it feel like the air conditioner wasn’t even on. “thaaat’s it, work those hips, goddamn,” and abruptly, he cuts off from his words after feeling his mushroom tip reach a certain spongey spot that’s buried way inside of your gripping walls.
you gasp once you feel him throb inside with a soft upward shimmy of his hips. milliseconds later, your thighs collapse down on him and you feel yourself succumbing. you’re creaming down his shaft with your slippery slick while at the very same time, struggling to catch your breath. as you weakly try to continue your grinding with your feeble knees, geto uses a single hand to quickly make a detour.
he was close.
the race car makes a swift turn to the left lane, driving a few more miles before he then turns the opposite direction — pulling over safely. with a cooing skrrrrt, his rubber tires come to a cruising stop and geto groans, gripping at his tensing bouncing thigh with his glove. the finish line was just a few feet away but he could care less.
once he puts his car in park, geto falls back into his seat with own sable dark eyes flickering back to the very depths of his skull.
you rode him good, good to the point where he doesn’t even know what to say for a hot second. blinking twice, geto smears his glossed lips together before exhaling, “phew,” and he swats another palm against your ass. black unkempt strands of hair tape against the center of forehead like glue whilst he’s finally got a good grip on your hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too,” and your puffy folds continue to dribble with honeyed slick.
you’re damping his cock and the squelches you make, they were loud.
so wet and slimy. he could listen to it all day, just the sound of your sweet cunt whimpering out sweet sloshes of nothing. the overwhelming sensitivity leaves a sourly candied taste in your mouth and you whine, feeling him squeeze a hand against your right hip. with a raspy out of breath tone, he strokes a thumb underneath your quivering bottom lip. “ ‘s okay if i cum inside, pretty?”
“y- yeah, please,” you babble out in broken cries, feeling your tummy frantically heave in and out.
as he grabs your hips, steadying you—you intake a breath, remembering how many inches he was buried inside. your tummy tucks inward and you whimper, feeling him preparing to shoot pure blanks. with a size like his, geto’s cock never failed to leave its sloppy infamous mark.
you’re just marveled at how fat his tip is, it’s voluntarily french-kissing up against sweet beloved cervix that’s screaming out curses just as much as you. he’s got two hands on your veering hips, smooth fabric of his racing gloves sliding up and down your wobbly. with pouty compressed lips, you moan, bringing your hands to grab onto his shoulders. “cum, cum in me—fuck.”
geto huskily groans, tossing his head back once your hips zealously reel into him right as he gives you the final perfunctory thrust that finishes him off. immediately, he’s shooting out ribbons of hot cum that pour into you. you’re panting as he slows down, glossy eyes raking at his body. you could see a bit of his tatted sleeves peek from underneath his shirt - his tense muscles bulging.
“god, better take all of it,” he groans, pretty black lashes sticking against his droopy hooded sockets.
it spurts out slowly but surely.
globs and globs of frothy cum bubble down the swollen sides of his cock and you feel it all. it’s toasty and warm and as he’s pouring his all into you, painting your gummy walls his pristine-white color, you couldn’t help but lean in.
geto’s matching your breathy irregular pants before he feels your trembling lips crash onto his. “mmf,” he moans against your lips, tilting his head back slightly to a certain attractive degree. a hand of his reaches toward his radio, turning the middle notch all the way down just to hear the squelches of his own seed slobbering down your slick cunt.
he tastes sweet. you moan at the lingering taste of fresh cooling mint that lives on his tongue, feeling his hands tighten around your waist.
oh, he’s obsessed—
screw the race by this point, all he wanted at this moment was you.
geto’s still got such a large load that’s dumping into you raw and it even oozes down past your thighs, a few creamy droplets plopping down on his velvet seats. he grunts, both twisting tongues ferociously tangling against each other whilst your pussy’s still squeezing down on him like a vice. a glossed translucent ring forms around his base and he feels you trying to touch yourself with two curious fingers.
with a slight smack, he swats your hand away and you whine in his mouth. “heh, hands to yourself,” you pout because earlier he let you touch yourself but now, no. he teases, breaking away from the hot kiss. a stringy cobweb of saliva tears back from both lax plump lips before he playfully nibbles on your chin. geto notices how slumped out you were and a broad open hand of his crawls between your legs. “ooooh,” and he lifts you up from his swollen flaccid cock, gazing at just how much of a fill he’s pumped into you. “well look at that,” and you whimper, feeling him strum a thumb down your drooling cunt. “would be a shame if it all went to waste,” then he quirks a brow, sliding a tongue across his lips. “princess, stick your head out the window for me real quick.”
“out the wind—”
and not even seconds later, you find yourself literally being bent over, halfway hanging out of his rolled down tinted window. geto wasn’t done, at least not yet.
your sheeny glossed lips immediately part into an ‘o’ as a sweet gasp leaves your lips. with clammy hands, they grip onto the edge of his window and you whimper once he delves his long tongue inside of your cunt. your fingers gripped against the window so hard that it ends up leaving dozens of your cute fingerprints against the tinted glass.
“oh my goddd,” you babble out in elongated sweet syllables. with your pretty eyes bulging, you gasp at feeling the tip of his tongue swirl all around inside of you.
geto lowly grunts, lapping his twitching pink muscle down your runny folds back and forth. between your legs—he’s a menace, and it was no prying him off.
at all.
he doesn’t even bat an eye at the simple fact that he’s eating his own cum out of you, unapologetically savoring the bittersweet taste that lands right on his flavored tastebuds. your legs were so weak and you can feel his warm breath continuously fan against and on your sopping folds as he chuckles.
“my my, look at her. this prize’s way better than some money,” he hums, using a leather thumbed glove to swipe down your entrance. he’s slow, dragging it all the way down just to watch spurts of your slick pop onto his digit. you’re just so wet, metallic fingers of his ghost further down your clit before you whine. geto sees your cunt pulsing from the sheer thrill and he snickers, smacking a palm right against your slobbering core. “she’s fuckin’ nasty today, yeah?” and his eyes flicker toward your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing suck. “mmph, listen to her with me, gorgeous,” and one spank against your pussy turns into one, then two, then three.
growing quiet, you listen to the weeping sounds purring out of your own cunt. so loud, so shamelessly loud. you could hear it and he barely even had to touch you. you’re drenching up his seats and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, feeling your heart pound ruthlessly out your chest. his tongue knew just where to go—it’s creating a path of its own, laying flat against your clit before sucking against every tender spot. your legs were on its final hinges. you felt like they were about to snap shut. you’re staring out the window, still not seeing any cars which was good.
if anyone saw you like this, being eaten out in this kind of position, you don’t know what would happen.
geto resumes to flick his long tongue down your swollen slit, lapping up the last few droplets of his own cum that tries to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. another final swat from his mean palm sets against your clit and you let off a cute squeal, your tummy instinctively caving in. “so much back talk from a pussy this fuckin’ sloppy. oughta teach it some manners, pretty girl,” he grumbles, and your eyes blissfully roll back once you hear him starting to sluuuurp.
geto had no shame — it was decided, this was far better than any race he’s ever had.
his teeth nip near the inside corners of your thighs before he trails back to munching on your clit, burying his nose deep. “mhm,” he groans, and it only takes a few seconds before his jaw finally locks. geto reaches down, giving his cock a few solid pumps. his pretty reddened tip was angry, it still had dried spurts of cum racing from the sides and he grunts at the memory of being inside of you only just a few minutes ago. whilst his face’s shoved right between your thighs—you don’t even realize you’re trying to reach back to grab onto his hair. you’re hesitant though, and he finds it cute. departing his wet slick lips briefly, a wry grin spreads against his lips. “kinky,” the dark haired man flicks a tongue across his lips, savoring your juices that smeared against his mouth. “don’t be shy. do it,” and you moan once he teasingly whistles against your pussy, kissing against your nub. “pull my hair girl. pull.”
you give it a good yank and his head pushes forward into you—geto’s lengthy tongue dips further inside your cunt and you whimper, gnawing the inside of your stiff jaw. “fuck,” you gasp, and as his tongue gradually curls various bubbly letters inside of your pussy.
it multitasks, continuing to send your entire body a plethora of fluttering butterflies. he was so sloppy, seeping from the corners of his mouth with your slick and just your slick. his head moving side to side eagerly and every few seconds, he’s got to flick away long shaggy strands of his hair. geto’s proudly devouring you entirely whilst you’re just literally hanging out his window.
“oh, come on. harder, sweetheart. even i can do better than tha—ngh.”
with more force, you tug roughly on his pretty black strands and you heard the most sluttiest moan pour from his lips. god, he was so close that you could literally feel that infamous smug grin spread against his lips. geto brings a fat round thumb to run down your drooling cunt, giving it a ‘good job’ kiss. “atta girl. that’s my girl.”
geto ends up coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of over and over and over again.
he’s mean with his tongue, slurping everything out of you until you had no more - nothing more to coal his chin with. his favorite thing to do was to playfully bite against your clit, feeling you writhe and shiver all because of his mouth.
you end up leaving his entire chin with a pretty stream of your syrupy slick. geto’s panting, falling back after talking you through your nth orgasm, and with a peek through his rear view mirror, he spots the remaining race cars that were finally approaching the finish line.
“ah, about time,” geto rolls his eyes, sliding his lips near the corner of his chin where a bit more of your slick laid.
he acted like it was nothing, like he didn’t just have his tongue shoved inches deep inside of your cunt, stuffing his race gloved fingers in and out of you until you gushed right down his lengthy thick digits. you’re just sat on his lap, and you’re too dumb to move an inch. “heh, comfy?” he purrs, dragging his seatbelt across both stacked bodies. you fall against his chest, inhaling his signature manly scent and feel the car jolt once he puts it back in drive.
needy silence was your only reply and he tsks, resting his chin on top of your head before driving toward the finish line. it was barely even a few feet away, and waiting there was a bunch of fans that were awaiting to greet their new winner.
geto couldn’t care less though—he had you on his lap and he could already feel himself bulging again.
he found it cute how you were just clinging onto him now.
maybe you were delusional—maybe it was the fangirl in you screaming, begging for more, but your body wasn’t just begging anymore, it ached for more.
he drives you back toward the car meet up spot, helping you fix back your skirt. with wobbly legs, you step out of the flaunting vehicle with the help of his burly arms wrapped around you. “t- thank you,” you pant, trying to catch your breath, even still. geto stands up tall and he completely towers over you. you feel so small all of a sudden, watching as he puts his helmet back on.
“anything for a fan,” he coos, and he brushes a thumb against your lips. just a single gesture just as that felt so intimate. your eyes lock with his for a long moment, and just before you could say anything more, he mumbles. “oh, you probably want an autograph?”
your eyes light up and you grow sheepish, awkwardly tugging on the vip-checked lanyard that wraps around your throat. “yeah, please.”
“such manners like a good girl, cute,” and you bring out a magazine with his face plastered on it as a headline for this week’s up and coming races in tokyo. “nah,” he waves it away, and as your brow quirks, he takes out a sharpie. geto slides the cap in between his teeth before he glances at you. “pull your shirt down real quick, sweetheart,” and without a second thought, you tug down the hem of your shirt, barely exposing your chest.
geto’s eyes rove down your skin before he swiftly signs right against your left tit. the ink softly runs against your skin and you gasp, watching as he marks up the upper part of your chest. “aaaand, perfect,” he concludes, adding a ‘xo’ at the end of his signature. geto puts the cap back on and he flashes you a sly expression. “so i’ll see you at the next race?”
he starts walking away before you could even reply and you feel the weight of your shaky legs grow heavy. “y.. yeah,” and with dewy eyes, you watch as he steps in his car, playfully revving his engine at you.
the cool air sets against your skin once more as you stood there with shaky legs. the car meet slowly gets more crowded as the rest of the racers pass the finish line.
but, your brows furrow once you realize you felt a bit . . . empty between your legs.
with a soft gasp, you squint near the inside of geto’s car before he pulls off.
hanging over his rear view mirror instead of the fuzzy dice you once saw—was nothing other than your panties,
areudirty
dededos
origamiaround
ellievsbear
kaledo-art
