Ihateblonde888 - Tumblr Blog
men don’t deserve him
i'm actually obsessed
the fingers in the mouth 😣
GROTESQUERIE 1.04
WTH WTH WTH
HIS NEW SELFIE IM LITERALLY GOING TO COMBUST??????? ONE CHANCE PLEASE ITS ALL IM ASKING DINNER WILL BE COOKED BREAKFAST WILL BE SERVED THE HOUSE WILL BE CLEANED YOUR CLOTHES WILL BE IRONED PLSSSS OH MYGODDD
used to pray for times like this
THIS IS SICK
OKAY HM.
rafe honestly just needed sex like . he would not have tweaked like that if he was getting pussy …
my controversially older husband 💞
uh oh, suddenly my legs are spread and my pants are gone???? he’s so fucking hot im so sick over these id climb him like a tree if i could
stop I just wanna go on a cute silly teenage date with Luke Castellan 😭😭😭
y’all are so weird. you guys complain about there not being any walker fics??? HE’S 15!!! there is no reason that there should be. you need to stop sexualizing minors. idc if you are a minor and around the same age, it’s still not okay to sexualize child actors.
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream, and see the light…
it’s my birthday 😛 i can no longer say i’m a teenager
he’s such a freak ????
logan howlett’s got a lot on his plate. he often comes home silently, dropping himself on the bed with the full weight of his day and his burdens and his goddamn life— and like a prayer answered by the gods, you settle yourself on top of him: brows furrowed, worried eyes searching his, careful fingers hurrying to brush the fallen pieces of hair framing his face. his body aches, aches for you, and so he can only feel relief when you lower yourself, as if he’s trained you to— like it was routine, to mouth over his neck, down his chest. he'll feel you up like it's his god given right, squeezing and bruising all his favorite parts of you, from the back of your thighs, over your ass, your hips, waist, breasts.
you have the time of your life, when he's like this. he'll let you do anything if he's tired enough. just as long as his sweet girl is loving on him. lets you spread him out, thick arms stretching deliciously so you can kiss on his biceps and up his forearms, right to his wrists and fingertips until you're suckling them atop of him. he loves the view, his hands in your mouth and your body on display for him. you make such a show for him. teeth grazing his chest, tongue poking out to feel the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the veins down and down and further down where it gets sensitive. that vein he's got that sticks out like it needs to be seen, the sharp edges of his pelvis you love to dig your nails into— it gets him so damn drunk on you all he can do is sigh words of praise and caress the top of your hair incessantly, like you're driving him crazy. he needs something to ground himself, remind himself he's real, he's here, with you, and he can let go.
he'll let you do just about anything when you treat him like this, and you feel the same. you're aching for him to touch you like you are him, but it doesn't matter to you now. the only thing that matters, is the way his soft hold on your head turns into a grip, the way he thrusts himself up into your throat without remorse, bottoming himself out on your lips over and over and over again. the way your name falls so delicately from his mouth each time like a prayer. you'd do it all over again if he asked you to, just to hear the gentle sounds of your lover once more.
i’m not well rn
go about things the wrong way
description. LOGAN HOWLETT proves himself to be a bit of a hypocrite
includes. SMUT 18+, age gap (reader is implied to be mid20s, logan assumed to be mid30s), protected piv, denial is a river in egypt logan fucks them younger, logan calls reader "kid", insomnia trope, slightly brat reader, remnants of angst, set during early x-men
wc. 5k
a/n: photo creds unknown. title from how soon is now? by the smiths
You should be in your own bedroom.
It’s a nice room, decorated better than your childhood room in your parent’s house, likely because you’ve grown since your mint green and chevron phase. It’s silent in your room, no other inhabitants except you and your pet fish that was somehow still hanging on. There’s no reason for you to leave your room, it has everything you need. But it’s not right.
The loneliness is uncomfortable amidst your inability to sleep. It hovers over your bed, staring down at your shuffling frame as you try multiple positions, each one leaving you as restless as the last. You know that’s why you venture off to the kitchen, the search for companionship outweighing the desire for a treat. You just need to talk to someone, remind yourself that you aren’t all alone. There are other people like you, and you live with them. You’re safe.
You ended up finding what you desired—a non-freezer burnt ice cream bar buried beneath frozen waffles, and a warm body to stand opposite of as you steadily made your way through it.
You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, maybe not even yourself, but you had hoped to run into Logan the entire time. Ever since his return you had been itching to get a glimpse of him, but between shadowing Storm, Scott, and Jean, and tending to whatever menial chore Professor Xavier tasked you with, you didn’t have any time for run-ins. Nothing but quick passing in the hallway where you were too shy to do much other than meet his eye for a second, wave, and then scurry along towards the end of the hallway.
But you had gotten what you wanted when you heard the soft thud of feet followed by the sound of Logan speaking.
“Is there another one of those?”
You face him with your mouth stuffed with ice cream. It takes you a second to chew enough to speak around the food without making a complete fool of yourself in front of Logan.
“This is the last one …” you swallow, ignoring the sting of the cold at the back of your throat. “Sorry.”
Logan shrugs like it’s no big deal and he steps to the fridge. You move out of the way, even though you weren’t really in the way at all, and try to be casual as you chew the remains of your bar, ignoring the sudden warmth in your body now that he’s here.
Logan doesn’t say anything. You watch the top half of his body disappear as he reaches into the fridge for something, coming out after a minute and some soft shuffling later with a beer bottle in his hand. You don’t know when it got there, and you’re amazed that it was still there and not stolen by some eager teenager. You try not to stare as he takes his first sip, but you sneak a few glances.
You finish your sandwich, throwing the wrapper out in the drawer trash can and trying your best to ignore Logan’s eyes on you the entire time. He gets halfway through his beer before he says something.
Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle and one arm tucked across his chest, he asks, “Can’t sleep, right?”
You nod, not shocked at all that he has you pegged. It’s not unsurprising for a mutant in this place to be unable to sleep.
Logan nods as if he understands and you know he does, you remember the incident with Rogue just a year or so ago, that and the stories you hear about him wandering the halls at night. It’s why you’d always been so eager to slip down here during restless nights, constantly hoping that this would happen to you.
And now that it has happened, you don’t know what to do. There’s not much for you to discuss with Logan, the two of you don’t have all that much in common. He’s far older than you, for starters, at least a decade and a half on you from what you’ve gathered. He’s been gone for a while, but you think the others have caught him up on everything that he’s missed already.
So you just build onto what you have.
“I just can’t fall asleep. Every time I start, I shake myself awake.”
Logan takes a swig from his beer and pulls his lips tight, a face of sympathy sliding over his features—eyebrows pinched, lips downturned, eyes a little narrowed.
“Yeah?” You nod your head. “Sounds horrible, kid.”
Kid. You know you’re younger than him, it’s obvious, but you’re not a kid. You don’t see why he thinks of you that way. Rogue and Bobby are kids and you’re older than them. More mature, no longer a student but now practically a teacher.
You don’t want Logan to see you as a kid. You know what you want him to see you as, but it seems to become more and more impossible by the day.
You don’t say anything, lifting your foot enough to press the toe of your slippers into the cleaned grout between the tiles at your feet.
“Tell you what,” he begins, promoting your head to lift, “next time that happens to you, you come find me, alright? I know how much it sucks to be alone like that so if you need me, come find me.”
That’s what you did.
After you left the kitchen, finally letting your grin break free since no one was around to see it during the trek back to your room, you told yourself you would only go to Logan if you needed him.
You tried to sleep, snuggling yourself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows around your head. You lit a candle, counted sheep, made up scenarios to doze off (ones that definitely didn’t involve Logan tenderly holding your hand and stroking your cheek and—), but nothing seemed to work.
So you found yourself standing in the doorway of Logan’s bedroom, one hand still on the doorknob and the other toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your tee shirt. The bedroom is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through his opened curtains, but from the hallway light behind your back you can see Logan’s frame under the sheets.
His back faces you until you harshly whisper his name, which at the call of he lifts his head, looking at you, and then rolls over completely to click the lamp on his nightstand on.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
You feel so meek when you explain, like you are a kid, crawling to your parents after a nightmare.
“You told me to come find you.”
His squint relaxes. His entire frame relaxes actually. He sits up, jerking his head in a beckon. You click the door shut behind you as softly as you can, approaching the bed timidly until you stand on the other side.
And then you just hover. You stand there hesitantly, staring down at the slightly unmade side of the bed. Logan doesn’t say anything for a minute, but once the silence and hesitance stretches to an uncomfortable end, he speaks up, his voice groggier and raspier than it was before.
“You gonna sleep from there? Is that some mutant power that I didn’t know about?” He says it like he’s teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips. It’s similar to the one he sports when he’s messing with Scott but with more softness in his eyes.
You scoff, trying to play it cool when Logan lifts the sheets for you and you climb under them. This side of the bed is cold and unused and you wonder if you’re the first person to use it.
You get as comfortable as you possibly can. You fluff the pillow and create the perfect indent for your head, you pull the sheets up to your shoulders, you lay on your side and face the window, and then when Logan clicks the light off, you close your eyes and try to sleep.
You don’t know how you thought this would be any better than struggling to sleep in your own bed, because it’s so much worse.
In your own bed, you were left with the out-of-reach fantasies of Logan. You laid in bed, giggling to yourself as you imagined what it would be like to lay next to Logan. You filled your head with blurry images of Logan’s frame, what he would look like with his eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. You tried to imagine the heat of his body in the cold of your room, trying to change your body temperature just with a thought.
But now it’s all right beside you, left there for you to catalogue so you could never forget this moment.
The feeling of his body so close yet so far from yours. The sound of his breathing. The smell of his body wash and the way it lingered on his sheets. You’re finally in Logan’s bedroom, but you’re not getting what you want. You truly don’t think you ever will.
It’s impossible for you to sleep now. You try to keep your tossing and turning to a minimum, only moving when absolutely necessary and doing so with tentativeness. You’re trying to be meticulous with your movements, all with a goal to disturb Logan as little as possible. You’re a guest here, after all.
But even if he wasn’t an attentive mutant you knew he would’ve eventually gotten fed up.
He calls your name, soft yet sounding like a warning, and you’re quick to apologize.
He doesn’t say anything else for a second, then, “Whatever’s on your mind, squash it. Jus’ let it go.”
You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do when you say, “Easier said than done.”
Logan shifts and turns around until he’s facing you. You stay facing the window.
“What usually turns your mind off?” he asks. “A glass of warm milk?”
When you laugh it’s halfhearted and maybe this is the final indicator that something about you is off.
“Look at me.” You obey embarrassingly quickly.
You can’t really see him in the dark, but the white light from outside illuminates the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. You can sort of see his eyes too, the usually light green darker because of the environment, but the shadowy fan of his eyelashes is as distinct as usual.
“Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Anything I can help you with?” He lets the question linger in the air for a second before adding on. “You need me to rough a few kids up? You being bullied?” He says it like a joke.
“No,” you say.
Logan makes an ‘ah’ sound. “Yeah I’m sure you could handle yourself.” The sheets lift again. “Come ‘ere.”
Shit, shit, shit.
You listen to him, scooting closer until you’re wrapped in Logan’s arms, enveloped in his warmth. It’s nice and comfortable, the sound of Logan’s heart right next to your ear, the security of his arms wrapped around your frame.
“Does this help you?”
You hum affirmatively, already starting to feel more comfortable than you had before. Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest and you start to get self-conscious, knowing that Logan can definitely hear it.
Right on cue, he laughs a bit against your head.
“Nervous?”
“No.” God, you’re so obvious.
Logan’s laugh grows until he’s snickering, doing a terrible job of stifling his laughter. “‘s alright,” he eventually says. “Nothing wrong with that.”
You make yourself as comfortable as possible, pressing your back to Logan’s chest, trying to ignore the hard feeling of his body behind you. You can basically feel everything, the plane of his chest pushing through his tee, the ridge of his sweatpants against your lower back, his legs against yours—tempting you to intertwine them together, his feet hanging right under yours. You’re not exactly dressed for this and your shirt has ridden up, bunched at the top of your ass and exposing your panties. You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he cares.
This is helping you a lot, but there’s still something on your mind. Something you need to solve before you can go off to sleep.
You don’t know what it is that makes you confident, that makes you want to ruin a good moment. Maybe it’s the dark providing you comfort, but you lay it all out.
“You treat me like a kid.”
Logan takes a second. You can just barely make out the hitch in his voice. “...Yeah?”
You’re glad he can’t see you when you pout. It wouldn’t have done much to help your case. “I’m not a kid, Logan. You don’t treat Rogue like a kid.”
“Rogue is different.”
“How? I’m older than her.”
“Just … can we not argue?”
“We’re not arguing.”
“Yeah? Then whaddya call this?”
“A conversation between two adults.”
He hums as if he’s unconvinced.
You won’t let it go. “How is Rogue different?”
“Go to sleep,” he admonishes.
“Can’t. Not until you answer my question.”
Logan sighs. “‘cause I’m not attracted to her, alright?”
Oh.
Oh.
Wait … what?
You’re sure your silence is enough to express your confusion because Logan adds on.
“I’m trying to set boundaries between us, kid—”
“Don’t call me that.”
He corrects himself with the use of your name instead, but it comes out the same way. “We need boundaries between the two of us. You think I don’t see how you look at me? ‘s not good.”
“If you’re setting boundaries why did you invite me in here.”
“Because I wanted to help you.”
Why is he making you feel crazy? He just told you he’s attracted to you, but he wants to set boundaries? There are barely any boundaries here. You’re alone with him, in his bedroom, tucked away at the end of the hall surrounded by mostly empty bedrooms instead of bedrooms of asleep mutants, curled up against his chest. This is the most opportune time, yet he didn’t want to make a move.
Maybe you were reading too much into it.
You go to pull away from Logan’s embrace but he keeps you pulled tight to his chest.
“Don’t do that,” he says it like a command and just to piss him off you consider pulling away. But you’re really comfortable and this is a comfort you aren’t sure you’re ever going to find again.
“Just go to sleep, alright,” he says your name again, much softer this time. He says it like he’s coaxing you like your name is the final tune in a lullaby.
Maybe Logan has other powers you aren’t aware of because just that one sentence is enough for you to let it go and submit to the sudden exhaustion that settles over your body like a weighted blanket.
You don’t know if Logan’s been avoiding you. Mostly because you’ve been avoiding him.
It’s not often that the two of you would have to run into each other, but there were a few times when Professor Xavier extended the invitation to observe an upcoming class, and you declined upon learning that Logan would be subbing.
You kept your distance as much as you could, even keeping yourself locked up in your bedroom throughout the night, no matter how restless you got. You were miserable, not only because you wanted to be near Logan, but because you were fucking exhausted.
You could barely stay awake throughout the day, always sneaking off for power naps, taking whatever you could get even if it was only five minutes.
But you finally have the rest of the afternoon to yourself and you intend to use it to sleep. Uncaring of how much it threw off your sleep schedule, you just needed a solid half hour curled up at the foot of your made bed like a dog, sleeping to your heart's content.
Of course, it’s on your way up to your room that you run into Logan. You try to ignore him, continuing your path up the stairs, praying that Logan will continue on his path downstairs.
You don’t know what it is about you that says come talk to me! but Logan stops in his journey, turning to face you. He calls your name, continuing even when you don’t respond. He follows your trek up the stairs and down the hallway, always right on your heels and within arm's reach.
By the time your hand reaches for your bedroom door, Logan is practically breathing down your neck.
You know there’s no avoiding him now, but you also don’t want to.
You stand still, hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for Logan to say his piece.
“Why’d you lead me to your bedroom?” The way he says it, with such arrogance and assurance woven into that same joking manner as if he wasn’t the one who turned you down just a few nights ago.
“Fuck off, Logan. I just wanna get some sleep.”
You twist the knob and this is what wakes Logan up. “Okay, wait.” His hand reaches out and rests on your elbow. Just this one touch strikes you still. “Will you look at me?”
You turn around, trying to keep your gaze hard even as you take in his appearance for the first time in days.
The bags under his eyes, the relaxed smile that’s constantly on his face when he’s around you, the thickness of his eyebrows, the points in his hair. You’re staring at his hair, wondering if it’s naturally like that or if he does it himself, and when you look at his eyes again there isn’t a connection. He’s staring at your lips instead.
You lift your eyebrows impatiently, already imagining the sleep you’ll get after you ruminate until you can’t form a coherent thought.
Logan opens his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry if you got a little hurt from the other night. Is just this age gap and your little crush is not gonna wor—”
You’re already turning around, deciding whatever else he’s going to say isn’t important at all, but Logan stops you. His movements are fluid, they flow naturally from his body and straight into yours, causing you to move with a coordination you didn’t expect. He spins you back around and pulls you straight to his chest, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, while his hands rest on your hips and your cheek.
The movement is quick, it happens within a couple of seconds, and it makes the moment after feel so much longer. Nothing but shared blinks as Logan looks at your lips and you look at his. You’re so close to him, even closer than you were the other night, but neither of you makes a move.
You’re considering making the first move, opening your mouth as if to ask him a question that was still unknown to you, but then Logan’s grip on your cheek tightens as if he’s holding you still and he moves in closer, and closer, and closer until his lips ghost over yours.
In the end, it’s you who crosses the bridge.
Your lips touch, sandwiched together, but neither of you do anything. Not until you take a tiny step closer, really nothing but an adjustment of your feet, is Logan pulling you into him. He digs his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, that one hand possessing all of the aggression that doesn’t exist in the hand holding your cheek.
It’s like the touch of two different men—one who wants to devour you whole and the other who wants to treasure you. You hope that they’re able to coexist as you desperately want both.
You let Logan kiss you feverishly, an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen him display settling in his lips. The Logan you knew was always relaxed, walking around the mansion with a carefree, practically laissez-faire, attitude. He didn’t meddle, he kept his hands to himself, always wrapped around a cigar or a beer.
But now those hands were wrapped around you for the second time this week.
You press your hands into the shoulder of his white tee shirt, starting to slide them up towards his hair before you resist. You want to get comfortable kissing him, but you’re still out in the hallway.
Having the same thought, Logan pulls away from your lips with enough time to open the door, latch his hands onto your hips, and blindly steer you backward until you’re in the room. He stares down at you the entire time, that same smirk on his lips as he kicks the door closed behind him with a single boot.
And then he has you pressed against the wood, sandwiched between a rock and a hard place.
He looks at you for a second, his gaze lingering, and then he gets back to it.
If even possible, Logan has more passion this time around. He sinks his hands to your thighs, pulling one up by his hip. He slots his legs into the opening until your center is hovering over his thigh. You don’t know what to expect, but when he flexes the muscle and presses his limb right up against you, you’re already trying to get more.
Logan smiles as he kisses you, clearly entertained by your anguished need to get off. He doesn’t verbally reassure you, he doesn’t help you grind yourself down, he doesn’t do anything but continue kissing you.
When you need to come up for air, knocking your head back into mahogany as you intake large gulps, Logan dips his head down and explores as much skin as he can. He creates a path of kisses from your jaw, down your neck, to the exposed parts of your chest.
You tilt your head down, locking your hand into his hair and trying to redirect his lips back to yours, but he stops you with a hand pinching your cheeks.
His eyes flick back and forth between yours, nothing but mischief and arrogance in the green. You wrap a hand around his wrist with the initial want to tug him away, but you like the hold he has you in. You like the look in his eyes.
“Good?” His voice is softer than his grip.
You nod, trying to grin as best as you can when your lips are forcibly puckered.
Logan smiles right back at you. “You got a rubber?”
You nod again, scurrying to your nightstand once Logan lets you go. He tells you to get on the bed and you take the liberty of throwing your shirt off and bra as you go. You have enough sense to step out of your shoes, unclasp your jeans, and tug the zipper down in the path.
By the time you’re sitting on your bed, you can feel the anxiety thrumming through your body. It’s a good kind, the kind you’ve been seeing less and less of lately. You’re still a little tired and still desiring a solid nap, but it can definitely wait. This is your main priority.
Logan speaks to you as he undresses.
“You still doing okay?” he asks as he’s pulling his tee over his head. When you nod, he moves to his belt, thick but deft fingers undoing it and leaving it hanging open and hooked into his belt loops.
“You tell me if you wanna stop,” he says as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them right after he steps out of his boots. You give him a look and he clocks it immediately.
“You think you can take it, bub?” He laughs. “Yeah? Don’t you think you’re talkin’ a big game?”
Petulantly, you roll your eyes. “Logan, I’m not a fucking kid, I’ll be fine.”
Wrong. So, so, so stupidly wrong.
You are fine, but the sight of Logan’s dick sends nerves down your spine. You’ve talked yourself up, you can’t go back, so you do what you can. You let him peel your jeans and panties off, hoping you look as seductive as he does. You keep your eyes on his abdomen, tracing the vein that runs from the right of his navel down to his cock, breathing as well as you can while Logan lines himself up. The first push burns, just like you expect it to, but you adjust quicker than you thought. Eventually, all you can feel is pleasure. You’re so full when he’s only halfway in you. You feel stuffed as soon as he bottoms out, his heavy ball sack resting flush against you, a thick forest of pubes pressed against your cunt.
Logan is so much, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Hovering and staring down at you as his hips rock into yours, slowly and experimentally at first. It’s not until you draw a leg up over his hips that he increases the strength of his rocks.
He has one hand keeping himself steady and the other holding your waist. It’s so intimate, and not only because he’s fucking you, but because he’s staring down at you the entire time, his teeth bared as he watches you for every single reaction. His eyes rake down your body, watching the way your tits jiggle before dipping lower to watch the way he’s entering you. You can’t see his gaze, but you can feel it, the weight of it comparable to the weight of his cock in you.
There’s an inhuman nature to it, hidden deep below the surface as if he’s trying to hold back, but it’s there. You’re made aware of it when you clench around him and he growls. It comes from the back of his throat but it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. It’s so Logan, you don’t think anyone other than him could make a sound like that as erotic as it is. You want to hear him more, you want your moans to blend together amongst the four walls of your bedroom, but he keeps his sounds to himself. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the both of you, like Logan’s still holding back even though he’s balls deep in you.
“Logan,” you whine, getting his attention. He looks at you with concern in his eyes, his hips slowing down. You shake your head, pushing more towards him. “Please,” you beg, praying he knows exactly what you want.
“What? What d’you want?”
“More.”
Logan gets rougher. He’s grinding up into you like his life depends on it, blunt nails delving into your skin as if he wants to break it. You wish he would. You aren’t regenerative like he is, but you still desire the broken skin, the beads of blood, the marks left behind.
You’re thinking about it, eyes lidded and falling closed when Logan knocks his forehead into yours once. He moans, closed-mouthed as his head lolls to the side, a shiver shaking him from the bottom of the spine up.
“Jesus, baby,” he says. It’s all he says, but it’s more than enough. He keeps going, digging his tip into you deeper and deeper until it feels like he’s swimming in your guts.
He drags his head down until he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples, licking and sucking before moving on to give the other one the same treatment. You desperately want him to mark you up, you want a reminder that this—the thing you’ve been wanting since Storm and Scott came back with two new mutants in tow—actually happened. Bravely, you reach out and tangle your hand in his hair, surprisingly softer than you thought it would be. You don’t hold him down much, just enough to communicate what you want nonverbally. And then after a few tortuous seconds of hesitation, his lips wrap around the skin atop your left breast and he sucks. The strength in it stings, it reminds you just how strong Logan is, but it feels so good.
Unexpectedly, you feel your muscles seize. It starts in your tummy, deep down near where Logan’s been massaging, and then it just doesn’t stop, likely because he doesn’t stop.
It’s like he’s spurred on by the feeling of you cumming, motivated by the way your back arches and you reach for the heavens as you clench around his cock.
He gets a burst of energy, fucking you like he has something to prove when really it’s you with something to prove.
You’re overstimulated, struggling to keep up with Logan, but you don’t want to tap out. You talked a big game, you can’t back down now. So you remain silent while Logan pulls another orgasm out of you, hoping he won’t notice the way your eyes brew tears without your consent and the way your lips quirk with the impending request to slow down.
Of course, he notices.
He’s grinning with sympathy—you don’t know if it’s sincere or faux—when he takes a hand and strokes your cheekbone.
“I see ya, kid. Feels good, yeah?”
For some reason, when he calls you kid like this, you don’t completely hate it.
There’s no point in lying, so you nod.
“So tight,” he winces, eyebrows pinched together as he flashes his teeth, a dimple in his right cheek appearing with it.
Just as you didn’t warn him before, he doesn’t warn you when he cums. You feel it though, the way his thrusts get sloppier and faster just before he gives you one punctual one, and then you feel the confined warmth of his cum shooting into the condom.
You wish you weren’t as exhausted as you were, because the next time you’re conscious, it’s dark out and the bedsheet is covering your body. You’re hot, hotter than you usually want to be when you’re sleeping, but you’re bare naked. That and you only have a thin sheet covering your body.
It doesn’t take much investigation to figure out what’s making you so hot, not when it’s attached to your back with one meaty bicep slung around your neck and keeping you pulled against him. It takes you a bit to fall asleep, but once you do, you’re out for the rest of the night.
dads
𝓢tep-𝓓ad!݁ ˖ ✦ ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა LOGAN HOWLETT.
step-dad logan and his pervy step-daughter, headcanons. — content warning age gap. step-content. nsfw. both characters are of the age of consent. 18+ only.
when first introduced to you, your step-father seemed to despise you. he was cold, short-spoken, distant-- and it made you crave his approval. like you were a stubborn teen again, rebellious and feeling as if you have to prove yourself, you made it your life's mission to make logan howlett warm up to you.
despite this, he's never to be seen. always out of the house when you're around, sleeping when you're awake, already off for work when you are-- rushing out when you do manage to corner him, grumbling claims of forgot to do this's and need to fix somethin's. he's perpetually unreachable; unavailable. there's never a moment where the two of you are in a room together for longer than 30 seconds, and it physically pains you. it pains you, until you realize it's not pain, what you're feeling, but jealousy. want. there's a carnal need blooming inside of you, one that soaks your underwear without realizing and has you rubbing your thighs together at every thought that builds about the man. you know it's wrong, and the fact makes it all that much hotter for you.
and, logan's made it his life goal to maintain the dynamic he's built. the distance. because, for the love of god, he doesn't know what he's gotten himself into-- no-- whats gotten into him, why he can't stop ogling his step-daughter from afar. why she plagues his dreams, his every thought, consuming him so much he barely spends any time in the house anymore. it doesn't help him, the way you stare at him, hungry, lust-filled eyes trailing his every step, tracking every movement he makes. to god, he swears his patience is being tested.
and boy, what a test you were. prancing around, day and night, looking oh so tempting. in your mind, you best efforts to get his attention has failed, but you don't see the way he palms himself in his car after passing by you in the garage, a frail attempt to calm himself down-- or the way he whips his dick out after catching a whiff of your perfume, hurriedly jacking himself off in shame as he pictures you enveloping him in that sweet, youthful scent.
he thinks he's done a good job, hiding his feelings. he prides himself in the way he's buried them down, deep down, never acting upon them. he thinks, theres no way you could know about the way he's feeling. there's nothing more he wants than to maintain a relatively normal life, and he's done that. doesn't need to fuck it up with perverse thoughts about his girlfriend's daughter. but, one look-- just one, curt look-- a miscalculated, lust-filled look, and you've caught on; and there's no turning back from there.
you'll do anything for a moment with him. volunteering to fix his drinks for him at night, lingering touches to his arm and bicep, hovering around the rooms he frequents just to flaunt your new, skimpy outfits you've bought with his money while driving his car inside of his house. shamefully, he returns the favor, buying you foods he knows you like and stocking the pantry with them, leaving gifts for you on your bed-- neatly wrapped, pink and white and red lingerie of a quality you're not even sure he's able to afford. he sits next to you, at dinner, foot nudging against yours, shares blankets with you when you've put on a movie and your mother is gone so you can both ignore the grip he's got on your thigh, inching higher and higher up and closing in on the one place he refuses to touch.
you assure your friends that you're just close, he's not a weirdo, i'd never let my mother date him! when his friends point out how close the two of you have gotten, so quickly, he blames the lack of father figure in your life. says you just crave that sense of authority, and he gives it off naturally, he can't help it. they all shrug it off. there's no evidence of anything else going on, anyway-- and your mother is just clueless to what goes on between you two.
it remains like that for a while, careful touches and acts of kindness that keep the tension thick and suffocating until you've had enough of it.
it takes two, you've always been told. so it wasn't exactly just your fault when logans' last thread of honor snaps at the sight of you; dolled up just for him-- a fleeting sight, before disappearing into your room. it's not just your fault when he follows in after, pinning you to the soft mattress of your bed and forcing the lingerie he bought you off of your body. it's not just your fault, when he fucks you-- nice and good and hard, hand covering your mouth, pants half-way down his thighs amidst the rush. "want me to be your dad, huh, girlie? wan' daddy to fuck you an' teach you a lession?" and all you can do is babble yes, yes fuck yes's until you're begging for your daddy to give you his cum.
"don't know what you're doin' to me, babygirl. can't help but fuck this pretty little pussy."
"gonna let dad cum in you again? gonna let me make you a momma?"
when people question your relationship: the way he makes you sit on his lap, the way you chant his name all day long, dad, dad, dad, he just says him and his girl are close. says nothin's abnormal about the way you kiss his cheek too frequently, or that way he holds you in the streets, a vice grip around your waist as he protects his little girl from the dangers of the road. the way you sip at his drinks at his command, loose and pliant to his words so he can haul you home in a hurry and pretend like you've drank more than you can handle so he can sink his thick cock into his princess's little pussy, watch her mewl from below him and whisper how much she loves her daddy.