You Give Love A Bad Name: Bucky Barnes X Reader

I will eat this man up in heart beat idc

I CAN’T STOP STARING AT HIS FINGERS

it’s all in the details, baby

I need to fuck the ps4 Peter Parker so bad. It’s pulsing his name in Morse code 💔

yes hes my comfort character, and yes he does beat the shit out of people. he multitasks idk

how did you get those pictures in your pinned to be that size?

Tbh I just got two photos from my camera roll and put them in the post and they just did that on their own, I didn’t have to do anything to them

I’m gonna have a stroke this is so good

Hot Venom (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.2k oh my god I am sorry 

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of blood/injury, stitches, mentions of violence, vaginal fingering, oral (female & male receiving), overstimulations, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), brief titty fuckin (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

You hate Vigilante. 

At least—that’s what you tell yourself and everyone else.

It’s easy enough. You’re not a normally personable person anyhow and so the biting responses and quips blend with the act.  

It’s unfortunate how well you work with him—so much so that it’s nearly impossible to shake him from your side. Fuck—even Chris commented on it. 

Avoid, avoid, avoid. It’s all you can do.  

Sadly, there comes a time, following the rather rough mission, that you are abandoned before all your problems and mixed anxieties. A cruel punishment the universe has bestowed upon you—

“Wan’t a ride home?” 

Keep reading

This is a fucking work of art omfg

hotel room service

MY MASTERLIST

pairing(s): adrian chase x afab!reader

summary: An off night, a hotel room, a bottle of peach Jim Beam, and Vigilante. What could go wrong?

words: so many (9.8k)

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, some dubcon elements, shower sex, praise kink, sub!adrian, technically switch!adrian but *gestures vaguely*, alcohol consumption, drunk sex, oral (f receiving), slight blood kink, mentions of contraception, cowgirl position, gagging, friends to lovers, character study disguised as smut, james gunn said the visor is prescription and i take that as canon, reader uses prescription lenses, yes i did name this after the pitbull song

additional notes: i had too much fun writing this, which is probably why it was over 20 pages long lol. apologies to anyone who doesn't experience being drunk the same way I do because I write from my own experiences

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

“Working hours” with this black ops group are loosely defined at best, and entirely nonexistent at worst. And don’t even get started on pay, because you think at this point that you’re only getting comped whatever the pay is for your cost of living, and that’s only really when you’re on the clock. They’ll pay for the hotel room and sometimes the food, but besides that, you’re on your own.

But, back to those working hours. You don’t know when they stopped, but maybe it was around the time your roomie decided to crack open a bottle of whisky and pour out half of it for you into one of the plastic solo cups they provide with the coffee pot. God knows you’re not working anymore, you’re just sort of sitting idle while he rambles about the room, gesticulating with the bottle. Like he does.

(Plus, you don’t think he’s even being paid for this? Adrian is just here for the fun and because he’s available, and the rest of the team just let him tag along because he’s useful. The thought makes you smirk a little bit.)

You admire his profile as he talks, one finger pressed to your smiling lips as your eyes trail him back and forth, thinking he might eventually hypnotize you. He’s so… expressive. And he has dimples and curly hair, which you’ve always been a sucker for. He hasn’t even taken off his suit; blue on silver on black, with a red visor on the mask discarded on the table. You had watched him remove it, and carefully tried to hide the fact that you were staring as he pulled his wire-rimmed glasses out of a hidden pocket.

You’re very pointedly staring now, sizing him up like your next fucking meal (alcohol does that to you), and Adrian keeps on blathering in one long spiel, pacing in circles like hasn’t even noticed your hungry gaze (alcohol does that to him).

“Is that prescription?” you ask, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence, which you’d barely been paying attention to. Something something Twilight, something something cultural reset.

Adrian stops pacing, looking at you with a deer-in-headlights expression. “Huh?”

You nod at the mask laying on the table by the door. “The visor. Is it prescription?”

He swivels to look at the mask, and then back to you with an almost bashful laugh. “Uh… yeah?”

“That’s sick.”

“Really?” Dimples. You take another sip of your whisky to calm yourself, and it burns at the back of your throat. Objectively, you should not be feeling this way about your pseudo-coworker, who also happens to be somewhat of a lunatic. But, y’know, he’s… sweet. To you. Which is the odd thing, but you’ve gone beyond worrying about the details at this point. You’re hunting alien butterfly creatures that live in people’s brains, you can get past a couple character flaws.

“I mean, yeah.” You lick your lips, which have taken on the flavor of the peach liqueur in the whisky. “I wear prescription lenses, too, but they’re a bitch to keep clean on the job. If I could afford prescription hardware, I would. Good on you.”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah, it is fucking cool, thank you!” He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners and making you clench your jaw with how badly you want to reach out and kiss him long and hard at that exact moment. “I was starting to think no one else would notice how genius it is. Y’know, I don’t even think Peacemaker’s noticed, which is totally not very best friend-like of him, but it’s fine, I’m sure he’ll come around eventually, the guy constantly has a lot of shit on his plate. Like I remember one time, me and him got stuck in a Winnebago that was rolling downhill toward a cliff like something out of Looney Tunes because some idiot crack dealer locked us in there with his load, and-”

He’s pacing again, and the amber colored liquid in the square bottle he grips by the neck sloshes against the glass as he continues waving it around emphatically. And you’ve zoned out again, because now you’re thinking about his hands, and how nice they’d feel on your body. You’ve seen him beat the shit out of people, you know he’s packing some major force in those fists, but you haven’t felt them on your own skin, or had the experience of having them wrapped around your throat for yourself.

“-then, y’know, Eagly’s a fucking badass, I don’t know if you’ve seen him in action, but the little dude can take a guy out in like one peck. Like do not get caught on the wrong end of those talons is all I’m saying. Anyways, he swooped in and yanked the fucking wheel, so the Winnebago flipped. I mean, can you imagine! A bald eagle rolling a camper. That shit’s gotta be, like, legendary-”

And his quads as he walks, Jesus Christ. You’ve never been super partial to burly, buff guys (sorry Chris), but there’s something to be said for muscle in the right places. Adrian’s legs are nice, you can tell just by the way the fabric of his pants stretches around them when he turns, and fuck his ass is so tight. You nearly salivate just staring at it, thinking about how much you’d love to dig your heels into it, or squeeze it to urge him on as he fucks you.

Your eyes snap down to your solo cup of whisky, and you frown. When did you drink half of it?

“-but like I’m sure you know Eagly pretty well because he loves you, I can tell. He kind of scooches closer every time you sit near him, it’s really cute actually, I mean, I would scooch closer whenever you sat near me too except I feel like you’d punch me in the dick, good thing my suit’s got a reinforced crotch-”

“Wait, what?” You blink up at him, your brain sort of fizzling out and then rebooting as you stare at him. What did he say?

Adrian doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, the guy who made it was like, ‘That makes no sense, you’re gonna have the worst time trying to take a piss in this,’ and I said, ‘No, dude, have you ever been karate kicked in the nuts before? Shit hurts.’ I still had to pay extra-”

“No, no, what was that shit about scooching closer? To me?” You squint at him. “Babe, are you trying to tell me something?”

He blushes. You know he’s joked about not feeling emotions like other people do, but you wonder how true that really is, because he goes beet fucking red like he’s having trouble breathing as he stares down at his shoes. “I, uh- well, I mean, yeah, I’d scooch closer to you. Theoretically. If- if you wanted me to. And if you weren’t going to punch me in the dick.”

“Why would I punch you in the dick?”

“I don’t know, it’s like… it’s an understandable reaction to someone getting in someone else’s personal space!”

“No, it really isn’t…”

“Well, how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t punch me in the dick?”

You throw up your hand in an exasperated gesture. “When have you ever seen me punch someone in the dick?”

He screws up his face. “UM, I don’t know, you punched Peacemaker in the dick!”

“What? When?”

“When he tried lifting you onto the truck that one time!”

“That was a misunderstanding, I kneed him because he didn’t give me a heads up!”

“But you did it!”

“Well, the last thing I would want to do to your dick is punch it, all right?”

You both stop and stare at each other for a long moment. You think you might have stopped breathing, too. Yeah, you are definitely tipsy at this point, but you raise a slightly shaking hand to take a casual sip of your drink, as if you aren’t staring at him with bulging eyes like you’re possessed.

He opens his mouth and closes it a few times before he comes out with a response. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I mean, what other stuff would you do to my dick?”

“Uh… stuff.” You jerkily stand, nearly sloshing your drink as you try to get your bearings. You set the cup down on the bedside table and turn to look at him with the most awkward, pin-straight posture you could possibly muster, like a high schooler trying to pretend they aren’t drunk in front of their parents. “I’m going to take a shower now. Yeah. I am. I’m going to do that.”

“Oh. Okay.” Adrian looks down at the bottle in his hand, and then shuffles a bit to the side so that you can pass him.

“I mean, unless you wanted to shower first?” You pause at the end of your respective bed, and turn to see him turning down the covers on his own by the window. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting in bed,” he says flatly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He reaches up and undoes a latch on his armor that frees the chestplate, and lifts it over his head in one swift move, leaving him in his tight fitting black undershirt.

You stare at him, scatterbrained until you manage to scowl at him, and the two knives he wears crossed against his lower back. “You’re going to sleep with all your weapons?”

“Yeah.”

“With all the dirt and sweat and fucking blood from fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t just… you can’t just get in bed with your outside clothes on, dude!” you splutter, leaning your thigh against the end of the mattress before you, and slow your speech carefully as you declare, “It’s… unsanitary.”

“Oh, and who are you, the sleep police?” Adrian turns to sneer at you. “I thought you were going to take a shower.”

“Well I was, but that was before I knew you weren’t planning on it!” You throw your hand out at him. “Why?”

“Because! If I go to sleep with wet hair it dries all weird, okay? Get off my dick!”

“I’m sure you’ll look just as pretty regardless, Adrian,” you tut condescendingly at him, rolling your eyes as you turn on your heels toward the bathroom. “Do what you want, or fucking join me if you change your mind, I don’t care.”

You don’t register the full weight of your words until you turn on the tap. But, by that time, you also don’t get to see the way Adrian stares at the door to the bathroom like you’ve just presented him with the key to the city.

You very rarely opt for lukewarm showers, but you certainly do now. With the way your blood is humming through your veins like electricity, and you feel hot just from the sight of Adrian’s muscles in that tight fucking shirt, you feel a cold shower is in order. Well, colder, anyways.

The water pressure is complete bullshit, of course. It pathetically trickles out, and it takes longer than usual for your body to get completely soaked. In that time, you lean against the tile and hold your head in your hands as the water drips down your face. How the fuck are you supposed to sleep in the same room as this guy? Between the way you’re just aching to jump his bones, and his inability to stop talking, you don’t think it’s a possibility tonight.

You wonder what he would sound like when you ride him. You wonder if he would finally shut up, or if he would switch to talking to you like a lover instead of a drinking buddy. You wonder if he would beg, or if he’s more dominant than that.

You’re imagining his head between your thighs. You’re imagining what he’d look like with your hands tangled in his hair. You’re imagining the feeling of his mouth on your skin, the calloused planes of his palms on your breasts and beneath your thighs. You’re… you’re shaking.

The white shower curtain rips open, and Adrian steps in beside you, naked as the day he was born. “Hey, can you pass the soap?”

“What the fuck?” You turn your head to look at him with a bewildered expression, simply refusing to tear your eyes away from his face because you do not want to cross that line and have the image of his dick imprinted in your brain while you try to get to sleep tonight. “Adrian, what are you doing?”

“Well, you said to join you if I changed my mind.” He shrugs, his smile the absolute picture of innocence, but his eyes still rake slowly down your body before finding your face again.

You blink, searching for a proper response to that. His eyes are green. Jesus Christ, that’s three for three: dimples, curly hair, and green eyes. He’s trying to kill you.

“I was being sar-” you cut yourself off with a sigh, “yeah, you know what, I did say that. Shit. Fucking… okay. Whatever. Here.” You fumble with the tiny complimentary body wash tube and thrust it toward him. “Go apeshit.”

“You have a really great ass by the way.”

“Adrian.”

“What? You do. I’m just being honest. I’m not even saying that because this is the first time I’ve seen you naked, I always thought your ass was nice, there just wasn’t a good time to say it.”

Your face is burning. You turn your back on him and try your hardest not to clap your hands over your eyes or do something equally embarrassing. You don’t think Adrian is even fazed by any of this; he wasn’t wearing his glasses, either, and you don’t know how strong his prescription is. You imagine pretty strong, if he needs it in his visor. Maybe there’s a good chance he can’t see the exact details of your tits. Maybe-

He touches your shoulder, and you feel lather running down your back as he starts massaging circles into your skin.

“Are you washing me?” you wheeze, your voice coming out an octave higher, and you really do cover your face again this time. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and you can’t focus on anything other than the touch of his hand on your shoulder blade.

“Uh, yeah? I wash your back, you wash mine, right?” He sounds cheery and completely content with everything that’s happening and, despite the sheer oddness of all of it, you don’t really want him to stop. You guess that’s why you haven’t told him to get the hell out, yet.

Maybe you’re just as much of a lunatic as him. “‘Scratch,’ Adrian. It’s fucking ‘scratch.’”

He pauses. “What?”

“It’s ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine.’”

“That makes no fucking sense.” He shakes his head in your periphery, his hand resuming its circular motion against your back, moving across to your other shoulder. You feel the soft, wet glide like a molten lava trail.

“Of course it makes sense! Why would it be ‘wash?’”

“Why wouldn’t it be ‘wash?’”

“Because it’s about doing your friends favors,” you argue in a wobbly, strained voice as you shiver while his fingers slide down your spine. It raises goosebumps on your skin, despite the heat in your veins and the cool of the water. “Friends don’t wash each other’s backs, genius.”

“So, we’re not friends?”

His hand pauses again just at the curve of your lower back, where it extends down into your tailbone. You bite your lip, and you can feel his eyes on you, the touch of his gaze almost as real as his hand is. Your thighs clench together involuntarily. You simpering little… weak, desperate thing, you are not going to beg for him to touch you. That’s not it. That’s not how this should go.

But, you could turn around and touch him, too. You could probably kiss him, if you were feeling really adventurous. He just basically implied that he wouldn’t be opposed to fucking you, right? That was where the conversation had been going earlier, if you hadn’t been such a pussy. Neither of you is nearly as subtle as you think you are.

You manage to chew your lip enough to tear a gash in it, and salty, coppery blood hits your tongue. You’re losing it, standing on the precipice of something way bigger than the two of you. You’re just an inch away from becoming more than just friends with Adrian, if you don’t reel it in quickly. Your hand comes up to slam against the wall when his fingers, which seem to be discontented to remain idle, start tracing little shapes on your lower back. A star. A diamond. A heart.

“N… No, I- I mean, we are. But I don’t think we’re going to be, if you keep it up.”

He grunts carelessly. “I’m having a hard time not keeping it up, really.”

“What do you mean?” You turn around, and his hand glides across your lower back and to your hip, because he refuses to stop touching you now (not that you want him to stop, either, if you’re being honest with yourself). Your eyes flick down, and you know exactly what he means, because he’s hard as a rock.

And also thick, and long, and veiny, but hey. What did you expect?

Your eyes linger on his erection for a long time, and drag your gaze slowly from the burst of dark hair at the base of his cock, up the line of his torso and to his chest. His pale skin is riddled with little scars here and there, from small injuries that weren’t serious enough to slow him down. He has a faint spray of freckles on his shoulders, suggesting that he spends at least some time in the sun. It makes you inordinately flustered to think of him doing some sort of outdoor activities to get that toned body of his.

You clear your throat as you find his gaze again. “Next dumb question,” you say, and he gives you a wide-eyed, vaguely awestruck look that makes you way more confident than it ought to. “Are you gonna fuck me, Adrian?”

His eyelashes flutter. His cheeks are painted with that sweet pink blush again, like he’s been entirely oblivious to the fact that he’s had you melting for him since he cracked open the bottle of Jim Beam. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a fucking fantastic idea, do you?”

“Yeah, I do.” And he grabs you by the face to kiss you, and crowds you back against the wall. You give a surprised yelp into his open mouth, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as your back hits the cold tile. He grunts and brushes his soap covered fingers across your cheeks. “Did you bite your lip?”

“Yeah.”

“...Was that because of me?”

You whimper weakly as he slowly, and very purposefully, traces the length of your bottom lip with his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of your blood. “Yeah.”

“That’s so fucking hot.”

He yanks you up off of your feet, making you squeak and hold in a nervous laugh. Your leg bumps the faucet handle, and the water turns ice cold just as Adrian scrambles to hook your legs around his waist.

“Shit.” Adrian hisses and smacks the wall beside your hip once or twice before he finds the faucet, because he doesn’t stop kissing you. He’s sloppy and rushed and overexcited, but at least he gets the water running warm against as he presses you up against the wall. “I’ve never done this here, have you?”

“Shower sex? No.” You bite his lip as he hitches you up by the back of your thighs, and he groans as his hips jerk up toward yours. “But I think you’re doing a good job.”

“Wait, fuck. Do we need, like, a condom…?” He blinks at you with a glassy look in his eyes.

“IUD. I have- it’s all good, you’re fine.” You knock your head back against the wall with a whimper high in your throat as he brushes his cock against your entrance. You can feel the world spinning as you tangle your fingers in his wet hair, giving it a small but sharp tug. “Now, if you don’t fuck me I’m gonna-”

You choke when he drives the full length of his cock into you, pushing your hips back against the wall. Your nails scratch down his neck and across his shoulder blades as he splits you open, your legs tightening around his waist while simultaneously trying to spread wider to accommodate him. Adrian spits a curse into your neck, his teeth grazing a vein there as he ruts up into you, filling you so completely that a cry dies in your throat.

“God, fuck, Adrian,” you sob toward the ceiling, only too aware of him moaning loudly against your skin. He feels better than you had imagined, stretching you out so perfectly that your toes curl as you try your hardest to draw him forward with your legs alone.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” you catch him whispering into the crook of your neck, just barely audible over the trickle of water over your head.

He doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he starts pistoning his hips into yours, jolting you up the wall. Your skin squeaks against the wet tile, and his grunts echo in the curve of your neck. Tears might actually be streaming down your face, but you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the warm water coming from the showerhead.

Adrian’s hand comes up to brace against the wall beside your head, and he surprises you. “You really think I’m pretty?” He asks with such a genuine note of hope in his voice that you think he must be serious.

“I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” you breathe, whining when he nips at your jaw with his teeth. You interrupt your train of thought with a series of hoarse cries, because Adrian picks up the pace with less precision, and more just forceful thrusts that drive all the way to the end of you and make you see stars, regardless.

“You’re the most perfect person in the world and I wish I could paint because the only thing I’d be painting is just you over and over and over-”

He’s blathering into your shoulder, his mouth brushing your skin as it moves and his hips slamming yours back against the wall hard enough that you’re definitely going to be feeling it in the morning. Every bit of desire you have for him surges up inside you like an inferno catching on, like every stroke he makes is stoking that fire within you.

“-so pretty everyone wants you I can’t believe you would let me touch you or even kiss you but you’re letting me do this to you and it’s all I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you-”

It occurs to you to tell him that you’d let him do anything he wants to you at this point, as long as he just doesn’t stop fucking you- but that’s yet another line you refuse to cross for the sake of self preservation. You’re already drunk, and confessing the true scope of your feelings to him in this state would just be a recipe for disaster.

Oh god, but he’s like a reckoning. You shake your head to compose yourself and scratch your nails along his neck before you take his face in your hands and draw him up to you. His pupils were already blown out, but you think they nearly eclipse his irises when his hips falter and he sucks in a sharp breath. His dark hair is thoroughly drenched, and water drips down his face in little rivulets that you trace with your fingers just before you draw him to your lips.

You feel his small moan vibrate on your lips, and that’s enough. Your legs spasm, and your orgasm suddenly snaps within you like a rubber band, every muscle in your core tightening down on his cock as you see a burst of white behind your closed eyelids. It snuck up on you just as much as it did him.

“Holy fuck-” Adrian loudly gasps against your lips with a startled jolt of his hips, his full weight crushing you up against the wall. His nose nuzzles yours, so intimate in a way that you hadn’t expected from him, and with a few shuddering huffs of breath you feel him come with a rush of warmth deep inside you.

You’re floating somewhere above awareness when he slouches forward, his forehead resting against yours and his eyes closed as he takes deep, steadying breaths. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s just holding you, with his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s just trying to ground himself in your body.

You raise a shaking hand to smooth his wet hair back from his face. “Earth to Adrian. You still with me, babe?”

He grumbles something entirely non-coherent directly in front of your face, and blinks his eyes groggily open at you.

“The alcohol’s catching up with you, huh?”

He nods.

“Guess I’m washing your back, anyways. C’mon.” You wiggle out of his grip, and you’re only too thankful that you’re smushed up against the shower wall, or else you may have easily slipped and ate shit on the tile. The alcohol is fucking with your head quite a bit now, too, and your movements are a little jerky and uncoordinated as you try to help him get cleaned up.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet. The rest of the shower takes place in complete silence, actually, with the exception of the little grunt he makes when you urge him to bend down so you can get his hair for him. You catch him looking a little dazed as you turn off the water, and he gives you an unfocused stare when you toss a towel at him. You wonder if you actually succeeded in frying the guy’s brains just by fucking him.

But then, back in the room as you clumsily dig through your bag to pull out a night shirt and a pair of underwear, Adrian shuffles directly to his bed and tosses his towel aside before clambouring into it, bare ass to the wind. He flops down face first, and shoves his feet under the turned down comforter.

“Adrian… what are you doing?” You say for what feels like the millionth time this evening.

“‘M going to bed,” he drawls into the pillow. His entire body shakes as he hiccups, and then turns his head to the side to look up at you with his big green doe-eyes that make your heart do a somersault in your ribcage. “You should tooootally join me. There’s-” hiccup- “lotsa room. We could go again.”

You blink at him as you semi-stagger, semi-walk toward the bed, stooping to pick up pieces of his uniform strewn across the floor as he had, presumably, just ripped everything off as he made his way to the bathroom. “Mm, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Uh, you said it was a great idea,” he argues as you toss his clothes into a pile at the end of the bed.

“That was before the whisky kicked in and we were both staggering… fuckin… drunk-” you accidentally whack your foot against the corner of the bed and bite your lip as you fight not to crumble to the floor. “One of us has to be responsible.”

“I’m-” hiccup- “responstable.”

“Uh-huh.” You stop as your eyes land on the mostly empty Jim Beam bottle on the bedside table. You’re almost positive it had been at least quarter full when you left him to go take a shower. “Adrian, did you drink all that?”

He blinks his eyes open and follows your pointing finger to the bottle. “Oh, yeah. Hhhuuuhh… had to… I lost the cap so we can’t keep it.” When you march forward to snatch it off the table, he grunts dismissively. “Gotta… get rid of it.”

“Guess that’s why you’re worse off than me.” You shake your head and drop the entire bottle into the trash bin. “Aren’t you gonna put something on to sleep in?”

“I don’t have anything.”

You snap your head towards his sprawling, naked form. Your eyes linger on his ass for way too long. “You didn’t bring a single thing to wear?”

“Why… why would I bring a change of clothes to kill bad guys?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! Anonymity!”

He grumbles into the pillow, “I have a mask.”

“Fuck the mask. You can’t sleep in the mask.”

“Sure I can. I fuck in the mask, I can sleep in it. S’a free country.”

You blink, your eyes flicking between Adrian and the mask on the table. “Dude, you fuck in that thing?”

“Hell yeah I do. I could fuck you in the mask. Could do it right now. Go get the mask.” Despite the conviction of his words, he’s slurring them, and his face is still pressed into his pillow as he lies motionless on the bed.

“I… don’t think that’s gonna happen tonight.” You sigh as you toe forward and grab the end of his comforter, drawing it up over his body. “We’re both way too drunk. We probably… probably shouldn’t have…”

Adrian flops over to look up at you as you, essentially, tuck him in. There’s a note of hurt in his voice when he mumbles, “You regret it?”

You pause, staring down at his expression of confusion and betrayal. Do you regret it? You can’t deny that you hadn’t been hesitant to have sex with him for a litany of reasons- one being that you work with him, and another being that he’s a loose cannon on the best of days. Not exactly relationship material, you think.

Or, you thought, but now he’s gazing up at you with these wide, dumbfounded eyes, and you’re tucking the comforter up beneath his chin, and he turns his face down and kisses your knuckle even though he looks mildly hurt. And yes, you liked the sex very much. You liked it so much that you can’t trust yourself not to do it again if you don’t shuffle off to your own bed immediately.

“No,” you tell him firmly, combing your fingers through his wet hair as you draw back. “I don’t regret it, but I think we both need to sleep this off.”

“Okay,” Adrian says quietly, his expression relaxing, but his arms come out from under the comforter and he reaches for you with grabby-hands. “Sleep with me?”

You catch one of his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “G’night, Adrian.”

You hear him sigh in disappointment when you shut off the bedside lamp. His hands audibly plop down onto the mattress as he rasps, “Night.”

You wake from a dreamless sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, and your throat is bone dry. Smacking at the nightstand a couple times, your phone manages to illuminate and tell you that the time is only 1:30.

You blink sleep away from your eyes and try to see through the dark as you stumble into the combination vanity, closet, and kitchenette. You knew you brought a water bottle or two, it can’t be that hard to find-

“Hey, what’cha doing?”

You hardly even startle at this point. You’re slowly becoming acclimated to the idea that Adrian is just constantly awake and witness to your every move, which isn’t as disconcerting to you as one might think. “I’m looking for the water. Did you see where I put it?”

“Uhhhhh mini-fridge?”

You reach blindly under the counter and yank the little fridge open, once again smacking around until your hand lands on the shape of a water bottle. “You want some?”

“Yeah, you could spit it into my open mouth-”

“Adrian.”

“What? It would be fucking sexy.” Adrian grunts, and the light clicks on from the main room. Then, he wolf-whistles just before you straighten up from where he’d caught you, bent over in front of the fridge. “Y’know, I was right. You have a really great ass.”

You grumble a half-hearted thanks under your breath as you approach his bedside and thrust a water bottle at him. “I see you’ve sobered up a bit.”

He waves a hand at you dismissively. “Pshh, I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You were drooling all over your pillow.”

“Maybe I always do that.”

“Yeah, okay.” There’s a long pause, wherein you perch on the edge of your mattress and chug an obscene amount of water. Adrian watches your throat work until he, too, succumbs and lifts his bottle to his lips.

An uncomfortably heavy silence settles between you two, only permeated by the quiet sipping of water and the cheap motel AC unit kicking in. It’s entirely unlike him to be silent and still for more than a couple of seconds, but he’s just sitting there looking despondent and running a hand back and forth over the white comforter, periodically lifting his bottle to take another drink. He doesn’t even really look tired, and you wonder if he ever got to sleep in the first place.

You know that the tension in the air is so thick because you have yet to address the giant fucking elephant in the room; and to address it is to have the most awkward and intimate conversation you can possibly imagine with Adrian, of all people. As much as you love his sense of humor, the idea of baring your soul to him is almost enough to have you running into the bathroom again, and locking the damn door this time.

But, in true Adrian fashion (because damn it all to hell if he ever lets something be), he beats you to the punch. “So, are you? Sober now, I mean.”

You chew your lip again, and reopen the gash you’d put there before. “Yeah. I am.”

He nods, pursing his lips as he looks down at his lap. He was right, his hair does dry… well, not weird, but just rather unruly if he goes to bed with it wet. Dark curls stick up at odd angles, a cowlick on the back of his crown standing straight up and begging you to come over and smooth it down. More curls fall across his forehead and nearly touch the top of his glasses. He blinks slowly, and severe shadows from his lashes cross his face in the golden light of the bedside lamp. You snap your gaze away, cheeks the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“So… was that a lie? About just needing to sober up?”

Your thumbs twitch on your bottle. To tell the truth, or to lie? You feel like your mouth just stays dry, no matter how much water you drink. “Look, Adrian, I-”

“Also, I have, like, no pride and a ridiculously thick skull, or- or whatever Peacemaker calls it. So, you don’t have to beat around the bush or anything for my sake, you probably won’t even hurt me-”

“Adrian, I like you too fucking much, don’t you get it?”

That fully shuts him up, and he locks his jaw as he fixes you with a startled look. You suck your bottom lip through your teeth, perturbed at the taste of blood still apparent on it, and dig your heels into the carpet.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You’re… one of my closest friends, all right? But I’m afraid that if we keep going like this, I’m not going to want to be friends anymore. And I think I’ll fall in love with you really quickly, and that might be a really bad idea for both of us. You just…” You shake your head, your voice dipping in volume as you stare bashfully down at your feet, “you have no clue how much I want you all the time, baby.”

“Why would it be a bad idea?” he asks you plainly.

“What?” You pick your eyes up off the floor to squint at him, finding him staring at you challengingly, a flush already on his cheeks.

“I mean, honestly. Name a single reason why it would be a bad idea. Bet’cha can’t.” Adrian throws his empty water bottle across the room, and it makes a gentle tap against the side of the television before skittering to the floor. “I think we’d fuck like rabbits and then I’d wake up every morning and make you pancakes, because I’m really fucking good at those, but you’d have to make the eggs because I always burn them. And I think we’d kick ass together as a cool superhero power couple, and I’d carry your gun for you if you got tired, and I could show you where all my hidden knives are. And you could also do anything you wanted to me, like any time, and I’d be totally fine with it and probably also turned on by it, as long as you call me baby like you just did.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m super hard right now. Probably should’ve warned you, I have a thing about that-”

“No, smartass, I mean are you serious about the other stuff?” You tilt your head at him. “I never really took you for the domestic sort.”

“Tsch- yeah! I’m, like, super domestic. I’m like one of those domestic...ated... cats?” He trails off as you step forward and crawl onto his bed, up his legs to straddle his lap.

“Cats?” you repeat with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m… I…” Adrian’s eyes flick across your face, down to your shirt and bare thighs on either side of his, your knees pressing the comforter taut across his lap and (very prominent) erection. “I don’t know, I have trouble thinking when you’re on top of me-”

Nodding, you reach forward and take his glasses by the wire earpieces, and pull them from his face. He goes stock still, his lips parted in awe as you slide them onto your own face, and give him a sweet smile. “I like your glasses. They look good on you.”

“They look good on you.” His voice cracks. “Can you see in them?”

You blink at him, and then turn your head to look across the room. “A lot better than I thought I would. I think our prescriptions are similar.”

“That means you can also wear my mask.”

You look back at him, and find that he has his million-mile stare on, like he’s completely lost in thought. You smirk. “Do you want me to wear the mask?”

He blinks, and it’s like you’ve flipped a switch and turned his focus back on. “Uh… no. I mean, yes. Maybe later. I want to look at you.” His eyelashes flutter so fast you think he might take flight for a second. “You’re so fucking beautiful I could stare at you all day.”

“You can touch me, too. Don’t be shy.”

He practically vibrates with anticipation as his palms glide up your thighs, hot and big and just a bit rough. His eyes are everywhere at once; your lips, your eyes, your chest, your thighs, where your hips disappear under your oversized shirt. His fingers catch the hem, and he curls it between them.

“You should totally get naked, too. It’s super unfair that I’m the only one naked right now,” he says breathlessly, nodding the whole time like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“So, do it.” You shrug, trailing a finger up his chest. “Take it off, baby.”

Adrian fists the hem of your shirt and rips it in half up the middle with a loud tear. You gasp, shivering as the garment falls from your shoulders and leaves you in just your panties. “Adrian!”

His eyes are trained on your tits. “What? It’s not like you need it tonight, anyways, and tomorrow we’ll be home…”

“What if that was my only shirt?” you retort.

He looks up at you. “Was it?”

“Well, no-”

“Then there’s your answer. Now, can I go down on you? Because I’ve wanted to for a really long time and I think it’s super hot that you’re wearing my glasses so it’s like I’m watching myself eat your pussy.”

He has such a hopeful expression on his face that you have to hold in a manic string of laughter as you nod at him. “Yeah, sure. Are you going to tear up my underwear, too?”

“No, I wanna keep those.”

“That makes perfect sense.” You shake your head before you kiss him deeply, and his tongue dips into your mouth as he rolls over with you, briefly getting tangled in the sheets before he roughly kicks them off.

You run your fingers through his hair, snickering as he climbs between your legs and his hands deftly tug your panties down your legs. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on how incriminating it is.”

“I’ve never come from someone eating me out before,” you admit quietly, a blush furiously heating your cheeks until you fear that if you touch your face you might burn yourself.

Adrian fixes you with a deadpan stare, and a slew of emotions cross his face before he lands on something relatively serene and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods and grins, like this is the most casual conversation in the world, and his green eyes bore into yours. “Yeah. You should probably, uh… hold on, though.”

You frown in confusion. “To what?”

He rocks back on his knees, picking up your arms by the wrists, and he very simply places your hands on his head, with a little smile that conveys, ‘it’s no big deal,’ but the tenderness with which he does it sends another message, altogether. Your fingers weave between soft, unruly curls, your fingernails digging in just a bit when he lowers himself down between your thighs, and you come to the conclusion that this is just how he is. Tenderness, closeness, hidden behind casual sighs and dismissive shrugs.

You’re learning. Slowly.

His breath finds you before his lips do, where you’re wet and swollen and slippery like you haven’t been touched in your fucking life. But he has once already, and still his mouth feels like a searing hot brand between your legs. In fact, you nearly jump out of your skin at the first brush of his tongue through your folds, your hands tightening on his hair and tugging as you buck your hips up against him.

Adrian grasps your hips and slams them down against the mattress. Sometimes you forget how fucking strong he is. His slight frame really doesn’t give justice to the force behind those lean muscles, because he holds you in an iron grip that you can hardly wiggle out of. It makes you feel small, in a way, that he holds you hostage to his tongue and won’t let you move away from or towards him.

A long, miserable whine rips out of your lips before you can stop it, and you could blush at how pathetic it sounds, except that Adrian mimics it with a groan against your cunt. Your head is flung back against the pillows, but when you just barely tilt up to glance down at him, you find his green eyes trained directly on you. They start off wide as moons, and then narrow like he’s challenging you to look away as he drags the flat expanse of his tongue slowly over your clit, curling the tip just as it skims the mark.

“Oh, fuck you, Adrian, you’re so fucking good,” you grit out through clenched teeth. Your nails dig into his scalp and he shudders, briefly nuzzling his head up into your touch before he dips down to give you his tongue again. Your breath hitches, and your eyes flutter shut when he sucks on your clit long and hard. “So… s-so good… good boy…”

The moan that Adrian makes is overtly pornographic, and his hips snap once against the mattress so hard that the bed shakes beneath you. He breaks away from you to rest his forehead against your thigh, squeezing your hips tightly in his hold as his hot breath billows across your sweat-damp skin.

You loosen your fingers in his hair to stroke it softly, subconsciously struggling to flatten the cowlick at the back that you’d noticed earlier. Adrian’s eyes are squeezed shut, his shoulders heaving while he tries to steady his breath through his nose. “Did you just come?”

The tips of Adrian’s ears glow pink. He gives you a little nod and then a feeble, “Couldn’t help it.”

So, he can’t just take his praise in stride, he has to react to it with fervor. “That’s really sexy of you,” you blurt out, your voice ragged and just this side of adoring.

He returns with a quiet mmm, rumbling across your skin as he drags his open mouth along the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his eyes drowsily shut. It takes him another moment to catch his breath, but once he does, he’s right back at it again. Dipping his head down and absolutely going for it with no signs of letting up, and you have to suck in a deep stream of air and scramble for a hold on him somehow.

“Oh- oh my fuckin-g god-” your voice comes out without thinking, wrung thin and anguished, as your foot plants itself in his shoulder. Adrian simply grunts, paying no mind to the fact that you’re effectively kicking the living shit out of him as he sucks so hard on your clit that you threaten to break his vise-hold on your hips.

He was right that you needed something to hold onto, because you feel like you might leave the ground. He works at you relentlessly, devouring you with his lips and tongue and teeth like he can’t get enough of you, his fingertips pressing so hard into your hips that his nails are turning stark white.

“Fuck, you’re so squirmy,” Adrian groans when he pulls away from you for half a second, and struggles to hold you down when you try to chase his mouth. “Should I tie you down?”

“Do you have anything to tie me down with?” you mutter breathlessly toward the ceiling.

A beat. “Nope. Stay still.”

You fight not to jolt as the next touch of his mouth on you. He dips his tongue into your channel, seemingly trying to draw your arousal out of you that way. You start whining when he finally nuzzles his way back up, giving you soft, teasing licks to your clit that edge you closer and closer to the release of the swell of heat you feel building in your core. Your volume turns up a notch when his tongue starts drawing little circles around the swollen flesh.

And when his lips come down to latch onto it and gently suck, you know you’re just shy of howling. His soft groans vibrate onto your skin as you scratch at his head and pull on his hair, and you eventually find yourself babbling, “Adrian, please, I’m gonna come, please pleasepleaseplease-”

He sucks harder, moaning like it turns him on just to hear you say it. You heave a few rapid breaths, and then come against his face with a cry that crackles and breaks in your throat as your head arches back, baring your neck forward. Your heels digging into his back, hands scratching, hips flailing like you can somehow escape the barrage of hypersensitivity he’s putting you through.

You really fucking hope no one is in the room next to yours.

His fingertips stick to your skin once he releases his grip on you. He’s practically glowing, grinning from ear to ear at you from between your legs, and it’s a better image than you had imagined.

You drop your head back with a breathless chuckle. “Okay, Mr. ‘I Have No Pride.’”

“I made you come,” he chirps happily.

“Yeah, you did. It was really good, too.”

“So, why didn’t anyone else?” Adrian pushes his head toward your touch when you stroke your hand gently through his hair.

“I dunno. They weren’t applying themselves, I guess.”

“That’s stupid. You’re, like, the hottest person ever. Hotter than Doja Cat,” he grumbles petulantly, and you can tell by the look in his eye that he’s dead serious. “Want me to kill them? I should kill them.”

“No.” You trail your fingers down the curve of his face, going for his chin, but he turns his face and sucks your two fingers into his mouth before you can manage it. You stop dead as the pad of his tongue swirls around the digits, and he blinks up at you innocently, despite the lewd connotations of the act. “N-no, I… hhhhh… you’re distracting me.”

He bats his eyes at you, and he slowly pulls back along your fingers until they pop out of his mouth, covered in saliva. “How am I distracting you?”

“You’re- you… you little shit.” You grab him by the chin and draw him up from between your legs. He clumsily crawls up the length of your torso with his cheeks smushed between your fingers as you hiss, “I’m going to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, I swear to god.”

“You know, that sounds slightly menacing when you say it like that,” he slurs, his jaw working against your hold.

“On your back, Chase.”

He grabs you before you can protest, and rolls back over so that you plop down on top of him, your hand still jammed up against his jaw. A blast of air comes out of your lungs in lieu of laughter, and Adrian snorts, shuffling his hips so that he moves back against the pillows.

“Okay, look, I really really really like you,” he says as you pick yourself up, straddling his lap, “but if you’re too good at this I might accidentally fall in love with you. Just to let you know what you’re getting into here.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, and I think I might actually, um, ask you to move in with me, like, immediately. Like tomorrow. Do you rent or own? Doesn’t matter, I can put your name on the lease. Maybe if you own a house it can be income property-”

You cast your eyes down and find him, remarkably, hard and leaking precum as he continues babbling about living situations. You tilt your head, letting him get his stream of consciousness out there in the open, as your eyes catch on a dark wad of fabric beside his pillow. Your underwear, which he’d gingerly set aside instead of tossing across the room like you thought he would.

“Hm, Adrian?”

He blinks up at you, his eyes wide and dilated. “Yeah?”

You pick up the wadded up underwear. “You wanted to keep these, right?”

He licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”

“Hold them for me, then.” You grab his jaw and stuff them in his mouth, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he makes a noise of protest, but then actually moans when, presumably, he tastes you on them. “You’re so fucking cute, I haven’t even tied you up. You just want my taste in your mouth, huh?” He nods. “Yeah. Pretty boy.”

He predictably moans again, his hands grasping at every part of you they can reach; your arms, your breasts, the expanse of his palms gliding down the curve of your waist and settling on your thighs. You grab one, lifting it and settling his palm against your throat.

“Hold this for me, too?” You ask him sweetly, giving his bewildered expression a devilish smirk in return. You rock forward, sliding your dripping pussy along his erection, and his hand tightens on your throat just a bit. “That’s it.”

You pick your hips up, reaching between your legs to position him where you want him, and when you sink down onto his cock, the underwear in his mouth does nothing to muffle the obscene groan that he makes. His hand flexes on your throat, and his eyes close and open a few times as he tries to maintain a certain amount of control. Something tells you that he’s not really used to taking it lying down.

You’re already decently sore from the way he effectively fucked your brains out in the shower. This is just ensuring that you’re going to be feeling it for the rest of the week, but you can’t help yourself. You take him in all the way, making agonized noises the entire time, and then jolt your hips down a little more so you can feel him bottom out.

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re something else,” you snarl down at him, and his eyes go wide again as you squeeze him, every bit of your aching strength bearing down onto his cock until he whines loudly through the fabric and his fingers tighten on the sides of your throat. “Oh, god, I could ruin you. You could ruin me. I want you to, it would be so easy for you, I wouldn’t even be able to walk in the morning.”

And you’re moving, picking up your hips and letting them fall back down in slow, deep strokes that have him writhing, his free hand in a death grip on your thigh. You raise your hand to press against the back of his on your throat, your fingers weaving in between his, and he flexes them back a bit to make room.

Even when he’s gagged, he’s noisy. Keening and grunting at you, his jaw tightening every once in a while and the tendons of his neck jumping out at you when your hips meet his. Dark curls hang down his forehead, damp with sweat, and you can’t help but feel like the shower was useless.

No, not useless. It brought you here.

Adrian bucks his hips up suddenly, meeting you halfway when you take a particularly long time on the downstroke. You gasp, tightening your hand on his, and your nails dig into his chest.

“Oh, you want me to ruin you, don’t you?” You murmur at him, baiting him to do it again. And he does, just like you hoped he would. You pick up the pace in retaliation, letting the lewd sounds of your skin hitting his fill the room. “Silly boy, I knew you would.”

He whimpers, blinking up at you slowly, his face screwing up and tightening in earnest when you rake your nails up and down his chest. He makes a couple pathetic, weak groans in the back of his throat like he wants to convey something to you, but he’s not reaching up to remove your underwear from his mouth.

(You wonder if he even remembers that he can.)

“You gonna come for me?” you ask as his whimpers increase in volume. His cock is so hard, twitching and dragging thick inside you, and his chest jumps with every desperate, ragged breath he takes. “Yeah, you are. Go on, baby, make a mess.”

Adrian gives you a curt shake of his head, and paws at your thigh for a second before his hand slides forward, and his thumb touches your clit.

“Oh fuck, Adrian-” you lurch forward, pressing your throat hard against his palm, your legs seizing up on either side of his hips. He makes you come again with a single fucking touch, and it burns through your core like fire, almost more satisfying than the first because you’re able to feel him inside you this time, something warm and hard and thick to come on.

Apparently, that was all he needed in order to let go. His back arches a bit as he jerks his hips up into yours, and he fills your pulsing cunt until his shallow breaths rattle in his throat, his eyes squeezed so tight that you see a tear collecting in the corner of one. He lays with his head driven back hard into the pillow, whimpering and whining like he’s been mortally wounded.

Too sore to move just yet, you pull his hand away from your throat and kiss his palm. Adrian’s eyes flutter open, and he finds you with a glazed-over stare, like he might either see you or see through you. Still letting out soft whimpers with each harsh exhale.

“Oh. Sweetheart,” you giggle, and reach forward to pull the wad of underwear from his mouth. It comes out with a long string of his spit attached to it, and you give him a cheeky smirk as you break the string with your finger and lick it off, rather than wiping it on your skin.

“You… you’re…” You swear his eyes nearly roll back in his skull before he closes them, trying to collect himself. He takes a deep, long breath, and then splutters, “Willyoumarrymeactually?”

You give him your biggest, goofiest grin, a little bubble of laughter wedging itself deep in your chest. “Get a little more whisky in me, and we’ll see what bright ideas I have then.”

“Okay.”

You lift yourself off of his softening cock, and the release comes with a dribble of his cum sliding down your thigh. He groans, but with one look at him you know that there’s not going to be any more action for the rest of the night.

You shift to the left, and his hand smacks down onto your thigh. “Mmmm no, you sleep with me.”

“Yeah, obviously. But you came all over the sheets earlier, genius.”

“Oh.”

He takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes in time to see you taking his glasses off. You blink a few times, your eyes having adjusted to the slight difference in your prescriptions, and refocus on his face to find him gazing up at you adoringly.

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you don’t sleep in these, too?” You wiggle the glasses at him.

He licks his lips. “No, not… not usually.”

You set the glasses on the bedside table, and then slowly slide off of him, off the bed and onto shaky legs. You take his hand and tug just a bit. “C’mon, pretty. Into my bed.”

He follows your lead without a fuss, making the two step journey to the other bed and plopping down face-first.

“D’you wanna get pancakes when we wake up?” he asks around a yawn as you nudge his ass, prodding him to scoot over.

You nod furiously, even though you know he can’t see you as you switch the light off and climb in beside him, curling up against his warm back. “Pancakes sound fucking delicious.”

“Not as delicious as your pus-”

“Adrian.”

dating apps are the trenches

I’m fucking sliding down the wall sobbing crying throwing up

it’s the heart eyes druig has for makkari after he says “deal” and she smirks for me

I need a part 2 yesterday THIS IS SO GOOD AJDJAJD

— trouble will find me

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship

a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”

You can feel his eyes follow you.

Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

But there’s something in the way he watches.

A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.

Indulging, almost. Unashamed.

You might have a crush.

You're trying not to think about it too much.

Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.

It's all bright lights.

The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.

He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.

Logan is so different from the ones before him.

Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.

Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.

It was exhausting.

Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.

Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.

It's not how you saw him, though.

His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.

You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.

Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.

You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.

Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.

He'll last longer than the others, at least.

More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.

An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.

You’ve been thinking about that for days.

There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.

But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.

It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.

The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.

With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.

A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.

Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.

You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.

Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.

A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.

There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.

"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.

A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.

"Come on, man. I saw her first."

Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."

Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."

And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.

The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.

You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.

Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.

"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.

His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"

Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.

"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.

"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"

That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."

"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.

Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.

You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.

The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.

There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.

But it hasn't been like this.

Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.  

"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."

"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”

Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.

You break the eye contact first.

“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”

Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.

“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”

There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”

The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”

A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.

“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.

Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.

“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”

A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”

Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.

“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”

The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.

You’re undeterred.

“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”

Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.

“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”

All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.

The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.

Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.

“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”

Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.

“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.

The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.

Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.

It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.

“Making a mess.”

You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.

The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.

“That for me?”

Your head nods, “Logan, please-”

There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.

“Ask me.” He coos.

“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”

Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.

The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.

His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.

The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.

Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.

“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”

He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.

The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open.

You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.

Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.

The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.

“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.

Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.

His other hand taps against your thigh.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”

His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.

A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.

Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.

“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”

He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.

“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”

It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.

The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.

It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.

“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”

The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.

His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.

Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.

“Open.”

They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.

“Good girl.”

It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.

A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.

Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.

Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.

Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.

Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.

“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.

All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.

“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”

A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.

“I’m taking you home.”

ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)