dreadfuldrip

[dreadfuldrip]

[dreadfuldrip]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[dreadfuldrip]

A reminder that I've moved blogs!!!

Early Morning Love

kissing logan good morning <3

Logan Howlett x GN!Reader

a/n: Little drabble while I write a longer fic. Wrote this in about 20 minutes so if its bad you know why :)

CW: none! Early morning kisses to cure your bad day/night

Morning light streams through the bedroom blinds as you groggily open your eyes, cursing yourself for forgetting to close the curtains before bed last night. The day hasn't yet started; songbirds still singing outside your window, and the school is still quietly sleeping. 

You reposition to face Logan, who is still sleeping soundly beside you. He looks ethereal in the morning light, hair mused, arm draped across his forehead. His face lacks the gruffness he usually wears, replaced with a softness that melts your heart. It might make you a creep, but you could watch him sleep for hours just to see the vulnerable relaxation on his face. No anger, no walls, no witty comebacks, just Logan.

Your faces are inches apart, and you share the same breath as you lie beside each other. As you watch him sleep, your eyes snag on his mouth, lips parted slightly. It was always a fantasy of yours to wake a lover up with lazy kisses that land on cheeks and jaws, both of you too tired to land them with wandering hands that don't have the chance to stray too far before you're both back asleep in the warmth of each other's arms. 

You lean on an elbow, hovering your lips inches from Logan's as you breathe in his pine and oak scent, feeling how his breath fans your warming cheeks. Before your lips could meet, you hesitate centimetres away, cheeks burning with embarrassment as you try to calm your racing heart. You were so deep in thought you hadn't noticed Logan's gaze on you, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

"Well, if you won't do it, I will," Logan whispers, his voice husky with sleep. Entangling his hand in the hair at the base of your neck, he ghosts his lips over yours before pulling you closer to him. His lips are soft and lazy against yours. He takes his time with you, lazily nibbling on your lower lip and smiling into the kiss as he drags a gasp from you. You both pull away, panting softly. You press kisses to his face as he slowly wakes up, murmuring a good morning into his skin. "Think you should wake me up like this more often, sweetheart," Logan mutters, a gentle smile playing on his cheeks as he catches your lips in another sickeningly sweet kiss.

[dreadfuldrip]

Update friends, I will be moving to @hiddenavenues! I won't be posting on this blog anymore, so go check out the new one; if you're feeling extra welcoming, maybe drop a request or two...

I'm having a crisis because this is actually my side blog, but I want it to be my main blog, and Tumblr doesn't let you switch between main and side blogs. I want to be able to make requests and shit from this account but don't wanna lose all my posts :(((

[dreadfuldrip]

I'm having a crisis because this is actually my side blog, but I want it to be my main blog, and Tumblr doesn't let you switch between main and side blogs. I want to be able to make requests and shit from this account but don't wanna lose all my posts :(((

[dreadfuldrip]

Mean!Logan who fucks you dumb to the point all you know is how good he feels instead of Scott Summers 🤭🤭🤭

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. mean!logan, dumbification, dacryphilia, don't like, don't read.

"What's his name?" Logan asks thoughtfully, lips pursed as he waits for your response. You're quite unable to give him one at the moment- at least a coherent one, while his hips piston forward and back, driving his thick cock into you.

"Go on, tell me." Logan prods, bumping his nose into your temple. He's going at an impressive pace, grunting with each hefty thrust, "Do you even remember it?"

A cry escapes your lips as Logan pushes you over the edge, unceremoniously, mercilessly, and you claw at his biceps as you're thrust into your climax. Your brain shorts out with white hot pleasure, something like pain but sweeter searing in your belly as you unconsciously curl your hips up to meet Logan's cock easier. There's no point- he can't possibly go deeper - but your body moves instinctively. He feels so good that you need more.

"Cyclops ring a bell?" He asks, but your ears ring too loud for his voice to get through. Either that or your brain muffles it like wet cement is drowning your thoughts, and the only name etched into the thick sludge is Logan, Logan, Logan.

"Dickhead, maybe? Laser-brain, Goggles, One-Eye..." Logan lists his most frequently used nicknames for the mutant he'd caught cornering you in the kitchen, but all you can do is muffle your moans into the sweat-soaked fabric of Logan's wifebeater.

"Who did this to you?" He feigns concern, like he's interrogating you after a beatdown, his nose now trailing over the apple of your cheek as his lips ghost your own.

"I-aah! Logan," You whimper, now oversensitive to penetration.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Logan," You breathe, eyes bleary with tears as you breathe him in- the sight of his face, hard-set and firm. His smell- sweat and musk and sex all rolled into one. His touch, the constant pressure between your legs as he keeps his dick buried in your cunt, no longer moving his hips. His eyes- they're staring at you, drinking in the repeated moans of his name that come pouring from your mouth like blood from a wound.

"Smart girl." He says, and you're so out of your mind that you don't read the cruel sarcasm in it- the way he's teasing you as Scott's name has fled your near-vacant brain.

"Who else? Got another man in there?" Logan taps the side of your head, where your spinning brain works overtime, "No? What about in here?"

He places a hand on your pelvis, pressing down gently so that you feel the imprint of his dick inside of you clearer, harsher, more intense.

"Anyone else in here?" He asks, keeping steady pressure on your cunt until you squirm in penance, begging for mercy from his teasing.

"That's right. Keep it that way." He snarls, letting up on your pelvis and using the hand to cup your cheek, relishing in the way you thoughtlessly lean into it, so trusting, so devoted, "Mine's the only name you need to be sayin', sweetheart. Say his again and I'll make you wash your mouth out with my fuckin' dick 'till it's all you can taste for a week."

[dreadfuldrip]

Jealous Logan… omnomnomnom delicious

Hi hi 👋 hopping the older bf! Logan wave to talk about him cause I’m obsessed with him. Idk what version of older Logan we are necessarily talking about, but I just imagine him being the type of bf that always needs to have his hands on you. He’s already a naturally dominant man, his demeanor speaks for himself, he doesn’t have to prove shit to nobody and he isn’t one to do so much PDA in public.

But when it comes to being with you, he likes to show others you that at the end of the day, you chose him in comparison to the other young fuckers nearby. A hand on your waist, another on your thigh when you’re sitting together. Sometimes if he’s really feeling it, he’ll place a kiss on your neck right on your pulse, smiling when it feels it thrum his touch. Older bf! Logan and casual dominance/manhandling >> love that.

an arm's around your waist. his hand fiddling with the hem of your shirt, exposing just a sliver of the skin of your stomach to the guy trying not to drool over you.

you're obvious to the desires, struggling to stay interested in the conversation with the intense gazes logan is sending you. he'd checked out as early the schmuck rattling off his name to the two of you, much more interested in how that one spot on your neck taste tonight.

the man is stuttering his way through the sentences now, nerves getting the better of him. eventually, he just decides to stop, wondering what's the use when logan drags you back against him by the belt loop of your jeans.

"nice chattin', bub. see you around, yeah?"

logan's words come with a sharp pat the the arm of the guy, who jolts at the force before slinking off to somewhere you don't care about. you don't even have a chance to blink before logan's yanking you toward the exit of the bar, rolling his eyes at the dopey smile on your face.

"you're cute when you're jealous."

"shut up and get in."

your grin stays, as a begrudging humor lilts a little of logan's tone. you can hear the tiny smirk on his face while he drags you to the passenger side of his truck. popping open the door, logan offers you his hand, helping you into the vehicle.

you press a peck into his cheek after he straps your seatbelt for you before heading to the drivers seat. he shuts the door with a sigh, not bothering the ignite the engine before slumping and turning your way with a knowing look on his face.

a short giggle leaves you at the slightly annoyed look in his eye.

"you didn't wanna stay and talk to our new friend?"

"my boot would'a had to have been surgically removed out of his ass if i'd stayed in there any longer."

with that, logan turns the key and revs the pickup to life. a hand plants itself onto your thigh, squeezing in anticipation of all the kneading they'll be doing as soon as the two of you make it back to his place.

older bf!logan tag | send more older bf!logan thoughts!

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[dreadfuldrip]

Torn between worlds

~~A ghost of a memory

or

Your Logan is dead, so how come he's standing in the doorway of Wade's apartment?

The worst!Wolverine/GN!Reader

a/n: No one asked for it, but take some angst. I hurt my own feelings with this one ngl. This blog has moved to @hiddenavenues

CW: MDNI 18+, GN!Reader, past partner death (major), grief, alcohol consumption (minor), physical violence, ANGST, hurt with eventual comfort, mild language

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You fumble with the paper sitting on your bedside table. The invite to Wade's party only had a date and address, which is a little strange, seeing that he is your next-door neighbour. According to the invite the party started an hour ago, but better now than never, right?

Shimmying into simple jeans and a t-shirt, you thought about what Wade could throw a party for this time. It's not uncommon for him to have impromptu get-togethers, but it had never previously involved an invite. Usually, Wade would just knock on your door and drag you down to his apartment, half forcing you to join in on the fun. So what was different this time?

Although the invite doesn't ask for it, you stand in your kitchen throwing together an ensemble of snacks ranging from fruit to chocolate to bring to Wade's. As you reach to put away the extra fruit, your eyes snag on an old photo of you and Logan on vacation. The two of you had taken a trip to Ireland; in the picture, Logan is smiling at you, eyes alive with something you can't quite tell, and your head is tipped back in laughter at something he said. The years since Logan died seemed to fly by in a blur; days of rotting in bed turned to months and would have turned to years if Wade hadn't dragged your sorry ass out. You never told him about your relationship with the famous Wolverine; you disliked talking about it. You already had to share his death with the rest of the world; you can keep your grief for yourself. Shaking your head, you take a few calming breaths before grabbing your plates and heading for the door. 

Stepping into the hallway, you could hear the hum of voices and laughter coming from Wade's apartment down the hall. It's a miracle the guy hasn't gotten a noise complaint yet, or at least none you've heard about. As you near the apartment door, you spot a man taking the stairs toward ground level before disappearing out of sight, and for an instant, you could have sworn it was Logan. The broad shoulders and tousled hair transporting you back to a time long since passed. Even as every fibre in your body screamed to check and make sure it wasn't him, you forced yourself to push open the door to the apartment.

People were littered around the room, talking and laughing with one another as music played quietly from somewhere. Placing your plates on the counter, you poured yourself a glass of something good from the fridge before looking for Wade.

Unsurprisingly, you find him seated on the couch with Vanessa beside him, talking to a young girl with long brown hair. You briefly lock eyes with the girl, and a strange sensation washes over you. Not quite recognition, but something tugs on the edges of your memory, just out of reach. 

You don't have time to dwell on it before Wade is bounding toward you, dragging you into a tight embrace before grabbing your face and kissing your forehead. "Look who decided to show up! My absolute favourite neighbour—right up there with that guy who blasts show tunes at 3 a.m.!" You can't help the smile growing on your cheeks while you swat him off of you. 

"Jesus, Wade, did no one teach you personal space?" You ask between laughter, swatting him away before letting him lead you over to the couch, babbling about some adventure he went on.

"You wouldn't believe who the cat dragged back from the multiverse," Your brows shoot up at that. Seeing the look on your face, Wade goes into a long-winded story of how the TVA wanted to destroy your universe for a reason you couldn't catch. By the end, you have more questions than answers.

"Sorry, what the fuck reason did they need to destroy our universe for?" You question, feeling ridiculous just speaking the words.

"Well, basically, each universe has an anchor person. Unfortunately for us, ours was sweet Wolverine who took impalement to heart." You can't hide your flinch at Wade's words, but no one seems to notice. "But now we have this cutie-pie over here. Meet Laura, better known as X-23," Wade wraps an arm around the girl who looks like she wants to be anywhere but here. "and Peanut is just making his hourly trip to the liquor store!" 

Your head feels like it might explode. Multiverses? Who the fuck is Peanut? "I need another drink for your bullshit." You huff, earning an offended scoff from Wade before going back to talking to Laura.

Standing in the kitchen, weighing your drink options, you think about that girl. The name X-23 definitely rings a bell, but it's like any memory of the name has a thick layer of fog surrounding it, like your mind is telling you it was better to forget. With a sigh, you pour yourself a tall glass of wine.

You hear Wade's excited shouting just before turning to see the door open, revealing the stranger you had seen taking the stairs earlier, only he isn't a stranger. It was Logan. All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room as you stared at the talking ghost. He was dead; you cried over his already cold body all those years ago, fell apart in front of his headstone daily, and went to years of therapy just to be able to hear his name without breaking down. Heads swivelled in your direction as the bottle of wine you'd been pouring shattered to the floor, splashing crimson on your clothes and shoes. A strangled noise bubbled up from your chest as Logan's eyes locked onto yours. Distantly, you heard people fussing around you, but right now, it felt like the room was empty besides the two of you. 

You didn't realize your knees were shaking until they buckled beneath you, your knees hitting the cold floor, red wine soaking the fabric of your jeans. The noise around you faded to a dull hum as your mind raced. Logan was standing there, alive, breathing- but you buried him. How many nights had you spent curled in the bed you used to share, grieving your last days with him, begging anyone who would listen for one more moment, one last chance to say goodbye? 

And now, he was standing in the doorway not 15 feet away from you as if no time had passed. You couldn't stop staring at him, terrified if you blinked he'd disappear again, like a cruel trick of the mind. He still had that haunted look on his face, the same one you used to kiss away and the same little tufts on either side of his hair you used to endlessly tease him for. Your chest tightened painfully; it felt like an old wound in your heart was tearing open, stitch by stitch.

"You're-" His voice, hoarse with emotion, cracked painfully as he stepped towards you, his face pale as snow. "You aren't my y/n," 

You could barely focus on his words, your mind reeling at the sound of his voice. For years, you've cursed yourself for forgetting the deep timber in his words, how it used to be so at odds with the sweet words he'd whisper to you each morning. You open your mouth to speak, but your throat threatens to close, a noise akin to that of a dying animal choking its way out instead. You can't speak, can't breathe. How do you talk to someone you've mourned for years when they are standing right in front of you? 

Logan's words sliced through the haze like a blade. Not my y/n. They echoed through your head, reverberating off the walls in your mind. What kind of cruel joke was this? You dragged in a ragged breath, your chest tight, eyes burning with unshed tears. Every cell in your body was begging you to run to him, to feel his skin's warmth and let the smell of him envelop you, but you couldn't move. The floor felt like it was swallowing you whole, and part of you wished it would just to rid yourself of this terrible ache in your chest. 

Logan's eyes, the same ones you would stare into and see your future in, looked at you as though he, too, was seeing a ghost. His gaze was filled with sorrow, mirroring the look on your face. "I lost you in my world." His voice was barely over a whisper, agony dripping off each syllable. "I lost you, I buried you, I am the reason why you-" He choked on the word, unable to finish his sentence as his gaze dropped to the floor. 

You felt a pit form in the bottom of your stomach. The weight of his confession nearly had you un-having dinner. Not only were you seeing the ghost of a man you loved, but he had mourned you. In his world, you had been the one who died. The cruel irony of it all left you shaking. 

Wade's voice cut through the heavy silence like a jarring chord. "See, isn't this multiverse crap fun? It's like a cosmic soap opera!" You felt something inside you snap at Wade's ignorance. 

Time seemed to speed up as you launched yourself at him, tackling him to the floor as a vicious growl tore through your throat. You could feel a distant sting in your knuckles as you landed blow after blow to Wade's face; it vaguely occurred to you that he had gone still and was taking it. When the pain in your firsts became unbearable, and Wade's face was black and blue, you stopped, panting over him. He turned his face to the side and spat blood. 

You felt weak, like your body wasn't your own. Someone hoisted you off of Wade, backing off as soon as you shook them off. The pit in your stomach grew, threatening to envelop you whole as you pushed past a Logan that wasn't yours. Your chest felt like it was about to explode, your vision blurring with tears. You needed air- needed space because the walls in Wade's apartment were closing in, and you were drowning in the memory of a past that's now come back beyond the grave. 

The cool night air hit you like a slap when your feet hit the pavement outside the apartment. You gobbled it down, relishing the cool embrace on your tear-stained cheeks. The city buzzed around you, indifferent to the waking nightmare you're currently living in. 

You didn't register Logan behind you until you heard the door slam. "Wait-"

"No." You snapped, spinning around to face him. The look of anguish etched into the lines on his face threatened to make your knees buckle, but anger still flowed through your veins. "Don't. Don't follow me." Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. You couldn't do this again; your world was crumbling around you, but this time, it was someone else's Logan breaking your heart. You could feel the years of work and grief trying to move on falling in shambles around you. "You're not… You're not him." You watched your words land like a physical blow.

Logan flinched, his expression twisting in pain. "No, and you're not them." He bit out each word, like the mention of the other you put a sour taste in his mouth. "You think this doesn't hurt me? I've mourned you for years, and here you are, alive. I held you as you bled out in my arms, helpless."

You couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped you. "Hurt you? You come into my universe, to my home, and you expect me to try to empathize with you?" You take a few strides forward and stare at Logan, an ugly snarl on your lips. "I fell apart every single day for years after I lost you, and now you-" Your voice falters, a tear slipping down your cheek. 

Logan's face softens. "I didn't know you were alive here, and I definitely wouldn't have guessed you'd be buds with Wade. But," He takes a breath before continuing, something new mingling with the sadness in his eyes. "I'm here now."

Something deep inside you broke. "No, this is a mistake. You need to go home. You're not him. You're not the man I-" Your words caught in your throat. Before you could finish, Logan touched a hand to your elbow. 

"I'm not him, the same way you aren't them. I know that." He whispered, his breath mingled with yours. "But can't you see? It's killing me to stand here, knowing I can't hold you like I used to."

His confession tore down the last of your restraint. The weight of all of your emotions - grief, anger, love you had tried to bury- came crashing down. Before you could think, you grabbed his face, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Logan hesitated for a moment, hands hovering over your waist, but he gave in, crushing you against him like a man starved. The kiss was messy and frantic, both of you clinging to each other as if this could mend years of pain and suffering. 

The world faded as your lips moved together, your bodies recalling each other like a forgotten melody from long ago. You barely notice stumbling into the narrow alley beside the apartment building; you gasp into his mouth as your back hits the cold brick wall. You were fueled with desperation and longing, revelling in the way his breath hitched as you kissed him harder. Right now, nothing mattered. Not the multiverse or the difference between this Logan and the one you lost. All that mattered was the way his body ground into you, his lips threatening to devour you whole. 

You broke away for air, foreheads resting together, your breaths ragged and uneven as you shared the same air. "Logan… I don't know how this…" You trailed off, unable to find the words to make this make sense. 

"I know." He murmured, voice low and raw with emotion. "We'll figure it out, one day at a time." 

You kissed him again, softer this time, letting yourself dream of a world with Logan again. For however long this would last, you hoped that at least this time, you'd have the chance to say goodbye.

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Notes and reblogs are appreciated! Hope you enjoyed :)

[dreadfuldrip]

IM VERY EXCITED TO START WORKING ON UR ASKS! Hoping to have them out this weekend :))

Friends I am begging on my knees for some lumberjack Logan requests. Smut fluff angst idc, give me all of it I ain’t picky.

[dreadfuldrip]

Friends I am begging on my knees for some lumberjack Logan requests. Smut fluff angst idc, give me all of it I ain’t picky.

[dreadfuldrip]

I’ll be thinking about this for a long, long time.

since you kindly offered this brilliant piece I have a thot for you. giving logan nasty nasty head as he’s trying to eat dinner 🤭

note: i sat with this for several hours after we hung up and i could not get it out of my head. he's a munch. we know this. it's a fact (disney grow some balls and say it outloud). but my god is he a whore for some good head. give him sloppy toppy and he's wrapped around your finger; he's yours, ready to put a ring on it and drag you to the courthouse himself.

Dinner is a quiet affair in the Howlett household. It's mixed with soft conversation and intimate jokes. Comments about your days, hands held over the table as candle wax dripped over the yellowed cloth. It's warm - domestic.

But on nights when adrenaline ran a bit too high and wine began to drip heat down your spine, you found that you couldn't resist the pull of him.

He sat in his usual chair, legs spread and eyes tracking your movements as you left the kitchen. A bottle of wine in one hand, his whiskey in the other.

His grin is soft. A docile man who'd been tamed by the lover he never expected. And you can feel the heat begin to curl around your stomach. Tugging on the nerves that thrummed beneath your skin. He'd never realize how far gone you were for him; how every move and choice depended on whether or not he'd smile your way.

"Smells good sweetheart." His voice is low, the grit of husk behind each lilted drawl.

You could feel warmth flicker to life beneath the supple skin of your cheeks as his gaze continued to track how you sat in your chair. Eyes dragging down the figure clad a t-shirt that had seen better days and jeans with a gaping hole in the knee.

There was no denying you dressed for comfort. Logan still felt his cock stiffen at the sight of you in dark washed denim though.

The smile is pulled from the depths of your chest. "I couldn't decide what to make."

You know you sound flustered. You know your voice is higher than normal.

You know he caught it by the sharp glint of his teeth poking through an already crooked smile.

"I'll eat anythin' you make," he admits with a soft clack of his fork tapping his plate.

The double meaning isn't lost on you. In fact it shoots a hole right through your chest, floods your body with that syrupy thick heat that you feel drip down to the tips of your fingers. His nostrils flare - eyes glancing down to the table that covers your lap - before he's filling his mouth with food.

Honestly you can't even recall how it happened. The entire ordeal a hazy cloud of lust that had you slipping out of your seat, and dropping to your knees beneath the table. His eyes went wide as your hands pushed at his legs, forcing them to spread. And when he made no move to stop you, the rest clicked into place with ease.

Logan smells of his cigar he smoked after work. He smells of spice and the musk of sweat and leather from his jackets that hung in the hall closet.

He is everything you could possibly want in a husband. Everything you asked for checked off with a flourished hand and a welcomed smile.

"Baby what-" He chokes on his food when your hands undo his belt, the button of his jeans, and pull him free with a choked whine. "Oh fuck."

That. That's what you were looking for after a day filled with his absence. The stifled moan at the back of his throat when your tongue licked up his cock - whining when the taste of him burst across your taste buds. You couldn't deny yourself him when he let you suck on the head, spit trailing down your chin and into his lap.

His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, fingers tightening around his fork, and it isn't until you've got him halfway down your throat does he understand what you want.

The clink of metal scratching porcelain sends heat down your spine. He moans around a mouthful of food as your head bobs, mouth sucking him in deeper, further, until he hits the back of your throat and makes you gag.

"You're fuckin' filthy for me aren't ya," he mutters, thumb rubbing into your skin. "Makin' me eat while you get dinner of your own."

Your eyes roll back, pussy clenching down hard around nothing. Because fuck he's right. You'd stay on your knees until pain flared up. You'd keep him down your throat until you lost the ability to speak.

You'd suck him dry morning, noon, and night to hear the noises that slipped past his lips.

"'M gonna give you want ya want baby," he grunts.

His hips rock up off the chair, hand pushing your head down further until your nose was buried in the dark hair tinged with the musky scent of him. It's wet and messy and spit has formed into globs that roll down the expanse of your throat.

You're so far gone all you can do is give a choked moan, body trembling as your lungs screamed for air.

That's the fucked up part though. You'd die on his cock if it meant getting to please him.

He cums with a harsh snap of your name, chest heaving and plate long forgotten. Shudders roll down your spine, slick pooling between your thighs as he spurts down your throat. Spilling out the sides of your mouth.

"Eat your dinner sweetheart so I can have some fuckin' desert."

[dreadfuldrip]

The space between words

∼∼Confessions left unspoken

or

Trying to get into the worst Wolverine's pants :>

Logan Howlett x GN!Reader

a/n: This should be the first part of a 2(?) part series, so stay tuned. This blog has moved to @hiddenavenues

CW: MDNI, GN!Reader, implied age gap, implied sexual content, alcohol consumption, reader gets called pretty thing, no use of y/n

Wade will be the death of you. 

Seated at the kitchen table while Wade and Logan's return party ensues behind you, you have found yourself listening to Wade's mindless blabber. The man can not shut up about Vanessa. Having been Wade's neighbour and friend for the last decade, you're used to it. 

"-and her ass christ, if I could give it an award, it'd be called 'most likely to cause distracted walking.' Seriously, it's like a work of art- I'm just waiting for the Louvre to call-"

As you pretend to listen to Wade's girl problems, your eye snags on Logan sitting alone on the couch as he nurses a beer. Hunched over with his elbows resting on either knee, he gazes off into nothing, utterly oblivious to your stare. You watch as Logan's thumb makes idle circles on the side of his drink, your mind drifting elsewhere as you wonder how it would feel to have his fingers circling something else. You nearly curse from the view as he places down his can to stretch out his back, reaching up over his head and inadvertently tugging up his shirt to expose a thick happy trail and muscled midriff. 

Realizing you aren't paying attention, Wade turns to see what's caught your attention before spinning around and letting out a dramatic gasp.

"How long have you been eye-fucking peanut over there? And here I thought we were having a genuine connection!" Wade exclaims, looking half bewildered and talking far too loudly for your liking.

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, eyes nearly bugging out of your skull. "Besides, what kind of 'connection' comes from talking about your ex for the last 2 hours? I haven't even had time to go try to actually fuck Wolfie over there, thanks to your sorry ass." You retort, watching as Wade forms a look of mock insult and clutches at his chest. 

"I'm hurt, pumpkin, leading me on when I thought the whole ex thing was gonna get me some tonight." He pouts before standing and placing his hand on his forehead in faux distress. 

"Don't let me distract you from your staring, but please let me know if you two are looking for a third. Always wanted to see if the Wolverine really is huge down under." He says, smirking at you before practically dancing into the room you last saw Vanessa disappear into. 

Music is still playing from a speaker somewhere, but as you look around the room, you notice that most friends have either found a room to crash in or have left for the evening. Fuck, the evening is starting to look like yet another drinking alone with nothing but your hand to please you. With a sigh, you glance over to where you last saw Logan, only to realize he's already looking at you. You watch as he tips back the last of his beer and walks towards where you are seated in the kitchen, presumably to grab another from the fridge.

You speak up as Logan nears the kitchen and reaches to toss out his empty. 

"So, you calling it quits, or can we find somewhere else to be?" You ask, resting your head on your hand and staring up at Logan.

Logan chuckles softly at the invite, turning his back to you for a second to grab another beer before facing you again. 

"I'm far too old for you, bub." He replies, cracking a can and taking a swig.

You feel your cheeks heat up at the dismissal. If this were any other man, you would move on and find someone else to spend the night with. But something about Logan drives you crazy, boiling you down to your most primal needs. Not accepting failure so quickly, you try again.

"Oh, come on, Logan. A couple of drinks at the dive down the street never killed anyone. It's just your vibe, dark, gloomy, and has a certain characteristic to it very few enjoy." You tease, standing to shrug on a light jacket and looking back at him expectantly. 

"You coming? Don't make me find some lonely creep to keep me company while there." 

Maybe it was just your imagination, but something like jealousy flashed in Logan's eye as you spoke. Something about what you said set him in motion, tugging on his jacket before holding the door for you.

Having spent most of the walk to the bar in comfortable silence, you guide Logan through the doors of your favourite bar. Inside, the classic red lights and LED signs greet you, a couple of lonely strangers loitering around the bar counter. 

Taking Logan's hand, you guide both of you towards the bar before heading towards a booth away from the strangers. You let go of Logan's hand to sit down, expecting him to sit across the table from you. To your surprise, he sits beside you. Your thighs brush together in the small booth, Logan's large frame taking up most of the space. 

"Never thought a pretty thing like you would like this kinda place," Logan grunts, drinking from his glass before turning to face you. "Not like the beer is any good."

At this proximity, you can see the specks of gold in his brown eyes and faint scars littering his face. Pretty thing. Your cheeks feel hot under his gaze; you can only imagine how red your face is. 

"They have live music on Wednesdays and Fridays; you never know what you'll get, but it's usually a good time. Wade told me you like this sorta place, so I thought I'd bring you around." You shrug, looking at the table to avoid his gaze.

You hear Logan let out a chuckle. "Are you taking dating advice from Wade? Didn't think anyone would stoop that low. Can't say whatever you're doing ain't workin' though." He returns the glass to his mouth; now it's his turn to avoid your eye.

Butterflies well up in your stomach at his words, the way he blatantly called out your bluff. His eyes are filled with something between hunger and mischief when he meets your gaze over his glass.

"This is going to be a fun night, Logan Howlett."

Logan doesn't reply to you, instead giving you a grin and finishing off his glass.

[dreadfuldrip]

There seems to be no official Kinktober this year, so I’m wondering if any of you guys have some prompts you're dying to see...

[dreadfuldrip]

Midnight Secrets

~~A love revealed

or

Falling asleep together and being caught by the students :))

Logan Howlett x GN!Reader

A/n: This blog has moved to @hiddenavenues

CW: GN!Reader, established (secret) relationship, pure fluff :)

The clock on the wall read 2:14 am as you found yourself sitting on the couch of the X-mansion, book in hand. The mansion was quiet, students and staff tucked away for the night, all but yourself. You had tried to sleep for hours before giving up and heading downstairs to avoid disturbing Logan with your reading light. 

The hearth before you crackled, shadows jumping along the wall as you questioned your sleeplessness for the umpteenth time. Logan has joined you in your sheets more often over the last few weeks. The man was practically a human furnace; his embrace usually kept you sleeping soundly, but not tonight. 

If you were honest with yourself, you had many papers to grade. As much as you love your students, their English papers could use more work. As of late, most of them had been spending class time speculating on which of their teachers were together. Neither you nor Logan had discussed telling anyone of the relationship blooming between you, instead preferring sneaking into each other's room each night and sneaking out every morning. Although sneaking kisses between classes and hiding love bites each morning was exhilarating at first, having to hide something that meant so much to you was beginning to feel more like a chore. 

You startle as warm breath fans the nape of your neck, quickly followed by strong arms wrapping around your shoulders from behind the couch. 

"Come back to bed?" Logan mumbles into your neck, voice husky with sleep.

Putting down your book, you wrap your arms around his and press a kiss to his forehead, earning you a hum from Logan. 

"Sorry baby, couldn't sleep." You reply, idly petting Logan's arm. "Why don't you come sit? I was enjoying the fire."

With a grumble that sounded like 'our bed is much comfier,' Logan rests his head in your lap, your fingers combing through his hair. His eyes are closed as soon as he lays down, something like purring rumbling through his chest as your hands play with his hair. 

"My boy's just so tired, ain't he, hm baby?" You whisper, Logan nestling deeper into your lap in response. A love-drunk smile plays on your lips, observing Logan's peaceful face as he rests in your lap. With your fingers in his, your other hand rubs slow circles into Logan's back as you rest your head on the back of the couch. Closing your eyes, you listen to Logan's steady breathing as you let sleep take over. 

The sound of quiet snickering rouses you, your eyes squinting against the morning sunlight beaming through the windows. Opening your eyes, you are greeted with a room of students gaping and giggling around you. Confused, you open your mouth to explain you must've fallen asleep reading when you hear a faint groan from your lap. Heat blooms on your cheeks as you look down at Logan, sleeping soundly with your hand still in his hair. 

As if on cue, Logan sighs, moving to stretch out his back before freezing mid-motion, likely spotting the audience you two have. In a blink, Logan is seated on the couch, growling at the staring kids, earning him a pinch in the shoulder from you.

"Hey," You chide, getting his attention. "No scaring the kids." 

Logan grumbles, his cheeks sprinkled with pink. From the doorway, a giggle catches your attention. 

"Okay, kids, I think that's enough staring." Storm's voice interrupts the sea of whispers and snickers. I think you all have places to be. It'd be a shame if Professor Xavier heard about your tardiness…"

The room cleared out so fast that you wondered if you had dreamed it all up. Storm's knowing smirk and Logan's scarlet cheeks told you otherwise. 

"Well… so much for being secretive?" You giggle, looking at Logan's ridiculous bedhead half the school just saw. Logan looks at you, smirking. 

"I was getting sick of sneaking around anyways." He says, kissing your cheek. Storm hollered something about winning a bet to Scott down the hall, a scoff coming from Logan. And just like that, no more sneaking around like teenagers.

[dreadfuldrip]

Logan Howlett, who acts like a kicked puppy when you aren’t around. Most people would assume he’s behaving as his usual bitchy self, but you see the way he scans every room in search of you, head discreetly turning anytime he thinks he hears you back from a mission.

Logan Howlett, who will let you chat his ear off after you get home after a mission. A soft smile playing on his lips at the dramatic hand gestures and sound effects as you tell the team your adventures.

Logan Howlett, who all but drags you upstairs to your shared room, desperately needing some alone time with you. He runs a hot bath for the two of you to soak in. If you fall asleep on his chest, he’ll wash and dry you off before tucking you into bed and pulling you close.

NSFW BELOW CUT 18+ MDNI

Logan Howlett, who will be on his knees for you in seconds if you even hint being interested in sex. He practically begs you to let him pleasure you, with his mouth, fingers, cock, or all three. He doesn’t care how he gets to make you cum, though his favourite has to be when he uses his mouth just for the feeling of your fingers in his hair commanding him where to move.

Logan Howlett, who will not let himself cum until he drags at least 3 orgasms out of you. Getting drunk off of the wails and moans he is able to coax out of you.

Logan Howlett, who when he does get to fuck you on his cock is so gentle. He’ll praise you, telling you how good you’re being for him, how perfectly you take him, how much he missed your whimpers and whines. He has you cumming on his cock twice before he finishes for the first time that evening.

Logan Howlett, who cleans you up with a warm cloth afterwards, licking and kissing your thighs and stomach in thank you. He lays next to you and tucks you to his side, playing with your hair and telling you how much he missed you while you were gone until he hears your breathing even out and sleep take hold.

[dreadfuldrip]

I love him I love him I love him I love him

Hi may I request a part3 Jotaro hc or scenario where Jotaro calls his s/o that is very affectionate over and cups her cheek and gives her a smooch on the forehead and she blushes cause she usually gives the affection and the start dust crusaders find Jotaro and his s/o all cuddled up together in bed asleep soundly!

REQUEST: Hi may I request a part3 Jotaro hc or scenario where Jotaro calls his s/o that is very affectionate over and cups her cheek and gives her a smooch on the forehead and she blushes cause she usually gives the affection and the start dust crusaders find Jotaro and his s/o all cuddled up together in bed asleep soundly!

This was in my drafts for way to long, I’m glad I finished it hehe hope you like it!!

Pairing: Jotaro x fem! reader

Warnings: none

NIGHT SKY

“The view is beautiful from here!”

(Y/N) pressed her face against the room window/sliding door before walking out into the little balcony and looking out at the city under the night sky, all the lights of the city illuminating the streets under the moon

Their rooms were on the 10th floor with a great view of everything for miles around. Staying in big cities meant staying in big hotels and Mr. Joestar was an expert on spending money.

Jotaro walks over to where she stands to take a look himself, he could care less about views but she was pretty enthusiastic about it so might as well play along

He is quite impressed, the view was indeed a sight for sore eyes and contraty to the city hussle, it had some tranquility to it.

They were alone in the room while the rest where getting supplies they might need for the rest of the journey. Deciding to meet up at their room later and leaving them to take care of their things.

“It reminds me of home”

(Y/N) and Jotaro seated on the plastic chairs meant in the balcony in silence listening to everything and nothing at all

“Why is that?”

“Living in the suburbs was peaceful but walking in the city was always an adventure” she leaned on the railing “It’s like the city never sleeps, it’s always rowdy but that’s what makes it great, don’t you think?”

Jotaro shrugged and lit another cigarette on his lips. It was just about time the rest arrived back but the room stayed silent.

Looking back at her he noticed how she rested her head on her arm while still leaning on the balcony railing with dreamy eyes. He knew the feeling of missing home, being on the road for just as long and being so far.

Jotaro grew fond of her in such little time and that was surprising even for him. If anything he was annoyed by her presence at the start but her funny and caring nature creeped into his heart, all the affection she showed left Jotaro slightly blushing everytime he wasn’t exactly complaining.

He stood up gaining her attention and lifting her eyes from the city under. He took a few steps until he was standing in front of her and leaned down until his lips met her forehead.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks got so red it was noticeable even on the low lights of the place. He chuckled as he stood straight again as offered his hand.

“You look tired, let’s rest for a bit”

“But everyone else...”

“They are fine, I’ll wake up when they get here”

She smiled and took his hand walking back into the hotel room and shutting the sliding door behind them.

Jotaro laid in on of the beds in an almost sitting position, (Y/N) was quick to join moving a few pillows around until she was comfortably situated in his arms and hugging his waist.

Slowly she started to drift away into slumber while he stared blankly at the ceiling. In a few minutes he heard her breathing slow down and almost inaudible snores leaving her mouth, he smirked looking down at her before closing his own eyes.

“Shh Polnareff you’re gonna wake them up!”

“How am I going to wake them up if you’re the one almost shouting at me!”

“Just get your things and go to your rooms”

Jotaro grumbled tiredly as he barely opened one eye to see what all the noise was about, Polnareff and his grandfather glared at eachother while Kakyoin laid his things on the other bed

Avdol noticed his barely awake form and smirked “Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of them” and almost dragged both the french and old man out of the room, leaving only the silent sounds of Kakyoin moving around before getting to sleep himself.

Looking down he noticed he had moved to a fully laying down position and (Y/N) held tightly in his embrace, sleeping soundly. He sighed placing another kiss in her forehead before going back to sleep for the rest of the night.

[dreadfuldrip]

Kurapikakurapikakurapika💞✨

Mornings love

What are mornings like when Kurapika stays home?

He definitely wakes up at 4-5am and just cuddles u and listens to ur breathing

His fingers love to tangle thru ur hair and rub ur arms

If he started to feel u wake up he’d pepper ur neck in kisses and spoon u closer

“Mornings times love”

“....ur such a dork”

He puts a s at the end of his words in the morning because it makes u laugh

Seriously everything he does is to make u happy

He likes to feel ur legs tangled in his, and he loves it when u rub his face and brush his hair back

Please give him kisses, he just wants to make u happy

His favourite part of waking up with u is touching ur foreheads together and just enjoying the silence

All of his relationship experience comes from how u react to him, so the first few times he didn’t understand morning cuddles😤

“Kurapika? Wha-why r u getting up? Cuddles? Pwease🥺✨”

He really said 👁👄👁❓

But he climbed back in and didn’t wanna leave

Give him a back massage and he’ll crumble beneath u

When u two finally wander out of bed, it’s just a rule he makes coffee and u cook up some eggs or make toast

He likes to play some soft music and sway around the room until there was something to eat

So soft. Soft ✨soft✨

Coffee breath kisses and comforting hand holding

A very ✨🥺💞🧚🌱🍄🍳 morning

He loves u so much. Sometimes he just stands there and wonders how this human is in his life